“Stop,” she bit out harshly, cutting me off again. “Just stop.”
Tears filled my eyes, burning hotly. I scratched my arms, staring at her, trying to will her to believe me.
“The guy who brought you home told me he sent his own daughter to a special bootcamp for wayward teenagers.” She faced me fully, her expression sad, determined. “He gave me the number. I've already called them. The director wasn't there, but he's going to call me as soon as he's in.”
A gasp split my lips. “No. Don't do that. Don't send me away again. I just got back. Give me a chance. I'm trying to put my life together again.”
She remained firm and unbending. “If they'll have you, you're going. End of discussion.” With that, she left my room, shutting the door with a soft click.
I spent the rest of the weekend in my room. I wanted to call and check on my friends, but I was forbidden from using the phone. No way would I disobey Mom now. I didn't need more trouble. Besides, they had to be okay. One or all of the news stations would have reported if anything had happened to them. Not that anyone had reported on the attack.
Which made me think of Ryan when he'd said, “So the media reports everything now?”
Perhaps they weren't as open and honest as I'd assumed.
What else didn't I know about?
I sighed. Most of my time was spent drinking water. Sucking it down, really, unable to get enough. I stared at the holophotos on my wall, animated pictures of me and Jamie playing in my backyard. We laughed and hugged each other.
They'd been snapped before either of us had started using.
She'd been the first to try it. When she told me how it numbed her inside and out, I'd begged for a taste. I'd been so happy at first. I'd thought nothing could hurt me. Now I knew.
I left my bedroom door open and caught my mother walking down the hall a few times. She'd look at me and tear up, but she wouldn't stop. Finally, on her fifth trip, I tried to make her talk to me. I hopped from my bed and rushed to the door, hands braced on the frame.
“We can work this out, Mom. We just have to try.”
She halted abruptly, her back to me. She didn't turn around when she said, “We can't. We always end up here, with you strung out and me stressed out. I'm sorry.”
I didn't know how to respond to that because it was true.
She laughed bitterly. “Maybe if I'd been a better wife, your dad wouldn't have taken off and started another family. He would be here, and you would obey him.”
“We don't need him.” I hadn't forgiven him for the way he'd left us without warning. I hadn't forgiven him for not contacting us since. It was as if we didn't exist to him anymore.
A part of me missed him, yes. Sometimes I cried for him, wondering what I'd done wrong, wondering if there was anything I could have done differently to make him stay. But I still hated him with everything inside of me. He'd tossed me aside like garbage.
Tears welled in my eyes, but I wiped them away with a clipped flick of my wrist. “We just need each other.”
“Obviously, you need more.” She walked away from me then.
Dejected, I tromped back to my bed and fell onto the mattress with a deep exhalation. The bed fit itself around my body, adjusting to my programmed comfort level. “Do a good deed,” I muttered, “and be punished for the rest of your life. Yeah, that's fair.”
Despite being cooped up and bored, the weekend passed quickly and Monday—doomsday—arrived all too soon.
The director of the “special bootcamp” finally called my mom. When the phone rang, I knew. Mom was in the kitchen cooking breakfast, so she used the phone in there. I was shaking as I silently tiptoed into the hallway to listen.
“…drug addict,” I heard her say. “She's willful and disobedient. She sneaks out, steals, and no telling what else.” Bitter laugh.
A pause as she listened to the reply.
“I can't control her anymore, and I've lost the will to try.”
Hearing her say that to someone else, something…broke me. Made me feel unwanted, unloved. Like a nuisance. She was abandoning me just as my dad had done. Only this time, with her, it was worse. It cut deeper.
Dad had packed his bags, stood in the doorway, and said good-bye without looking me in the eye. She, the woman who had hugged me, promised to always take care of me, and cried with me through the dark days that followed, knowing the pain I was in, was now doing the same.
“Cs, Ds, and Fs,” my mom said. She must have been asked for my grades. “I know they're bad, but she's a smart girl when she's not using and her grades were getting better.”
So why are you sending me away? Give me another chance.
“Yes,” my mom said. “She's resourceful.”
Pause.
“Yes. She can be forceful.”
My brow wrinkled in confusion. What did that have to do with anything?
“Why are you asking me these questions?” Mom demanded, parroting my thoughts. “What does any of this matter? She needs help with drug use, not a personality adjustment.”
A few minutes passed, my mom muttering “uh-huh” every other heartbeat of time. Finally she hung up and I slinked back to my room, waiting until the tears dried from my eyes and I wasn't shaking quite so badly before heading into the kitchen.
I didn't want her to know I'd overheard, so I didn't mention the phone call.
She didn't, either.
When she served breakfast, I accepted with a polite “thank you.” I didn't know what else to say to her. What could I say?
“Eat and go to school,” was her only response. She marched to the sink to wash the dishes in dry enzyme spray, keeping her back to me.
I blinked in surprise. Had she changed her mind about taking me to camp then? Or had they turned her down and didn't want to deal with me, either?
I didn't know how to make her understand that I'd changed. I wasn't the addict I used to be. I'm trying, I wanted to scream. More than that, I still wanted to find Ryan—and Allison, too—drag them in front of her and force them to explain what had really happened that night.
Not that I fully understood what had happened.
“I don't want you to be late,” Mom prompted.
“Are you going to drive me?”
“Not this time.”
“All right then.” Silence. “I guess this is good-bye.”
“Yep.”
“I love you,” I called as I headed out the door and to the bus stop.
She didn't say a word.
I paused outside, waiting for her to say something at least. She never did. I tried not to let that bother me on the way to school. Cars whizzed past me. I saw old crumbling homes, then new homes with high-tech, robotic security systems. My mom always looked at those houses longingly when we drove past. We'd lived in a similar neighborhood when my dad had been with us.