Hi, Sparrow!” Dr. K says through the computer screen.

“Well, this is weird,” I say. Skyping with my shrink from summer camp—I don’t know a lot of other people who could say that. Then again, I don’t know a lot of other people. Her hair covers the camera as she peers into the computer.

“You there?” she asks, in that slightly loud way that older people have when they use a new technology. Like she’s trying to keep herself from shouting from Brooklyn to here. She leans back and comes into view.

“This is weird,” I say again.

“I know. Just give it time. In a few weeks, you’ll think it’s weird that you won’t have to turn on a computer screen to see me.”

“Man … a few weeks … ”

“Yup. So, what’s it like?”

“It’s only the third day, but I feel like I’ve been here forever. Even though each morning when I wake up, I’m surprised that this isn’t a dream or that I didn’t run away in the middle of the night.”

“The thought’s occurred to you, though?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“What’s going on?”

“Nothing.”

“Okay, can you give me some basics? Your dorm? Your roommate?”

“I’m in Nina.”

“Is that for Nina Simone?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Have you listened to her?”

“No.”

“Do it. Immediately. What’s your roommate’s name?”

“Spike.”

“Really?” Dr. Katz laughs, maybe a little harder than she means to.

I smile. “I’m sure her parents didn’t name her that. I’m sure her name is Mary or Becky or Staci or something, but she goes by Spike—even her mom called her that.”

“So, how are you guys getting along?”

“She knows everyone here already. Apparently she’s been coming here since she was in diapers. We haven’t spent much time together. She stays in her friends’ rooms until lights-out—staying away from the weird girl, I guess. By the time she comes back, I’m asleep.”

“What about in the mornings?”

“Um.” I can tell I’m about to get into some trouble. “Well, the first day I got up with everyone and there was this crazy line for the shower, so now I wake up really early, bring my clothes to the bathroom, change when I’m done with my shower, and then go back to the room.” I decide this is close enough to the truth.

“Do you and Spike talk then?”

“No, she’s still sleeping.”

“Sparrow, how early are you getting up?”

Crap. “I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do.”

“Yes, I do. I get up at four thirty. Regular wake-up is six thirty, so when I’m done with showering or whatever, I get back into bed and pretend to sleep until Spike gets up at six thirty with everyone else and leaves to brush her teeth in unison with her eight million best friends.”

“Then what?” It is not a good sign that Dr. K knows there’s more.

“I leave while she’s out of the room.”

“To go to breakfast?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah?”

Ugh. “No.” I pause, sigh. “Breakfast starts at seven fifteen, so for that half hour I go sit behind the cafeteria, on a bench there behind some bushes. There are always new cigarette butts on the ground; I think it’s where the counselors go to smoke so we can’t see them.”

“So, you go hide under the coats by the cubbies.”

“Basically.”

“Sparrow—”

“I know! I know, okay?”

“Okay. What do you know?”

“I know that is exactly what we talked about. I know I’m doing my stupid crazy thing in the same stupid crazy way. I’m hiding in the bushes; you think I don’t know that’s weird? That no one wants to be friends with the girl in the bushes?”

“It’s not that no one wants to be friends with her, Sparrow.”

“Then what is it?”

“Nobody can be. She’s hiding in the bushes.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t care about the friend thing. It’s not like I have much to compare it to. I was just hoping this wouldn’t be the same. But instead of Monique, it’s Spike, and instead of lunch anxiety, it’s breakfast anxiety. It’s all just the stupid same.”

“Well, maybe. But the thing that sounds the same to me is you.”

“I’m not turning into a bird.”

“No, but you’re trying to bolt. You’re scared. Which means you’re also angry, which means you’re about halfway through stacking up those bricks, one on top of the other until you’re the only person inside four tiny brick walls.”

“I like the walls.”

“Do you?”

“Well, I like them more than I like feeling this. The world isn’t your office.”

“No, but it’s not a shark tank either.”

“It feels that way.”

“That it does. I want you to try something. I want you to look for someone who seems like maybe not a shark. Look for something familiar. Maybe she’s wearing a Smiths T-shirt, or maybe she said something in class that you thought was cool but not enough people were listening, or maybe she seems shy and that feels easy; maybe she has Chocolate’s kindness or my loud laugh. Whatever it is, sit next to her. Can you try that?”

I nod.

“Okay, that’s our time, Sparrow. I’ll see you on here next week.”