Of course, Alma was grounded. Big-time grounded. Maybe for-life grounded.
The next day, she slept, soundly and deeply, for the first time in a long time. When she finally woke up, she talked to her family, giving answers that seemed impossible but that were true nonetheless. They didn’t believe her, of course, not about everything, but Alma knew that she couldn’t lie anymore.
On Monday, Alma went to a doctor’s appointment where her burns were cleaned and redressed, but she didn’t go to school. Her parents were too worried to let her out of their sight. Alma didn’t blame them, but that evening, at dinner, she decided it was time for another Discussion.
“The old school psychologist is … gone now,” she said, “but I think I’d like to see someone else. I mean, I think it might help.”
Alma met with her new therapist, Vera, the very next day. Vera didn’t give Alma a butterscotch candy from her boot and she didn’t talk about quintessence or elements. But she listened, and she explained panic attacks again, and she talked with Alma’s parents and then with Alma about what she had already done and what she could continue to do.
It was, Alma thought, her second-best therapy appointment ever.