clock,
and the anime poster on my wall,
and the lava lamp I got for Christmas.
But they’re not there.
Then, slowly, the room comes into focus,
and I see Donya’s spiky hair,
and the rubber-soled socks on my feet,
and the wristband on my arm that says:
Patient #349817
And it feels like my heart stops
as I remember where I am.
UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
HarperCollins Publishers
..................................................................
Wednesday 8:00 a.m.
It’s time for group therapy.
I don’t have to talk.
But Roger says it’s better if I do.
He asks me to go first
and I decide to get it over with
because pretty much everyone
is squirming in their seats
dying to know what juicy business
brought me to Attaboys.
So I tell them my whole story,
about the bathroom,
and the pencil sharpener,
and Tara-the-Two-Face.
I’m not embarrassed to talk about it,
because everybody’s cutting at my school.
Even Tara.
I say how the girls like to compare
their scars
and their slits
and their checkerboard ankles.
We teach each other things, too,
like how to hide pins in our mattress seams,
and steal blades from a dad’s double-edged razor,
and how to break bottles in terry cloth
so they won’t make a sound.
And we share our best lies,
the ones that will fool any mother—
cat scratches,
bike wipeouts,
shaving nicks.
It’s kind of like a club, I say.
Sisters of the Broken Glass.
Roger raises up his hand, stop-sign straight.
He talks about making positive choices
and all that other kumbaya crap,
but nobody’s listening.
Donya sticks out her tongue
and I see a silver stud pierced through the tip.
It makes me think about the time
I jammed a sewing needle
straight through my earlobe
without even numbing it.
Pop!
I remember the tickly, fizzy way that made me feel
like drinking root beer on a roller coaster.
And the memory makes something go
click,
click,
click
inside my head like a trigger.
I start to fixate on the paper clip stuck to Roger’s folder.
The one with all those shiny, sharp possibilities.
I imagine the clip uncurling, transforming,
becoming straight and strong and stiff,
just like an arrow.
A few beads of sweat form on my neck
near the vein that beats faster every time
something really good or really scary is about to happen.
I bet I can swipe that clip when Roger isn’t looking,
and I have to bite the inside of my cheek
so nobody sees how excited that idea makes me.
Then I remember what Donya said.
How they can keep me here
even longer than 72 hours
for something as lame as a paper cut.
So I sit on my hands
and try to get a song stuck in my head instead,
and send screaming telepathic messages to Roger
to put that freaking paper clip away
before the click , click , click
shoots a bullet in my brain.
UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
HarperCollins Publishers
..................................................................
Have You Ever Tried to Quit?
Roger really wants to know.
He waits for me to answer,
then leans in and looks at me
with eyes so dark and doelike
they make me get all Bambi-ish inside
and for a split second I think about telling him.
But then something coils around me
like a boa constrictor
squeezing,
tightening,
crushing,
until I choke out the words to make it stop.
“I can quit anytime ,” I say.
Then I slump back in my seat
and stare at my laceless shoes
and wait for the snake to slither
back into my head.
UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
HarperCollins Publishers
..................................................................
A Girl Peeps Up from across the Room
“I’ve tried to quit,” she says.
I notice her scarred, bony arms,
her black, bulging eyes,
and the hollow sag of her cheeks.
She reminds me of the baby robin
that fell from its nest two
and the anime poster on my wall,
and the lava lamp I got for Christmas.
But they’re not there.
Then, slowly, the room comes into focus,
and I see Donya’s spiky hair,
and the rubber-soled socks on my feet,
and the wristband on my arm that says:
Patient #349817
And it feels like my heart stops
as I remember where I am.
UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
HarperCollins Publishers
..................................................................
Wednesday 8:00 a.m.
It’s time for group therapy.
I don’t have to talk.
But Roger says it’s better if I do.
He asks me to go first
and I decide to get it over with
because pretty much everyone
is squirming in their seats
dying to know what juicy business
brought me to Attaboys.
So I tell them my whole story,
about the bathroom,
and the pencil sharpener,
and Tara-the-Two-Face.
I’m not embarrassed to talk about it,
because everybody’s cutting at my school.
Even Tara.
I say how the girls like to compare
their scars
and their slits
and their checkerboard ankles.
We teach each other things, too,
like how to hide pins in our mattress seams,
and steal blades from a dad’s double-edged razor,
and how to break bottles in terry cloth
so they won’t make a sound.
And we share our best lies,
the ones that will fool any mother—
cat scratches,
bike wipeouts,
shaving nicks.
It’s kind of like a club, I say.
Sisters of the Broken Glass.
Roger raises up his hand, stop-sign straight.
He talks about making positive choices
and all that other kumbaya crap,
but nobody’s listening.
Donya sticks out her tongue
and I see a silver stud pierced through the tip.
It makes me think about the time
I jammed a sewing needle
straight through my earlobe
without even numbing it.
Pop!
I remember the tickly, fizzy way that made me feel
like drinking root beer on a roller coaster.
And the memory makes something go
click,
click,
click
inside my head like a trigger.
I start to fixate on the paper clip stuck to Roger’s folder.
The one with all those shiny, sharp possibilities.
I imagine the clip uncurling, transforming,
becoming straight and strong and stiff,
just like an arrow.
A few beads of sweat form on my neck
near the vein that beats faster every time
something really good or really scary is about to happen.
I bet I can swipe that clip when Roger isn’t looking,
and I have to bite the inside of my cheek
so nobody sees how excited that idea makes me.
Then I remember what Donya said.
How they can keep me here
even longer than 72 hours
for something as lame as a paper cut.
So I sit on my hands
and try to get a song stuck in my head instead,
and send screaming telepathic messages to Roger
to put that freaking paper clip away
before the click , click , click
shoots a bullet in my brain.
UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
HarperCollins Publishers
..................................................................
Have You Ever Tried to Quit?
Roger really wants to know.
He waits for me to answer,
then leans in and looks at me
with eyes so dark and doelike
they make me get all Bambi-ish inside
and for a split second I think about telling him.
But then something coils around me
like a boa constrictor
squeezing,
tightening,
crushing,
until I choke out the words to make it stop.
“I can quit anytime ,” I say.
Then I slump back in my seat
and stare at my laceless shoes
and wait for the snake to slither
back into my head.
UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
HarperCollins Publishers
..................................................................
A Girl Peeps Up from across the Room
“I’ve tried to quit,” she says.
I notice her scarred, bony arms,
her black, bulging eyes,
and the hollow sag of her cheeks.
She reminds me of the baby robin
that fell from its nest two
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