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“I don’t know. I don’t try to. It’s almost like I do it automatically and I don’t realize I’m doing it until it starts bleeding all over me.”
“And when you finally do notice that you’re picking, how does it make you feel?”
“I don’t feel anything. I keep waiting for it to hurt or sting, but it never does. It just bleeds, and then my mom gets upset and my dad fusses at me and then I put on a new bandage and the whole thing starts all over again.”
“And how do you feel when your parents react?”
Bria took a breath. “I don’t like upsetting them. Especially my mom. Sometimes it feels like they think I’m gonna kill myself or something. I’m not suicidal. I’m just…sad, I guess. And it’s not going away, no matter what I do.”
“Is that why you pick at your wound? To make the sadness go away?”
“I don’t know why I do it.”
“That’s okay. Last time you were here, you talked about not wanting to disappoint your parents, and today you said you don’t want to upset them. Would you say you spend a lot of time trying to keep your parents happy?”
Bria was impressed. “Maybe. My sister dropped out of college. Flunked out, actually. I’m their last hope.” And the fact that Bria knew this, and her parents didn’t, made everything that much worse.
“That sounds like a lot of pressure.”
“It is. And it’s not really anything they say. They say they’re here for me, and they support me, but…in the back of my mind, I know I don’t have any room to mess up.”
“And those times when you do mess up…what happens then?”
Bria had to think about it. “I guess I…I keep it to myself.”
“And how has that worked for you as a strategy?”
She scratched at her bandage. “It’s working so far.”
Dr. Meriwether stared at Bria’s hands. “You do understand that you don't have to be perfect, right? That nobody is perfect?”
“Yes. I know that in my head, but that doesn’t stop me from feeling like a bad person when I make mistakes.”
“Right. And we’ll work on that. But for now, I want you to feel free to mess up as much as you want in here. Okay?”
Bria smiled. A small one. It was all she could muster. “Okay. That sounds good.”
“And eventually, hopefully, you’ll be able to talk about that night.”
Bria’s smile faded. “Maybe.”
“Maybe. If you want. Now let me ask you this: when was the last time you made a mistake?”
Bria didn’t have to think hard, but she pretended she did. It was quiet; the only sound was the faint hum of Dr. Meriwether’s computer. The woman waited patiently—patience seemed to be her strong suit—as Bria struggled to get the words out. Finally, she spoke, and it was the truth.
“I lied to the police.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Thered“90”,encircledwith Ms. Beardon’s trademarked flourish, topped Bakari’s English Lit essay. He’d spent the requisite four to six pages deconstructingCane River,and he knew he had killed it the day he turned it in. Seeing that he was right brought a smile to his face.
Ms. Beardon saved her flourishes for special occasions—when she was blown away by a student’s work—so Bakari was happy. But his smile slowly faded when his gaze drifted to the bottom of the page. Right there, at the bottom, in small print, were the words “See me after class.”
As if he didn’t have enough going on. He’d spent the past two nights sleeping in his car. The morning after the first night, which was yesterday morning, his mother had texted him and told him to come inside once his father left for the day. She let him shower and brush his teeth, then she packed him a sausage biscuit to go. He felt guilty for his attitude and apologized to her, and he meant it.
He stayed after practice as long as he could that day, helping Coach Bryant clear the field and getting in an extra workout. He called Danielle from his car, but she didn’t answer. With nothing else to do, he went home.
Since he’d already apologized to his mother, Bakari was expecting a warm welcome. Surely she had told his father and convinced him he was being ridiculous. But all he got was his mom ferrying a steaming plate of lasagna and garlic bread out to the car. Then an hour later, she came to collect his plate and give him Halftime to be walked.
