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I look down at the running water, soap on my knuckles, a plate in my hand.
I finish washing, rinse everything, and set it all in the dish rack to dry. “We did our own dishes at the place. And cooked our food. If you didn’t make food and clean up, you didn’t get to eat. I would wash, Holly would load—”
A sharp pain shoots through me. I blink back tears.
I turn around. My mom is looking at me curiously, and I can’t tell if she’s sad or worried.
“We all helped,” I tell her. “I’m going to my room for a little bit, if that’s okay.”
“Ofcoursethat’s okay,” she says. “I’ll come get you later when it’s time to go out.”
“Go out?”
She nods. “You need some…things.”
Her eyes slide to the calendar on the wall.
It’s Monday. There’s a red circle around Thursday, and inside the circle it saysBella back to school.
I feel my bottom lip begin to tremble. I bite it to make it stop.
“A short first week back,” my mom says. “I talked to your teachers and your school counselor. Everyone agreed that would be best. Just two days. Take it slow.”
I look at the calendar again.
I look at Tuesday.Bella, hair appointment, 11:00 a.m.
Wednesday.Bella, doctor, 9:30 a.m.Bella, group, 6:30 p.m.
She has my whole week in red pen. A scheduled life.
“Right,” I say.
I turn around and walk to my room. Behind me, Bart Bingleheimer shifts and sighs in his sleep.
I sit on the floor.
Bella, school things. Bella, doctor. Bella, hair. Bella, group.
Bella, breathe,I tell myself.
What did I think? That I’d just come home and sleep for days before life really began again? It bothers me that she set all that up without asking me. I mean, I dye my hair in the bathroom. And I don’t mind how long it’s gotten. When I get bothered by it, I can cut it myself, like I always have.
I look at the tiny pink clock on my desk.
11:03 a.m.
I would be in group with Fran right now, and then meal prep, and then lunch and cleaning. Then gym and the stupid medicine balls, which got easier. The climbing wall, which Phil finally got me on. I managed to get halfway up before I demanded to go back down. And then and then and then…
But right now…there’s nothing. Just this eerily quiet house, my mother tapping away at her job in the kitchen, a strange dog asleep at her feet.
I feel itchy without something to do.
I grab my backpack from my desk chair and take out the folder Tracy gave me.What Happens After,it says on the front in lettering that seems entirely too optimistic.
Inside, there’s a stapled packet of papers.
On the top of the first one, it says,Congratulations, and welcome to the rest of your life.
