Page 38 of The Paradox Club

“It’s called obsessive-compulsive disorder.”

“You think I don’t know what it’s called?”

“I thought you said you hadn’t told anyone about this.”

“Doesn’t mean I didn’t diagnose myself when I was twelve.”

“Before or after the fire you told me about?”

“After. It got worse after the fire. A lot worse.”

“You’ve known for two years that you have OCD, and you haven’t done anything about it?”

“I’ve arranged a lot of Legos.”

“Did you know there are medications that can help?”

“Drugs, you mean? Yeah, I know about those.”

“And therapy can help, too.”

“That’s what my advisor said.”

“That’s one of the reasons you have an advisor at boarding school. Yours is Ms. Russell, right?”

“Yes.”

“And she suggested you come see me?”

“Ms. Russell; my history teacher, Mr. Rice; my dorm mother, Mrs. Davis; even my roommate—pretty much everybody said I should come see you.”

“I’m glad you took their advice.”

“It’s just, I don’t like telling people about my personal stuff.”

“If you don’t tell anyone you can’t expect them to help.”

“Yeah, okay.”

“Would you like to try?”

“Drugs or therapy?”

“Both.”

“Would you have to be my therapist?”

“Not necessarily. It can be any professional you feel comfortable with.”

“I won’t feel comfortable with anybody.”

“Then it might as well be me.”

“I suppose.”

“Is something else bothering you?”

“I don’t know.”