“We had a deal, remember?” She bends down to fetch the dented tissue box and sets it back on the edge of the counter. “I figured I’d meet you at the Wellness Center, but I ran into Miss Graham and she pointed me in this direction. Is everything…?” She trails off, and I appreciate not having to answer the question when it’s obvious that, no, everything’s not. “Do you need a moment?” she asks. I nod, and Dallas vanishes back through the door to wait.
I check my reflection in the mirror. Blue-gray eyes stare back at me—Da’s eyes—but their once-even gaze is now unsure, the blue made brighter by the red ringing them. My cracks are showing. I splash water on my face to cool my cheeks and rinse away any trace of tears, then smooth out the Archive paper and refold it properly before slipping it into the pocket of my shirt.
A few minutes later, when I step out into the hall, I at least look the part of a normal junior. Dallas is eating an apple and pretending to be interested in a Fall Fest flyer on the wall. Cash is front and center in the photo, wearing cat ears, dipping a senior girl with one hand and holding a sparkler aloft with the other.
“When you had me agree to therapy,” I say, tugging my sleeves down over my hands, “I didn’t realize it would be with you.”
“Is that going to be a problem?” she asks, ditching the apple core in the nearest trash bin. “Because it’s me or a middle-aged guy named Bill who’s nice enough, but kind of smells.”
“I’ll stick with you.”
“Good choice,” she says, leading me through a pair of doors and across the quad. The Fall Fest materials are scattered everywhere, and we have to weave through them just to get to the Wellness Center.
“I just didn’t realize you worked here, too,” I say as we reach the building and go in. Instead of heading toward the lockers, she leads me down a hall to a row of offices.
“Most nights and weekends I belong to the hospital,” she tells me as we reach an office with her name on it and go inside. There’s a chair and a couch and a coffee table. “During the week, I’m here. As long as we’re meeting, I’ll be taking the place of your Wellness class, since this is, in fact, addressing wellness of another sort.”
“And how long are we meeting?” I ask.
“I suppose that depends on you.” She slumps into the chair and retrieves a notebook from the coffee table. “How are the battle scars?”
“Healing,” I say as I sit down.
“And how are you?”
How am I? Three—possibly four—people have been dragged into voids because of me, my only theory as to why is crumbling, the assessor of the Archive is determined to find me unfit, and my nightmares are becoming real. But of course I can’t tell Dallas any of this.
“Mackenzie?” she prompts.
“I’ve been better,” I say quietly. “I think I might be losing my mind.” It is the most honest thing I’ve said aloud in days.
She frowns a little. “Still having bad dreams?”
“These days, everything feels like a bad dream,” I say. “I just want to wake up.”
TWENTY-THREE
BY THE TIME I get to lunch, everyone else’s trays are stacked in the Alchemist’s outstretched arms and they’re sitting in a circle, chatting about Fall Fest. I’m surprised to see Safia on the steps, Amber’s elbow locked through hers as if holding her hostage.
“Hey, we missed you in Wellness,” says Cash as I climb the steps. “What happened?”
“I had a meeting,” I say, sitting down in the gap between Amber and Gavin. I pick at my food, watching bits of rice slide through the tines of my fork. “What did I miss?”
“Let’s see,” says Gavin, who usually spends most of Wellness stretched out on a weight bench, people-watching. “Amber tried to teach Cash yoga, Wesley boxed, and Saf flirted with a senior running on the track and nearly face-planted.”
Safia pitches an empty soda can at his head.
“I’m so sorry I missed that,” I say with a small smile. And then, in response to her gold-eyed death glare, I add, “I mean all of it. I’m having trouble picturing Cash in any of those poses.”
“I’ll have you know that I do a mean sun salutation.” He proceeds to hop up and demonstrate something that I can only imagine is loosely related to yoga. Everyone laughs and cheers him on, but Wesley finds my eyes across the circle and gives me a questioning look, so I dig my phone out of my bag and text him one word.
Therapy.
Cash has taken his seat again after collecting a healthy amount of applause, and the group is back to talking about Fall Fest.
“What is it exactly?” I ask.
“It’s just a dance,” says Wes.
“Just a dance?” says Cash with mock affront.
“It sets the tone for the entire year,” adds Safia.
“It’s the official back-to-school party,” explains Gavin. “Tomorrow night. It’s always the first of September, and the senior class is in charge of organizing it.”
“And it’s going to be a blast,” says Cash. “There’s music, and food, and dancing, and we’re going to end the night with fireworks.”
“Of course it’s Hyde,” cuts in Safia, “so the dress code’s killer strict. Most people just stay in uniform.”
“But there are no rules for hair and makeup,” says Gavin. “Some people treat it like a contest to see how strange you can get without breaking dress code.”
“Last year Saf and Cash both went with bright blue hair,” says Amber. “And Wes embraced his inner goth boy.”
“Seriously?” I say. Wesley winks at me, and I laugh. “I can’t imagine that.”
“Crazy, right?” she says. “Anyway, you can wear wacky jewelry or weird makeup or neon leggings.”
“It’s kind of awesome to see everyone as a stranger version of themselves,” says Gavin.
“You’re going, right, Mackenzie?” asks Amber.
I shake my head. “Sorry, don’t think so.” I’m pretty sure my house arrest doesn’t have a school dance loophole.
“Hey,” says Gavin, addressing me. “Is everything okay?”
“Why wouldn’t it be?” I ask.
“I heard you had to leave class.”
Wesley’s brow creases with concern. “You okay?”
“Wow,” I say, glancing at Safia, “word does travel fast around here.”
“Don’t look at me,” she says. “To talk about it I’d have to care, which I don’t. But I did hear a rumor about you and Cash this morning in front of the—”
“What happened?” cuts in Amber. “In class?”
“Nothing,” I say. “I didn’t feel well, so I left.”
“Cash’s crappy coffee,” offers Saf.
“Hey,” snaps Cash, “I only buy gourmet.”
“The corner store doesn’t have gourmet, and you know it.”
Saf and Cash start bickering, but Wes isn’t so quick to drop the subject. Are you all right? he mouths at me across the circle, giving me a weighted look. I force myself to nod. He looks skeptical, but then Cash turns to him and says, “Have you decided yet if you’re taking Elle or Merilee or Amber?”