Casey
“You set me up!”
The screechy accusation reverberates in the hallway the next morning. I lift my head from inside my locker to find Ainsley barreling toward me, proverbial guns blazing.
“Oh, hey.” I give her a placid smile, then resume my attention on grabbing my history and math textbooks for first and second period. “You look nice today.”
“You bitch,” Ainsley spits out. “That was some sketchy shit you pulled yesterday.”
I tuck my books under one arm and shut the locker. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” I raise a brow. “Are you sure you’re not the one who’s been forgetting to take her meds?”
Her cheeks turn bright red. She’s conspicuously alone, her sidekick Bree nowhere to be seen. I bet she’s embarrassed about the way Lawson blew her off yesterday and doesn’t want her friends being reminded of it.
“I don’t know what game you’re playing here, but Lawson Kent is—”
“Is what?” I interrupt. “A friend of mine? Yes, he is.” My smile widens. “Are we more than friends? Sometimes.”
“Bullshit. Maybe I buy the friendship part, but there’s no way a guy like that would ever be with somebody like you.” Ainsley gains some confidence, her tone hardening. “If he fucked you yesterday, it was out of pity. Throwing a bone to the crazy psycho. He was probably worried you’d commit suicide if he rejected you.”
“Uh-huh. Keep telling yourself that.” I eye her in amusement. “Is there anything else you want, Ainsley? Because I’d like to get to class.”
She shoots me a furious look. “Just stay away from him. And stay away from me.”
“I will gladly do the latter,” I assure her.
Unfortunately, it’s difficult to stick to that when I literally sit behind her and Bree in history class. And I’m almost disappointed when Ainsley ignores me the entire time. Now that I’ve beefed up my backbone, I’m enjoying cutting her down. Sadly, she spends all of class staring straight ahead with her shoulders rigid.
Since they’re only two feet from me, I can’t help but eavesdrop on their conversation. They’re discussing the Snow Ball, which is being held at Ballard next month. Ainsley’s bitching about how unfair it is that only Ballard students are eligible for Snow Queen.
“So unfair. You totally would’ve won,” assures Bree, forever the suck-up.
“Doubt it,” Ainsley says modestly, and I roll my eyes at her back. “It’ll be a senior, obviously. Mila Whitlock. Or maybe Amy Reid. But Amy’s boyfriend can’t be king because he’s at Sandover.”
“Oh. My. God. Did I not tell you? He’s not her boyfriend anymore,” Bree gossips. “Gray says they broke up.”
“No way. Silas Hazelton is on the market again?”
I can’t stop a snort.
Spine stiff as a rod, Ainsley turns in her chair. “What?” she snaps.
“Nothing. It’s just adorable, the high value you assign yourself. First Lawson, now Silas… You really think you have a shot with these guys, huh?”
Her face turns purple with anger, but before she can retort, Sister Katherine shushes us and orders everyone to focus on their assignments.
In second period, I slide into my seat next to Jazmine, who grills me for details about my escapade with Lawson. We chat until Sister Mary Alice marches by with her ruler and waves it around in a threatening manner. I swear this woman gets off on corporal punishment. She must have been a bloodthirsty prison guard in another life.
Later, after the lunch bell rings, I head to my locker to find my sister waiting for me. Sloane runs a hand through her long, dark hair and gives me a guarded look. After last night, we’re still a bit cautious around each other. This morning at breakfast, she kept watching me like she was anticipating a sneak attack at any second.
“What is it?” I ask her.
“Dad’s waiting for you outside.”
My jaw falls open. “I’m sorry, what?”
“He tried texting you, but your phone’s off—”
“Yeah, because I was in class,” I interrupt irritably. “Why the hell is he here?”
“Hey, don’t shoot the messenger.” She backs away, shrugging. “All he said was he’s waiting for you outside.”
Crap.
It is never a good sign when a parent shows up at your school in the middle of the day. At least I know it’s not an emergency, otherwise he would have included Sloane in whatever this is.
When I walk outside and see Dad’s face, my suspicions grow exponentially. He’s leaning against the passenger door of his black SUV, sporting his tweed blazer and a stern, no-nonsense expression that tells me he means business.
I reach the bottom of the steps and approach him. “What’s this about?” I say in lieu of greeting.
He doesn’t miss that. “Hello to you too, sweetheart.” Opening the car door for me, he adds, “We have an appointment.”
I’m half a second from spinning on my heel and running into the school when I realize it would serve no purpose. Dad would just call the Reverend Mother and she’d probably personally escort me back outside.
So as reluctant as I am, I slide into the passenger seat and buckle up.
He rounds the vehicle and gets behind the wheel, glancing over as he puts the SUV in drive. “Sorry to just show up at lunch, but this was the only slot she had open this week. Otherwise we would’ve had to wait two weeks.”
I frown at him. “Who’s she?”
“Dr. Anthony.” Like a coward, he stares straight ahead, too afraid to meet my murderous eyes.
“Are you kidding me? This is beyond messed up, Dad. Would you ever do something like this to Sloane?”
“What do you mean?” He continues to avoid my gaze.
“You know exactly what I mean. If you and Sloane got into a fight, would you pull her out of school the next day and take her to a fucking psychiatrist?”
“Language, young lady.”
I ignore the reprimand. “It’s fine, Dad, you can avoid the question. We both know the answer is no. No, you wouldn’t do that. Because Sloane is the strong one, right?” Bitterness burns a path up my throat. “She doesn’t need a professional to poke around in her brain and try to solve why she would possibly get annoyed when her father loses his shit because she’s a few hours late after school.”
“This isn’t just about last night, Casey. Your emotions are all over the place. Waking up crying from nightmares one day, angry and insolent the next. Dr. Anthony can help you regulate—”
“Stop,” I order. “Just stop talking.”
The betrayal I’m feeling is enough to make my heart race. My hands are literally shaking as I press them flat against my thighs. I take a breath.
“You and Sloane are unbelievable,” I say flatly. “If I’m soft and show my feelings, there’s something wrong with me. If I’m hard and try to control my emotions, there’s something wrong with me.” I exhale in a sharp gust. “Just let me be me.”
He glances at me, sheer frustration darkening his face. “I’m trying to do that, sweetheart. But you’re not being you. This isn’t you. You don’t get detention—”
“Sometimes I do,” I interrupt. “Sometimes I get tired of being bullied and called a suicidal freak who drove into a lake—can you really blame me for that?”
“No, but…” He trails off, returning his gaze to the road ahead. “Let’s see what Dr. Anthony says.”
***
Dr. Anthony ushers me into her office thirty minutes later. Her practice is on the third floor of a brick building in Parsons, the second largest town within driving distance of Sandover. Calden, our nearest offering of civilization, does have a tiny medical practice and a vet clinic, but they’re a bit behind the times when it comes to psychiatrists.
She towers over me as she gestures for me to sit. She’s close to six feet tall, with the figure of a reed, no curves in sight. Her hair is cut short and streaked with gray. And though her face is angular, which ought to give her a severe vibe, she exudes warmth.
“It’s good to see you,” she tells me once we’re settled on the two plush armchairs facing each other. She’s not a please lie on the sofa kind of shrink. “How have you been?”
“You mean my father hasn’t filled you in on my total mental breakdown?” I ask wryly.
Dr. Anthony’s lips twitch in a faint smile. “Are you in the midst of one?” she counters.
“I didn’t think so. But the way he and Sloane are going on about it, you’d think I need to be committed.”
I lean back in the chair and draw my knees up to my chest, resting my socked feet on the edge of the chair. Dr. Anthony always asks you to remove your shoes in the reception area before coming into her office. I don’t mind it. It’s cozy.
“So, it’s been about seven weeks since I saw you last,” she says, watching me with those shrewd yet soft eyes. “Catch me up. Are you still being bullied at school?”
“Nope. They stopped once I started fighting back.”
She nods. “I see.”
“What?” I give a defiant look. “You don’t approve? Shouldn’t you be happy I don’t care what they think about me anymore?”
She responds with a gentle smile. “It’s not my job to approve or disapprove, Casey. It’s not my place to judge. But, going by our previous sessions, you did used to care what they thought about you. What they said about you. You cared very much.”
“Well, I don’t anymore.”
“I see.” She reaches for the yellow legal pad from the table next to her chair and uncaps her pen. “What do you think changed?”
“I changed,” I say simply.
Dr. Anthony watches me. Waiting for me to continue. It’s one of her tactics—wait the other person out until they cave and spill their secrets. I watched a documentary on police interrogations once where one of the detectives interviewed said that silence was the greatest tool in his kit. People don’t like stewing in silence. It’s too awkward, and our instinct is to make it stop. Fill the silence. And the more someone talks, the more details they let slip.
Apparently I’m no different, because I keep talking. “I’m developing a thicker skin. The new and improved Casey. The strong one.”
“I see.”
“Could you please stop saying that?” I grumble. There’s no condescension in her tone, only genuine understanding, but it still grates. “Look, you want me to catch you up? Here, let’s catch you up. I still have the nightmares, but not as often. I still can’t remember what happened at prom. Oh, but great news!” Sarcasm burns my tongue. “I found out who pulled me from the car that night. It was my best friend, Fenn, who, by the way, I started dating a few weeks ago.” I laugh darkly. “Didn’t work out, obviously.”
Her eyes widen. “Well. That is a lot to process.”
I hug my knees, ignoring the ripples of pain in my stomach. Every time I say Fenn’s name out loud, it causes a visceral reaction. It physically hurts.
“Would it be helpful to discuss it in more detail?” she prompts. “How it felt to discover your friend was involved that night?”
“He wasn’t ‘involved.’ He just showed up after the fact.” Frustration tightens my throat and I swallow hard. I drop my legs and curl my fists on my knees. “You know what would be helpful, doc? If you could help me remember what fucking happened that night.”
She doesn’t even flinch at my language, but I apologize out of habit.
“Sorry, I shouldn’t swear.” I bring one hand up to rub my temple, feeling even more frustrated. Stuck. “Why can’t I remember?”
“You suffered a head injury,” she answers, her tone soft and rippling with empathy. “And you were drugged. Either of those factors alone could have impacted your memory. Together? I’m not at all surprised you’re unable to recollect the events of that night.” She sets her legal pad in her lap. “Have you been meditating? Last time we spoke, you mentioned you would try meditation again.”
“I haven’t. Every time I do it, my mind wanders. The only time I even got close to remembering anything was when I did the guided meditation with you,” I admit. “That’s when I remembered the voice.”
“The voice saying you were going to be all right, that you were safe.”
I nod, my heart speeding up again when I realize I can finally positively place that voice. “It was Fenn. He’s the one who said it, while he was getting me out of the sinking car.”
A chill suddenly runs through me, a lingering phantom sensation that washes over me sometimes. My body remembers how cold that water was. The sickening awareness of it rising up to my neck, minutes away from completely submerging me. Drowning me.
“We still have thirty minutes left in our session.” Dr. Anthony searches my face. “Would you like to try another guided meditation?”
I swallow again. Then I nod.