It's Kind of a Funny Story by Ned Vizzini

was a professional vomit-er.”
    “Craig, that is so gross.”
    But I don’t think it’s gross. I think it’s kind of a good idea. How does performance art get started, after all?
    Don’t let that distract you, soldier.
    Right, I won’t.
    You’ve made your decision and you’re sticking to it, is that correct?
    Yes, sir.
    The point of you being in this room is to say good-bye to your sister, is that not right?
    Absolutely, sir.
    I’m sorry to see it come to this, soldier. I thought you had promise. But you gotta do what you gotta do, and sometimes you gotta commit hara-kiri, ya know?
    Yes, sir.
    I hug Sarah. “You’re very sweet and smart, and you have great ideas. Stick with them.”
    “Of course.” She looks at me. “What’s wrong with you?”
    “I’m okay.”
    “You’re bad. Don’t try and fool me.”
    “I’ll be all right tomorrow.”
    “Okay. You like my kitchen?”
    She holds it up. It’s practically a blueprint, with the swinging quarter-circles for doors and the sink and refrigerator outlined in crisp, bird’s-eye detail. It looks like something someone would pay for.
    “It’s amazing, Sarah.”
    “Thanks. What are you doing now?”
    “I’m going to sleep early.”
    “Feel better.”
    I leave her room. Mom already has the warm milk for me and my place all set up in her bed.
    “You feeling better?”
    “Sure.”
    “Are you really, Craig?”
    “Yes, jeez, sure.”
    “Lean back on the pillows.” I get in her bed—the mattress is firm and real. I scrunch my feet under the covers and savor that feeling—fresh linen over your feet, bunching up in little mountain ranges. That’s a feeling everyone can enjoy. Mom hands me the milk.
    “It’s only nine o’clock, Craig; you’re not going to be able to go to sleep.”
    “I’ll read.”
    “Good. Tomorrow we’ll schedule something with Dr. Barney to help you. Maybe you need new medicine.”
    “Maybe.”
    I sit and drink the warm milk and think nothing. It’s a talent I’ve developed—one thing I’ve learned recently. How to think nothing. Here’s the trick: don’t have any interest in the world around you, don’t have any hope for the future, and be warm.
    Damn, though. There’s someone else I should call. I pick the cell out of my pocket and flip it open to the name that’s all caps. I hit SEND.
    “Nia?” I ask when she picks up.
    “Hi, yeah, what’s up?”
    “I wanted to talk to you.”
    “What about?”
    I sigh.
    “Ohhhh. Are you okay, man?”
    “No.”
    “Where are you?”
    “At home. I’m in my mom’s bed, actually.”
    “Whoa, we have bigger problems than we thought, Craig.”
    “No! I’m just here because it helps me sleep. Don’t you remember when you were a little kid, sleeping in your parents bed was like, such a treat?”
    “Well, my dad died when I was three.”
    Shoot. That’s right. Some of us have actual things to complain about.
    “Right, sorry, um, I—”
    “It’s okay. I slept with my mom sometimes.”
    “But you probably don’t anymore.”
    “No, I do. Same situations as you, I bet.”
    “Huh. What are you up to now?”
    “Home on the computer.”
    “Where’s Aaron?”
    “Home on his computer. What do you want, Craig?”
    I take a breath. “Nia, you remember the party that we had when we all figured out we got into Executive Pre-Professional?”
    “Yeahhhh . . .”
    “When you came to that party, did you know you were going to hook up with Aaron?”
    “Craig, we’re not talking about this.”
    “Please, c’mon, I have to know if I had a shot.”
    “We’re not.”
    “Please. Pretend I’m dying.”
    “God. You are so melodramatic.”
    “Heh. Yeah.”
    “I wore my green dress to that party, I remember that.”
    “I remember too!”
    “And Aaron was very nice to me.”
    “He sat next to you in Scrabble.”
    “And I already knew he liked me. But I had been putting off getting involved with anyone until I knew about high school, because I didn’t want it to distract