Chapter 28

A bedazzled sign beyond the gates of TropeTown Heights promises us awe-inspiring opulence, and I can’t disagree. As we strut along the yellow bricks of the main road, a light breeze caresses us with the intoxicating scent of rose petals. Each mansion exudes charm and beauty, with lavish details ranging from intricate latticework to imposing turrets.

One of the estates we pass features a hedge maze and a giant bay window through which I can see a movie-screen-sized portrait of a collie wearing a blue windbreaker and sunglasses, meaning the collie I met in the elevator my first day of therapy must be Legacy.

Angela encourages me to keep moving. “You can gape all you want on your way out.”

She turns down a picturesque lane bordered by a low stone wall stained by verdigris. It must be an intentional flaw, because everything else in this part of town sparkles with perfection. Weeping willows bend their leaves toward us on the path down the lane, blocking our view of Nebraska’s residence until we arrive at her wraparound porch.

Other than the lavender exterior, the house could pass for a southern plantation home with its stately columns and row of upstairs galleries over the porch. White wooden shutters frame the open French windows, and piano music drifts lazily from somewhere inside.

Angela presses the doorbell, Nebraska’s one acquiescence to modernity. Chimes go off and seconds later, the door sweeps open to reveal the mistress of the house.

“Welcome!” Nebraska ushers us into her foyer, but all my attention goes to the winding staircase behind her and the dome above her. She leads us back through her giant ballroom—a space featuring cherry hardwood and the blue crystal chandelier that Mandy mentioned that day in the cafeteria—and onto her veranda where all the girls sit at a rectangular dining table. I’m ecstatic to be in their company again. Alas, Zelda sits hunched over a notebook, writing, and doesn’t look up.

The table is set with delicate, painted teacups on saucers over lace, and a three-tiered pumpkin pie forms the centerpiece.

“I’ll be right back.” Nebraska picks up a pitcher and a coffee carafe. “With fresh beverages.”

Mandy pats the empty seat next to her. “Riley, this place setting has your name all over it.”

And it does. On ivory cardstock. Written in calligraphy.

Nebraska has put herself at the head of the table, next to me. Angela is at the opposite end.

While Zelda continues to scrawl and ignore me, and the other girls chat amongst themselves, Mandy leans in toward me.

“You missed all the drama,” she says in a low, breathy voice. But even when she’s clearly ready to gossip, she still comes off as innocuous as a fawn. It’s gotta be those eyes and those red, red lips.

“That’s okay, I’m sure there’s more to come.” I’m actually kind of amazed that the girls look so relaxed after this morning’s upheaval. It’s natural for Manic Pixies to recover their equilibrium quickly, but I’m still shaken from the arson and the encounter with Bridget. It seems that I’m straying from my programming. Am I developing complexity, or do I simply have a glitch?

“So, Nebraska threw this all together by herself,” Mandy says.

I’m impressed. Nebraska has some serious hasty hostess skills.

“But she complained about how the Council outlawed live-in staff because they now consider those Tropes degrading. Apparently she prefers the good ole days.”

Nebraska glides in with her refreshed beverages. She places the pitcher in front of Angela. She takes her place and sets the carafe in front of me. She pushes creamer my way. “Soy milk.”

Again, I’m impressed.

Angela clears her throat, loudly, and the conversation dies down. “We’ve all had quite a shock today. I’m sorry to report that I don’t have any additional information regarding the abrupt cancellation of your official therapy yet, but I’m committed to seeing you survive and thrive. While I’m no longer your therapist, I am happy to serve in a mentor capacity at your gatherings, if you’ll have me?”

None of us hesitates to affirm this. I’m touched that she cares enough about us to continue to work with us. And I regret ever thinking anything unkind about her.

“Also,” Angela continues, “I’d like to thank Nebraska for inviting us to meet here.”

“Oh, it’s my pleasure,” Nebraska gushes. “I do so enjoy entertaining my dear friends.”

George rolls her eyes at this. “Speaking of friends, my friendship bracelet has gone missing.”

I glance around the circle and notice everyone wears the bracelets George gave us. Does Nebraska have something to do with the mysterious disappearance of George’s bracelet? Judging from the expressions on everyone else’s faces, I am not alone in this line of thinking. No one accuses her of anything, though, not even George.

“Oh Georgina! You’re so delightfully scatterbrained!” Nebraska giggles. She stirs creamer into her coffee with a fork.

“How many times do I have to tell you not to call me that?” If faces were flamethrowers, George’s would be shooting fire right now.

Angela puts up her hand. “Girls! Let’s show one another respect. Okay? In my capacity as your mentor, I will still rely on my therapy background and methods, but I also want you to feel comfortable with me. If George wants us to call her George, then let’s call her George. Can you manage that, Nebraska?”

Nebraska’s eyes flash, but she nods curtly.

“Excellent. Now, I think it would be good for us all to continue in the same vein as before—sharing what led us to be in this group in the first place. And based on our schedule, Mandy is up today.”

Mandy folds her hands into the lap of her incredibly puffy white skirt. “But what’s the point of talking through our issues if the Council thinks we’re too much hassle?”

“Yeah,” I chime in, because this strikes the worried chord inside me. “What’s going to happen to us now that we seem to be on the Council’s bad side?”

“The Council’s primary concern is investigating the fire,” Angela says carefully. “Your primary concern is to figure out what has been holding you back from being your best selves. So let’s focus on you.”

I can hardly believe that a few days ago, I thought Angela was merely a tool of the Council. Whatever else is going on here, it seems clear now she’s committed to our improvement project.

She gestures at Mandy, who takes a sip of her water, dabs her lips, and says, “I’m here because I got too distracted by the drama in my personal life. You all know about this thing I have with Clark.” Mandy stares at her knees while she talks. “It’s like a bumper car ride I can’t seem to drive away from.”

“How many times have you broken up with him now?” Zelda asks. It’s so considerate of her to finally put away her notebook and acknowledge that the rest of us exist.

I sound bitter, don’t I? I am not used to unrequited crushes and the particular anguish that accompanies them. In my Novels, even when I have romantic rivals, I’ve always been cast as the heartbreaker, not the heartbroken.

Mandy bites her red lip. “Ummm . . . this is going to sound awful, but I’ve lost count. Maybe twenty-two times?”

“Dang, girl!” I pat her arm protectively. I knew Mandy and Clark have differing opinions on the usefulness of blown glass, but I had no idea their relationship has been this fraught.

“Why do you think you have trouble letting go of him?” Angela asks.

Meanwhile, Nebraska kicks up her legs over the side of the armrest and lies back in a swoon. Angela ignores her, so we do, too.

Mandy picks at her teal polish, chipping it off her pinkie nail in tiny chunks. “He’s so enthusiastic about me. I guess he makes me feel worth being enthusiastic about.”

“Your value is never in question,” Angela says with surprising force, like she takes it personally. “It doesn’t change based on whether other people appreciate you.”

Mandy shrinks into herself. “I wish I could believe that,” she whispers, so quietly I’m probably the only one who can hear her. She continues more audibly, “It always goes in a pattern. First, he smothers me. I feel like I can’t breathe, and I break up with him. For a few days, I’m full of resolve that I’m better off without him. And then, I get restless and lonely and unsure. He comes around and reminds me how awesome I am, and I take him back.”

“You are awesome!” Chloe high-fives her from her other side.

Zelda jumps out of her chair. “Yeah you are!” She rounds the table and pulls Mandy up for a hug.

“Group hug!” Sky squeals, and we all pile on until we spin like a carousel of celebration. George’s arm flails out and knocks over a teacup, which shatters on the marble floor. Angela regards us from her chair with a raised eyebrow.

Nebraska falls to pieces over her broken teacup. “It’s vintage!” she fumes. She turns on George with a clenched fist. “You did that on purpose.”

George backs away. “I didn’t!”

I tense as they face off. They’ve been revving for a full-on fight, and Nebraska looks ready to rumble.

“Everyone sit down,” Angela barks, and we scramble to obey like chastised puppies.

Nebraska unclenches her fist and snaps her fingers. Her purple tones of rage disappear, and she smiles sunny yellow. “It’s okay. People are always more important than things.”

Because her delivery comes out a tad too flat, I’m not convinced she actually means it.

“Well stated,” Angela says. “As a person, you have intrinsic significance. And while I like that you all are so supportive of each other, Mandy needs to stop relying on external validation—even that given by friends—and start practicing internal validation. Mandy—you said Clark reminds you how awesome you are, but why can’t you remind yourself?”

“I guess I can try.” Mandy’s pained expression reveals that she has her doubts.

“Why don’t we all try?” Angela pounds her palm on the table and the china clatters. “Repeat after me: I am awesome.”

As usual in forced public mantra repetitions, most of us mumble. It’s not that I don’t think I’m awesome, but isn’t it a mite vain to scream it at the top of my lungs? Nebraska has no such qualms. Her clear voice soars with confidence.

Angela shakes her head. “Is that the best you can do?”

“I am awesome,” we say. Louder now, but still reluctant.

“No pie until I’m satisfied with your awesomeness,” Angela threatens, hitting me right where it does the most damage.

“I am awesome!” And this time the blue chandelier in the ballroom quivers before the boom in my voice.