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Not fancy, kind of dumpy. A desk. Two old couches and some chairs, one of which has a duct-taped leg. Potted plant in the corner that looks rather thirsty. Posters taped to the walls chirpingYou matterandThe only way out is to lift yourself up.
I shove my hands into the pockets of my sweatshirt. My face is starting to throb. If I was back in the hospital, it would be medication time. Are they even going to give me anything?
I look at the posters again.
I do not matter. I’m as insignificant as this flattened piece of gum on the floor that obviously needs mopping.
Phones thwack into the bottom of the tub.
“You’ve taken my whole existence now,” Brandy says bitterly. “Happy?”
All the kids look at me. Brandy gestures to the bin. I shrug.
“No phone,” I say.
Tracy motions for us to follow Fran. Brandy slinks up next to me as we walk.
“How,”she says breathily, “are you even alive without a phone?”
I ignore her, because I’m too busy looking back at Tracy and Phil on their knees, unzipping and unlatching backpacks and suitcases, dumping out our clothes, toiletries, books, magazines, makeup. Everything is being piled on the dirty floor like our belongings don’t matter. On my other side, Holly whimpers, tears silently running down her face.
—
Fran is a walker-talker.
She’s hustling us down corridors and pointing things out, barely giving us time to ask questions or get our bearings. “Meal room,” she says, pointing to a small room with round tables and plastic chairs. “Breakfast, lunch, dinner, snack. Detox kids eat here until you go to General Population. Detox is three days of rest, physical tests, and mental health evals.” She points to a door to the left. “Activity room. Board games, cards, art supplies, movies, a sad selection of paperbacks donated from our finest local used-book stores.” She grins. “In Gen, we’ve got a rock-climbing wall, pool, trails, a gym. Lots of good stuff.”
This is sounding more like some sort of Olympics trainingcamp than rehab. But what do I know? I’ve only ever seen this stuff in the movies, and there, people mostly sit in chairs and cry and stare at koi ponds, and then they have an emotional breakthrough with the therapist of their dreams and end up perfect. Or at least slightly less damaged.
All this walking is exhausting. I don’t think I’m ready for…rock-climbing. At. All.
Back down the corridor and then outside, to a smaller building, this one brick, painted teal. The sun is slipping down the sky. It’s getting chilly. I look up and around. The drive was maybe an hour and a half, but we had to pick up those other kids, so I don’t think we’re that far out of Tucson. There are mountains in the distance, but which ones? The Rincons? The Catalinas? The Tucsons? Wherearewe?
Fran sidesteps into the teal building. Like me, Holly is lagging behind. Billy is next to me, studying his nails, which are colored black with marker. The tips are jagged from being chewed. Fran snaps her fingers at him.
“You’re the only boy in Detox dorm right now, lucky you, which means you’re bunking alone for right now.” She opens a door to a room filled with two sets of bunk beds.
“Sweet,” Billy says. “Like summer camp. Except without the kid who cries for his parents every night. Perfect.”
Fran beckons to me, Holly, and Brandy.
“Bella, Holly, Brandy, this is your room. Pick a bunk, don’t fight, respect each other’s privacy.”
She looks at all four of us.
“You can go in your rooms and rest before Search, and after that, we’ll do dinner.”
“Search?” Billy says, and for the first time, he sounds a little nervous.
“This is a drug and alcohol behavioral rehabilitation program, Billy. We have to do a body search before we can admit you. There will be two people in the room with you: a counselor, and a nurse who will do the search. If anyone has specific trauma issues that need to be addressed, please tell us and we’ll do our best to make you comfortable. But we can’t let you go any farther until we make sure you’re not holding anything at this very moment.”
“This is like a prison. And where would I even hide anything anyway?” Holly laughs nervously.
“No,” Fran says. “Not a prison. And you’d be surprised what and where people hide things. But if you’re here to get healthy, hiding something in your patootie isn’t the way to start, wouldn’t you agree?”
Brandy shrugs. “I don’t have anything to hide.”
Billy says, “I don’t have a patootie.”
