“It was stupid. I thought he took something of mine. He was in his room when I got back, and I couldn’t find my medication. After everything you’ve said about him, I thought he stole it, buthe didn’t. I found it in my bag and now I feel like a jerk. He probably hates me now.”
I hold my breath, waiting… waiting.
They burst into laughter. “That’s it?” Laura says. “That’s what you’re so upset about? Daniel hates everyone, sweetheart.”
“He does,” Ben adds with an encouraging nod. “And you’re not the first person to make that mistake, believe me. Seriously, he brings it on himself.”
I force a smile, hoping my expression is believable and makes it look like their encouragement is working. Hard to tell when my insides are still a tangled mess.
“Do you want to do something? Take your mind off it?” Laura asks. The offer is so shocking, I almost accept.
“Thanks, but I should probably get some sleep. I think that’s part of the reason I overreacted.”
“You’re still adjusting. It’ll get better,” Ben says, touching my arm. I swallow the instinctive recoil, relieved when they move toward the door, still chuckling about my “overreaction.”
Alone again, I drop back to the bed, my pulse pounding in my ears. That was close. Too close, and dangerously loaded with everything Daniel’s been trying to warn me about since the beginning. This is what he meant. This is the trap set by good intentions, why we can’t be friends. I have to distance myself before I destroy us both. Still, I can’t do it without an honest goodbye.
I sift through my desk and tear off a scrap of paper. Novels-worth of words pass through my head but none that will send my message without posing a risk if intercepted. How do you disguise, I don’t want to say goodbye? After multiple failed attempts, I settle on a simple sentence that only he’ll understand.
I peek into the common area of the suite and listen for evidence of my roommates. Muted giggles erupt from behindLaura’s door, proving it’s safe to slip out and into Daniel’s room. I scan the space, freshly straightened from the last invasion, and tuck the note beneath the toothpaste in his vanity drawer.
After scurrying back to the safety of my own quarters, I draw in a deep breath. Sinking against the door in relief, I feel better having made my choice. It’s the right one, the only one, and now that it’s made, it’s time to face reality. If I can’t leave like he wanted, I have no choice but to disguise my trigger.
Chapter 6: Actor
Clausen leads our next group session again. Daniel’s empty seat comes as no surprise either, and I force a brief conversation with Sara to distract myself and put on a show for the director. I feel his attention as I perform with an animated discussion about the previous morning’s group activity.
Typical generic themes dominate today’s class, minus the drama of personal attacks. I even do an admirable job of ignoring the empty chair, except for the occasional natural glance. After an excruciating hour of awkward silences, shallow responses, and nervous filler words, Clausen dismisses us to the morning activity. Sara and I stick together, continuing our earlier conversation about our previous lives and future hopes. In fact, it’s becoming obvious that she’s not just a prop in my scenes for Clausen. I enjoy her company and think maybe we can develop an actual friendship. But there’s no such thing as optimism at Madison Academy, as evidenced by the announcement of today’s mandatory boardgame triathlon.
“Are they serious?” I ask.
Sara rolls her eyes. “Unfortunately.”
“How old are we?”
“Last time there were prizes.”
“You’ve done this before?”
“Once a month.”
I sigh and scan the other students who appear to have similar opinions. How is this not daycare again?
“So is it true you’re in Birchwood?” Sara asks as we saunter toward our first “event.”
“Yes. It’s a great room. I got lucky.”
“They all are, but I hear Birchwood is one of the best. What’s it like living with Ben Dormand?”
Somehow I manage to suppress my disgust. “It’s okay. He and Laura keep to themselves for the most part.”
“He’s so gorgeous.”
I shrug.
“You don’t think so?”
“I guess.”
