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“Maybe he’ll be more open after this?”

“Maybe. Bet he still won’t cast me in his next
picture, though, the asshole.”

Something clicks into place. “Is that why you’ve
been doing all that stuff during group? So he’ll notice you?”

“Partly,” she confesses. “But it doesn’t seem to be
working, and I’m running out of ideas.”

“But aren’t you worried that everyone will think
you’re . . .”

“Just another Hollywood brat?”

Nailed it.

“Yeah.”

“I don’t care what anyone here thinks about
me.”

“But what if someone told the tabloids?” I say
without thinking.

My blood runs cold. Am I a complete idiot?

She shrugs. “I pretty much assume that’s going to
happen, these days.”

Is it possible to hear someone else’s heart beating
from this distance?

“It doesn’t bother you?”

“Sometimes . . . I guess I’m used to
it.” Amber stands and stretches her hands above her head, giving a big yawn. “I
think I’m going to turn in.”

For once, I’m happy to see her go. This whole
conversation has my blood pressure through the roof. Though, come to think of
it, maybe I could score some points here . . .

“Hey, Amber.”

“Yeah?”

“Try a dog next time.”

She smiles broadly. “Now why didn’t I think of
that?”

I
wake
up with my heart pounding, pounding, pounding. My first thought is that Amy’s
fallen down another K-hole, but the room is eerily quiet. Too quiet, in
fact.

I look over at Amy’s bed, listening for the sound
of her breathing. I hear nothing, and as my eyes adjust to the darkness, I see
only the tangle of her sheets.

I snap on the light and look at my watch. It’s 1:37
in the morning, a time when everyone should be tucked into their beds, fast
asleep. Hell, even the infernal crickets have stopped rubbing their legs
together.

Something about her absence doesn’t feel right.
Maybe I should go looking for her?

Why the hell do you care?
She’s not the mission.

But she’s been really nice to me. And she has those
creepy scars on her arms . . . maybe she’s in trouble.

Whatever. It’s your
funeral.

I step out of bed and creep quietly across the cold
floor toward the door. They do bed checks periodically throughout the night, and
I have a feeling that being caught out of bed is a punishable offense. By extra
sessions with Saundra, most likely.

I hold my breath and listen for sounds of life in
the corridor. Hearing none, I turn the door handle gently and say a little
prayer to the Gods of Night-Time Capers who have kept me out of major trouble
until now. If they helped me avoid detection when sneaking out of my parents’
house, my altruistic motives should be enough to keep me safe tonight,
right?

I look down the hall. The lights in the corridor
are dimmed, but there’s a bright light escaping from under the bathroom
door.

It’s probably just my two-in-the-morning brain
(which has had all kinds of bright ideas in the past, let me tell you), but
something about that light doesn’t feel right.

You going to go check it out,
or just stand there until you get caught?

I thought you didn’t want me to check on her?

Better to be stupid than
indecisive.

Can it.

I close the distance to the bathroom with a few
quick strides and open the door.

Jesus fucking Christ.

Amy is crouched on the floor in front of one of the
shower stalls, holding someone’s bright blond head in her lap. The shower is
running full blast, beating down on the unconscious woman’s pale, twisted legs.
And there’s blood,
everywhere.

“Amy, is that . . . ?”

She turns toward me. She looks terrified. “It’s
Candice. She tried to . . . I need help.”

The sight and smell of the blood escaping from the
horizontal cuts on Candice’s arms freezes me to the spot. I want to move, but I
can’t. I’m not sure my heart is even beating anymore.

“Katie! Please! Get help!”

My heart starts up again. I turn and wrench open
the door. Mary is standing in the doorway of her room across the hall pulling
her robe closed. Her gray hair makes a frizzy nimbus around her head.

“What’s all the fuss . . . ?” Her
mouth falls open as she gets a look at the carnage behind me. “Aw, shit.”

We cross each other in the hall, and I rush into
her room, looking for the white panic button. I find it above the lamp and push
it. Long, long, long. Short, short, short. Long, long, long.

Goddamnit! I did not
sign up for this.

I sprint back toward the bathroom. Mary’s on the
floor next to Candice holding a towel to her left wrist. Candice’s face is white
and her eyelids are fluttering. Amy is trying to rip another strip of towel with
her teeth while holding the wound on Candice’s right wrist closed with her
fingers.

I look down the empty hall. What’s taking them so
long? She could die, for Chrissake.

Wasn’t I just saying something
about a funeral?

You’ve got to be kidding me!

I think I hear the sounds of clattering footsteps
in the distance, and I run toward the end of the hall, my bare feet slapping
against the wood floor. As I turn the corner, I almost smack into Dr. Houston
and one of the orderlies. They’re wheeling a hospital gurney between them.

“This way!”

I lead them to the bathroom. Inside, Dr. Houston
quickly takes charge, tying tight tourniquets on Candice’s upper arms with
rubber tubes that he takes from his medical bag. The blood stops flowing, and
the orderly wraps a blanket around Candice’s torso and turns off the tap in the
shower, soaking his arm up to the elbow.

The bathroom is suddenly incredibly quiet, with
only Amy’s whimpers echoing off the walls. Mary is standing in the corner with
her arms wrapped around her chest and her eyes wide with shock. I realize that
my hands are shaking, and I ball them into fists to try to stop them.

“How long ago did you find her?” Dr. Houston asks
Amy.

“I d-d-don’t know . . .”

“Think. It’s important.”

“Ten minutes . . .”

He looks grim and turns to Mary. “Do you know when
she left your room?”

“Maybe half an hour ago. I was sleeping.”

“All right. Go back to your rooms. Someone will
come check on you later. Evan, let’s lift her.”

They lift a limp Candice onto the gurney. She looks
like the little girl she used to be.

I hold open the door so they can wheel her out. In
the distance, I hear the approaching whine of an ambulance. Mary follows them
down the hall, holding tightly to Candice’s hand.

I let the door close and turn toward Amy. “Are you
all right?”

She wipes her tears away with the back of her hand.
She leaves streaks of blood across her face.

“I’m cold.”

I walk to one of the other shower stalls and turn
on the hot water.

“Get in here. I’ll go get you a towel and a change
of clothes.”

She moves slowly toward the shower, and I head back
to our room. I change quickly into a fresh pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt, and
gather up clothes and some towels from Amy’s dresser.

When I get back to the bathroom, Amy is still
standing under the spray, fully dressed. The parts of her toffee skin that
aren’t covered by her sleeveless nightshirt are red from the heat.

“Amy?” I say loudly.

She doesn’t respond. I walk around the pool of
blood on the floor and reach into the shower to turn it off. I take her by the
hand and lead her out. She walks mechanically, like her consciousness has just
been transferred into a T2000.

“Amy, you have to get these clothes off.”

She pulls her nightshirt over her head and lets it
drop to the floor, then dries herself off with one of the towels I brought. I
watch her slowly come back to herself.

“How did you find her?” I ask.

“I went to the bathroom.”

“That’ll teach you.”

The corner of her mouth twitches and her movements
become more fluid. She slips into a pair of boxer shorts with hearts across them
and a long-sleeved T-shirt.

“Ready to go back to bed?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

We collect her clothes and towels and walk back to
the room. We climb into our beds and I reach to turn out the light.

“Do you think you could leave that on for a
while?”

“Sure.”

I turn onto my back and stare at the ceiling. All I
can see is the blood pooling around Candice’s pale, pale arms. I try to push the
image away, but it’s stuck, like I burned it into my retinas by staring into an
eclipse.

Christ. That was not on the fucking schedule. I am
so not equipped to deal with this. I can barely deal with the details of my own
life. What I wouldn’t do for a drink right now, or twenty.

“Amy, do you think she was really trying to kill
herself?”

She sighs. “I doubt it. She was probably just
looking for attention.”

“Why do you say that?”

“You need to cut vertically if you’re really
serious,” she says matter-of-factly.

Ugh. I guess an expert cutter would know.

Amy slaps her hand against the wall. “I can’t wait
to get the fuck out of here. Thank God I’m leaving tomorrow.”

“And yet she gives no thought at all to the fact
that her poor roommate will have no one left to talk to but Saundra.”

She gives a small laugh. “You still hating
her?”

“She might be growing on me.”

“Like mold?”

“Yeah, the infectious kind. Heck, I’ll probably
start wearing dog-wear soon.”

Amy yawns widely. “I bet we could make a fortune
marketing a whole line of dog-wear.”

“For all the Saundras in the world?”

“People
are
crazy about
their pets.”

“And yet they function like normal people.”

She snuggles down into her covers. “You ready to go
to sleep?”

“Sure.”

I turn out the light and close my eyes. The images
of Candice are waiting for me and there isn’t a drink to be found. I open my
eyes and listen to Amy’s breathing slow and even. I stare at the ceiling,
watching the shapes the moon and the clouds make. Sleep has never come easily
for me, and I’ve become well acquainted with the pattern of cracks above me, but
at least I’m not waking up screaming for my life every night.

I fall asleep counting moonbeams, and my
blessings.

Chapter 8

You Say Goodbye,
and I Say Hello

T
he next
morning at breakfast, we get word that Candice is fine and will be rejoining us
in a few days. The cafeteria is abuzz with talk of her, and Mary, Amy, and I are
very popular when it becomes known that we were somehow involved in the
drama.

I’m glad that Candice is going to be OK. As
annoying as she is, she deserves a chance to be well. And maybe now I can erase
the sight of her nearly lifeless form from my memory.

Not a chance.

After breakfast, Amy asks me again to go for a run
with her. And since it’s her last day here, I agree to do it.

“Are you nervous about leaving?” I ask as we walk
along the path cut into the rim of the property next to the gray stone security
wall. I’m wearing a pair of her running shorts that amazingly kind of fit me.
According to my weigh-ins, I’ve lost almost ten pounds since I arrived. Ten
pounds in eight days! Who knew rehab would be the best diet I’ve ever tried?

“Of course.”

“Are you worried you’ll fall back into your old
ways?”

She gives me a sharp look. “Geesh, Katie. Thanks
for the vote of confidence.”

“Shit, I’m sorry. You’ll be fine, Amy. I know you
will.”

“Thanks. You will too.”

Yes, I will. Just as soon as I get the hell out of
here.

“Right.”

She bounces up and down on her heels. “So, are we
doing this thing, or what?”

“Lead the way, Nike.”

We start to run at a medium pace. Moments later my
lungs are on fire, and I feel like I’m going to collapse. The tall pine trees
above us block out the sun, making me feel claustrophobic. I count slowly to a
hundred in my head, trying to distract myself, but it’s not working.

I stop suddenly and double over with a cramp.

“Are you all right?”

I clutch my aching side. I can’t believe anything
outside of childbirth hurts this much. Not like I’ve been through childbirth.
I’ve just heard it’s the worst.

“How long have we been running?” I pant.

She looks at her watch. “About five minutes.”

Five minutes! How can it only be five minutes? It
feels like at least fifteen, maybe twenty.

“How long do you usually go for?”

“Around fifty.”

Fifty? Ten times as long. Impossible.

“I think you should go on without me.”

“Are you sure?”

I take several deep breaths. It still fucking
kills.

“Yeah. I’ll walk it off and head back.”

“See you back at the room.”

She turns and jogs off easily, her thin frame soon
disappearing around the corner.

I sit down on a rock, trying to catch my breath,
rubbing my side until the pain begins to recede. How did I let myself get so out
of shape? Oh, right. One drink at a time.

You know, if I were a better person, I’d make this
time in enforced healthfulness really count and start an exercise routine. It
wouldn’t kill me, right? Even if this pain in my side feels like it is going to
kill me, it’s just because I haven’t exercised in years.

OK. Resolution time. I’m going to run every day,
and I’ll add a minute a day. So, that means six minutes tomorrow. Six minutes,
no excuses.

I can’t believe my side still hurts. Maybe five
minutes tomorrow will be enough, and the next day I’ll bump it up to six. Or
five and a half. We’ll see how I feel tomorrow. Five minutes for sure.

When the pain recedes I get up and decide to walk
for a while. I follow the path until it leaves the woods and crosses a meadow
full of new grass and wildflowers that smells like clover. On the other side of
the field, TGND is standing in the bright sun staring bleakly at the security
wall. She’s wearing a pair of worn jeans and a black T-shirt, and looks tired.
In fact, it’s the first time I’ve seen her that I haven’t been struck by her
beauty.

“Thinking about escaping?” I ask when I get closer
to her.

She keeps her eyes on the wall. “Do you think I
could make it over?”

“You have any superpowers I don’t know about?”

“Nope.”

“Then I’m thinking no.”

She smiles briefly before her face settles back
into bleakness.

“Amber, is everything OK?”

“No, but who fucking cares, right?”

“Don’t say that. Lots of people care.”

In fact, the whole world cares in a way. I wouldn’t
be here if they didn’t.

She shakes herself, and I can see the actress
taking over, her expression changing from bleak to bland.

She turns toward me. “Forget it. Whatcha you doing
out here, anyway?”

“I’m thinking about taking up running.”

She throws her head back and laughs.

“What’s so funny?”

“You don’t strike me as the type.”

“What’s the type?”

“Oh, I don’t know. More earnest.”

“OK . . .”

“I’m just thinking of this guy I know who runs,
that’s all.”

“Is he your boyfriend?”

“Oh no. I’m much too damaged for him. He thinks I’m
selfish. And spoiled.”

“Sounds like a real charmer.”

She smiles thinly. “He has his moments. What about
you? You with someone?”

“I’m in-between at the moment.”

Amber pulls a pack of cigarettes out of her pocket
and shakes one free. “You want?”

“God, yes.”

Those who can’t run, smoke.

I take the cigarette, and she hands me a bright
pink convenience-store lighter. I touch the flame to the end, inhale deeply, and
immediately start coughing.

“First time?” she says through the cigarette
clenched in her small white teeth.

“Of course not. It’s probably just the first
cigarette I’ve had without a drink in my hand since I was fourteen.”

Scratch that. I’ve never had a cigarette sober. Not
even at fourteen.

Amber inhales deeply and lets the smoke out in a
long stream. “Thank God we can still smoke here. It’s the only thing keeping me
sane.”

“Rehab: the last bastion of cigarettes.”

I take another haul and instantly regret it. Who
knew smoking without alcohol was this awful? I stub the cigarette out on the
bottom of my shoe and put it in my pocket. Maybe it’ll taste better later.

Amber looks amused. “That’s really very eco of
you.”

“I haven’t completed my deprogramming from my
hippie parents.”

“Lucky you.”

“Yeah, yeah. I was walking, you want to join?”

She shrugs her assent, and we walk in silence for a
few minutes. Now that I can breathe properly again, I can appreciate the clean,
clean air, even though my mouth tastes like the inside of a bar. When I get back
to the city, I need to get out of the city once in a while.

The path ends at the gravel road that passes
through the front gates. We stand in front of them, each of us lost in our own
thoughts.

“Do you think there’s a way to sneak out when a car
comes through?” Amber asks.

“That seems awfully risky.”

She gives me a reproachful look. “What’s life
without a little risk?”

“You’ll be able to leave soon enough.”

“Maybe not. My parents’ little court order makes
them the boss of me. I can’t leave until they say so, and they’re listening to
Saundra and Dr. Frankenstein.”

So, Amy was right. I’ve got to let Bob know about
this tidbit.

“Maybe you can get it lifted?”

“Fuck that. Court stuff always takes too long. You
gonna help me bust out of here or not?”

Sure, of course. I can just imagine the
conversation with Bob.
You helped her do what?

“I don’t think that’s a good idea. There were a
bunch of paparazzi waiting outside the gates when I got here. I assume for
you.”

“Those guys are still there?”

“They were eight days ago.”

“Fucking paps. Though . . . did you
get a good look at them?”

I try to recall the faces of the smoking men I
wasn’t good enough for. “I was kind of out of it when I
arrived . . . why?”

“I have an arrangement with a couple of them.
Sometimes I tell them stuff about me, and they turn the other way when I want
them to.”

I shudder at the thought of what she wants them to
turn away from, given the stuff she seems all too happy to have captured on
film.

There’s a loud clicking sound and the gates start
to open, slowly revealing a familiar green classic pickup truck.

Oh shit. I knew going outside was a bad idea.

I grab Amber’s thin arm and drag her off the path
behind some spruce hedges.

“What the fuck?”

“Shh!” I push her head down so we’re both hidden
from view.

I peer around the hedge. Zack and his wife, Meghan,
my high school frenemy, are getting out of the truck. He’s wearing a pair of
khaki gardener’s pants and a gray long-sleeved shirt. She looks like she’s on
her way to shoot a cover for
Martha Stewart
Living
—pressed tan pedal-pushers, soft pink cardigan, black headband
holding back her honey-blond hair. If I tried hard enough, I’m sure I could
smell her honeysuckle scent.

“Why are we hiding?” Amber hisses in my ear.

“That’s my ex-boyfriend,” I whisper back.

She gives me an incredulous look and then starts to
laugh.

“Shh! I don’t want him to see me like this.”
Again.

She slaps her right hand over her mouth. Her
shoulders shake with laughter.

I watch Zack give Meghan a loving kiss and a hand
into the driver’s side of the truck. He closes the door gently behind her.

“Who’s the girl?”

“Me in another lifetime.”

Meghan turns the key in the ignition, puts the
truck in gear, then stops and rolls down the manual window.
We need toilet paper,
I imagine her saying.
I
love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone else,
he obviously
replies.

Meghan rolls up the window and backs the truck
through the gates.

Amber nudges me in the arm. “Do you think he could
get us some blow?”

“No!”

Shit. That was way too loud.

“Who’s there?” Zack calls, looking wary as the
gates close behind him. This probably isn’t the first time he’s encountered
desperate patients in the woods surrounding the Oasis.

“Well, we’re busted now,” Amber says.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

I stand up slowly, tucking the loose hairs that
have escaped my ponytail behind my ears.

“Hey, Zack.”

His eyes widen. “What are you doing?”

Amber walks out from behind the hedge. “We were
thinking about escaping. You want to help?”

I hear a loud rushing sound in my head. I think
it’s the sound of my career being sucked away.

“She’s kidding,” I force out. “We were just taking
a walk.”

Of course, this doesn’t explain why I was hiding
from him for the second time in a week, but I’m hoping he lets that one
slide.

Zack squints at Amber, assessing her. His tanned
skin crinkles at the corners of his eyes.

“You’re Amber Sheppard.”

Zack is cute, but he never was that bright.

“And you are?”

“This is Zack.”

He shifts his gaze to me. “You’ve got a leaf in
your hair.” He reaches out and removes it gently. “There you go.”

I feel a shudder of memory from us in high school,
when we were the Golden Couple and the way we were felt like the way it would
always be. I ran away from that future, and if it wouldn’t mark me as a complete
freak, I’d turn and run away from him now. I might not make it very far, but
it’s the effort that feels important.

I tuck my arm through Amber’s. “We should get
going.”

Thankfully, Amber plays along. “Yeah, I’ve got a
performance to get ready for.”

Zack looks confused, but that’s OK. We turn and
walk down the road. When we’re not quite far enough away, Amber says, “What the
hell was that all about?”

I glance behind me. Zack’s pushing a wheelbarrow
full of dirt toward one of the flower beds that line the road.

“I think it’s called bad karma.”

A
my
and I are finishing up our lunch in the cafeteria when the sound of something
scraping across the floor grabs my attention. I turn to look. Carol is climbing
onto a chair near the entranceway.

I nudge Amy in the arm. “Check it out.”

She looks over her shoulder. “Oh shit.”

“What?”

“You’ll see.”

Carol claps her hands loudly to get our attention.
The din in the room dies down to a low murmur.

“Thanks, everyone. So, I’m sure you’re all in a bit
of shock from last night. Remember, if you need to talk it out, that’s what
we’re here for, OK? You just have to ask.”

She sends a sympathetic smile around the room.
Nobody looks like they’re going to take her up on the offer, even though it’s
been all anyone’s been talking about today. If Candice really was looking for
attention, mission accomplished.

“Now, as most of you know, Amy is leaving today.
She’s done some great work while she’s been here. She’s proof that the program
works if you work it.”

“Just get to it already, will you?” Amy mutters
under her breath.

“Get to what?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “You’ve got to hear it to
believe it.”

“As most of you know, we have a little tradition at
the Oasis, a special way we like to say goodbye. Will you join me up here,
Amy?”

Amy grits her teeth as she pushes back her chair
and rises reluctantly.

I wonder what this is all about.

Amy stands next to Carol and faces the room. She’d
probably look happier if she were facing a firing squad.

“Ready?” Carol says.

Several heads nod. Carol grins and begins
to . . . sing. A Green Day song. “Good Riddance (Time of Your
Life),” to be precise.

Where the hell have they sent me?

I look around the room, expecting this group of
cynical alcoholics and drug addicts to reject such a campy gesture. But to my
surprise, after a few measures, everyone joins in, even the stuffy Judge who
doesn’t seem to know any of the words. A few measures later, I even find myself
singing.