Inferno by Robin Stevenson Page B

follow her down the stairs and back into the group room, where Shelley has been busy. A giant sheet of paper is spread over a long table. Little pots of glue are carefully placed every couple of feet, and markers, scissors and pastels are laid out at one end. At the other end is a cardboard box filled with pictures cut from magazines. I pick up a picture of a running shoe and turn it over in my hand.
    â€œWe’re going to make a group mural,” Shelley announces.
    â€œOh! Or maybe we could do a ‘zine,” Nicki says. “As a group, you know?” Her voice sounds different than usual, and I realize I’ve never heard her sound remotely enthusiastic about anything before.
    Shelley shakes her head. “Not a ‘zine. A mural. Something that represents our shared struggles and our combined strength.”
    Nicki ignores her. “Sylvie’s poems, Jasmine’s artwork, Parker’s weird conspiracy theories, my...I don’t know. I’ll write something. We could all write stuff. It could be called, um...”
    â€œOf course I’m in favor of young women finding their voices...” Shelley sticks the capped end of a marker in her mouth and sucks on it thoughtfully; then she shakes her head. “But I wouldn’t want some...project...to distract from the therapeutic focus of this group.”
    Parker sighs audibly and rolls her eyes. “It’d be good for our self-esteem, Shelley,” she says, straight-faced. “It’d be empowering.”
    I start to laugh. “Yes, Shelley. It’d be so
empowering
.”
    â€œWell.” Shelley looks around like she’s suspects she’s being made fun of. “I’ll think about it, okay? But for now...a group mural. Painting. Collage.”
    â€œI am so not into art,” Nicki says sullenly.
    â€œAt least we don’t have to talk,” I whisper to Parker.
    She rolls her eyes. “Want to bet?”
    Shelley smiles at Nicki as if she hasn’t just totally squashed her creativity. “So not into art,” she echoes, looking meaningfully from one of us to the next as if she is distributing Nicki’s words around the group. “Does anyone else share Nicki’s feelings? Let’s hear from each of you.”
    Parker calls me later that night. A lot later. I run for the phone, toothbrush in hand.
    Dad steps into the hallway, frowning, and shakes his head at me.
    â€œCan you come round tomorrow?”
    I think for a moment. Saturday. “What time?”
    â€œLeo says he could pick you up after dinner. We’re going to meet at my place.”
    My parents aren’t going to be too thrilled with the idea of some skinny, long-haired, older guy picking me up in his beater station wagon. “Umm, I don’t know.”
    â€œCome on. You said your mom made you go to that group tonight because she wants you to make friends.” She laughs. “So tell her you made some friends.”
    â€œMaybe.” I bite my lip, thinking. “Okay. But tell Leo he doesn’t have to pick me up. I’ll figure out a way to get there.”
    I spend half the night strategizing and finally decide to take Parker’s advice. At breakfast, I tell Mom that I’m going to meet a friend at the mall to catch a movie. A new friend.
    â€œReally? A new friend?” Her eyes are thoughtful.
    â€œFrom the group,” I say. “You know, the social skills group?”
    â€œWell.” She stares at me. I think she is torn between her suspicions that it is too good to be true and her hopesthat I might not be a complete loner forever. “That’s wonderful.”
    â€œYeah, I guess you were right.” I know this is overkill, but I can’t seem to stop. I’m not a good liar. When I’m nervous, I talk too much.
    â€œWhat movie are you going to see?”
    I have no idea what’s playing. “Um, some comedy.”
    â€œAnd your new friend...a