by Ari Goelman
In the meantime, allow me to help you separate fact from fiction. I have neither the ability nor the inclination to somehow ferret information from you. I’m here to assess the stability of your condition, help you become conscious of your own mental state, and ultimately prepare you to rejoin society.
Oh. Jeez. Really? My mistake. I guess I should just relax, then, huh?
(long silence)
We’ll talk again tomorrow, okay?
Whenever you want, Dr. Brechel. Just keep the laughs coming.
JOURNAL OF LAUREN C. FIELDING
Monday, October 6, 2031
Hi Dr. Corbin,
My mom gave me all your messages and told me I had to start writing more journal entries for you so you could tell if I’m getting better. Thanks for checking in on me! I’m sorry I didn’t send you anything last week. Honestly, I’ve been feeling pretty ragged. I’m still not feeling so great, but today my mom let my friends Riley and Gabriella visit, so at least I have something to tell you about.
Riley and Gabriella and I have been best friends since forever. You might even know Riley’s father—Blair Halston. My father says you and the rest of the people at Paxeon work really closely with the Department, and Mr. Halston is a super-bigwig at the Department.
Riley walked in and sat on the side of my bed. “Lauren! I can’t believe you chopped off all your hair.”
“Not me,” I said. “The hospital orderly.”
“It looks good,” Gabriella said. She put a bag full of papers on top of my desk. “You look like a sexy punk.”
“Hey, thanks!” Up until then, I’d been thinking I looked horrible.
Gabriella nudged the bag with her foot. “We already have a ton of assignments. I can’t believe how much harder eleventh grade is. With college visits and stuff, it’s like we have no time for anything but school this year.”
“You should have had the operation in May,” Riley said. “That way you could have skipped all your finals.”
“No,” Gabriella said. “They would have made her take finals in July, and she wouldn’t have had any summer vacation at all. Anyway, September is always the worst month of school. I wish I got to miss it, too.”
My mother swept into the room carrying a vase full of flowers. “Don’t be too jealous, girls. Lauren’s going to have to make up all the work she misses. These are beautiful, by the way. Look at what your friends brought you, Lauren.”
“Thanks guys,” I said.
“Riley paid.” Gabriella pushed some of my stuffed animals aside and flopped down on my beanbag. “But I helped pick them out.”
“I didn’t pay,” Riley said. “My father put me in touch with a florist friend of his, that’s all.”
“Tell him thanks,” I said. It’s great having a friend whose father is high up in the Department. Last year for Riley’s birthday, he got the three of us tickets to an FG concert that was sold out months in advance.
Riley shrugged. “Just imagine if you were a friend of Cedar’s—your mom would have needed a dozen vases.”
(This might make you think Cedar is Riley’s brother or something, but Cedar is actually her father’s dog—one of those super-fluffy white dogs. A Pomerian, if you know what those look like, Dr. Corbin. Riley is always talking about how her father likes Cedar more than her. By now even I know she’s joking when she brings it up.)
“Now, Riley—” my mother was saying, when her phone beeped. She looked at it. “Damn,” she said. “I have to take this. You girls remember that Lauren had major brain surgery a month ago. No music, no videos, and no loud noises.” She opened the door to Evelyn’s room, across the hall.
My sister, Evelyn, was sitting at her desk, typing on her computer. Most kids I know just talk their papers into their devices, but Evelyn still keyboards everything. She says it’s easier to catch careless mistakes that way. God knows why she cares—mistakes or no mistakes, she’d still be the smartest girl in our high school.
“Evelyn,” my mother said. “Did you hear me?”
Evelyn nodded without looking up. “You told them to remember that Lauren just had brain surgery. I don’t think they’re going to forget. Could you close my door, please?”
“No. I want you to make sure they have a very quiet, mellow visit.”
At this, Evelyn did look up. “What? For God’s sake, they’re sixteen. If you can’t trust them, just kick them out.”
My mother ignored her, putting on her headset as she walked away from us.
Evelyn sighed and turned to Riley and Gabriella. “You heard her. Keep it down, or I’m throwing you out.” She stood and closed the door to her room.
“Hi Evelyn,” Riley said to the closed door. “Nice to see you, Evelyn.”
Gabriella laughed. Then she asked me, “So did the operation work?”
“I don’t know,” I said.
“Did you hear that Bea Thomas grew an extra arm?” Riley patted her head. “Straight out the top of her head. It’s to help her reach higher shelves in the grocery store.”
“No way! That must look so crazy.”
Riley frowned. “I don’t think the operation helped, Lauren. Beatrice Thomas didn’t, you know, really grow a third arm. No one could do that.”
“It’s okay,” Gabriella said to me. “Maybe it’ll happen slowly.”
I peeked inside the bag of schoolwork that Gabriella had brought home, but just for a second. I’m not starting the makeup work until it stops hurting to read. “So what have I missed?”
“I bombed a trigonometry test,” Riley said.
“Me too,” Gabriella said. “Trig is a lot harder than geometry.”
I frowned. Math has always been like the one class I don’t need help with. I hope I don’t have to start going to tutors for math, too.
“Aside from classes, what’s been happening?” I asked.
Gabriella shrugged. “Jacob Kalish started dating Kee Ting Tam. Oh, and there’s this new guy, Sasha, who Riley thinks is hot. He lives right around here, actually.”
“Sasha is extremely good-looking,” Riley said. “There’s nothing subjective about it.”
“Oh—and oh my God!” Gabriella said. “You missed the whole deal with Dr. Newman.”
“Dr. Newman the history teacher?” I asked. My sister, Evelyn, really likes Dr. Newman, but he only teaches honors courses, so I’ve never had him.
“No,” Riley said. “Dr. Newman the sex offender who used to be the history teacher.”
“What?!” I said.
Gabriella shook her head, eyes wide. “Principal Abbott had an assembly with the whole school and he almost started crying when he talked about how Newman was a sex offender and we should call the police right away if we ever see him again.”
“I heard he abducted Peter … ah, what’s-his-name?” Riley said.
“Connelly,” Gabriella supplied.
“Wait,” I said. “Evelyn’s friend? Newman abducted Peter? Are you joking again?” Across the hall, Evelyn’s door opened a crack.
Riley shook her head. “Nope. That’s what I heard. And I haven’t seen Peter around for a few days. So it’s possible, anyway.”
Evelyn’s door slammed back shut.
“What?” Riley called across the hallway. “You don’t think Peter was abducted?”
Evelyn flung her door all the way open, so abruptly that I jumped. “Of course I don’t think Peter was abducted. At least not by Dr. Newman. Who—by the way—is definitely not a sex offender. I think Newman said some things in class that got back to the wrong people.”
“The ‘wrong people’? Do you mean people who work for the Department?” Riley was smiling as she asked this, so maybe she was joking. “Or, maybe, you think one of the sponsoring corporations had him arrested?”
“Riley!” Gabriella said.
“What?” Riley said. “You’re allowed to say anything you want in private, and anyway, my dad says it’s not against the Emergency Act if you ask it like a question.”
“Your father wo
uld know, wouldn’t he?” Evelyn said. Riley shut her mouth so suddenly you could hear the click when her teeth banged together. “And no,” Evelyn said. “I certainly didn’t mean the Department. I would never say anything negative about the Department or one of the sponsoring corporations who work so hard to keep us all safe.”
By the way, Dr. Corbin, just in case you don’t know: when someone mentions the “Department,” they almost always mean the United States Department of Security, Defense, and Well-Being. It took me forever to figure that out. I used to get really confused between “the Department” and department stores like Nordstrom and the legal department where my mother works. Why would you use the same word to describe three things that are so different? And why doesn’t anyone else find that confusing? Can your operation really help me understand something like that? I sure hope so! Anyway, the Department is the government agency that keeps us safe and makes sure another Emergency doesn’t happen.
“So who did you mean?” I asked. “When you said it ‘got back to the wrong people’?”
Evelyn stared past me for so long that I looked out my window, too, trying to see what was so interesting. It was a nice day, sunny, with the maple tree in our yard in full autumn colors. But there was nothing happening out there except for a squirrel running down one of the maple’s branches.
Do you have squirrels where you live, Dr. Corbin? I don’t know what happened, but during the Emergency it was like all the squirrels in Bethesda disappeared for a few years. It’s only now we’re starting to see them again.3
“I don’t know,” she finally said. “People who disagreed with him, I guess.”
“So you think that some people said he was a sex offender just because they disagreed with him?”
Evelyn made a funny face, like she had sucked on a lemon or something. “I don’t know, Lauren. Let’s talk about something else.”
“Good idea,” Gabriella said. “So Evelyn. What universities are you applying to?”
Evelyn blinked a few times. “I’m not sure,” she said finally. “I want to go to England for university, but my dad wants me to stay close to home. We’re still arguing about it.”
“Wow!” Gabriella said. “Do you mean like Oxford or Cambridge? You’re so smart you could get in anywhere.”
“I don’t really care where,” Evelyn said. “As long as it’s out of this country.”
“What’s wrong with this country?” Riley asked.
Evelyn took a deep breath and let it out. “Nothing that I’m prepared to say in front of you.”
“O-M-G,” Riley said. (That stands for “Oh my God,” Dr. Corbin.) “Just because I disagree with you doesn’t make me an informant!”
“Not yet,” Evelyn said.
“What?” I said. “What do you mean?” I turned to Riley. “Did you get a job? Are you going to be an informant?”
Riley frowned. “No. I’m not going to be an informant. I’m also not going to spend all my spare time alone in my bedroom, believing every conspiracy theory some dowdy loser posts online.” Then she smiled at Evelyn and said, “By the way, I love what you’ve done with your hair, Evelyn. What stylist do you use? You didn’t do that yourself, did you?”
It was nice of Riley to say, but honestly, Dr. Corbin, Evelyn just had her hair in a loose braid. It wasn’t even a particularly good one, with plenty of curls already escaped and falling over her face. She has red hair like mine—like mine used to be, I mean—but curlier. If she spent a little time on it, it would look gorgeous, but she mostly throws it into a ponytail or a braid and forgets about it.
I touched my own head, thinking of my lost hair, and accidentally brushed one of the scabs where you cut my head open. My scabs still hurt a lot when the painkillers wear off.
Evelyn noticed me wincing. “Okay,” she said. “Visit’s over. Lauren’s tired. Time for you guys to go.”
“I’m okay,” I said.
Evelyn ignored me. “Thanks for coming! Come again soon.” She waved her hand at my friends like she was shooing flies out of the room.
When they were gone, Evelyn sat on the floor, leaning against my bed. Her shoulders slumped.
“I just accidentally touched my scab,” I said. “I’m not tired.”
“I’m tired,” Evelyn said. “Tired of your friends. Sorry.” She picked up Mr. Piglet, one of my old stuffed animals, and put him on her lap.
Neither of us said anything else for a few minutes. This is pretty normal. Evelyn comes into my room all the time, and lots of times we don’t talk. Sometimes she brings her computer with her and does her work while I watch a video or something. This time she just hugged Mr. Piglet and sat there.
After a while I yawned.
Evelyn stood up and kissed my cheek. “Have a nap,” she said. “Dr. Corbin said you’d need lots of rest for a few weeks.”
“I know.”
“Just remember our rule,” she said.
“I remember,” I said.
She left, and I fell asleep. I slept for a few hours, until some little kids playing outside woke me up. Then my mother brought me some soup, and then I felt well enough to get all this down.
I have to say, Dr. Corbin, that so far I don’t think your operation has helped much. After I talked this entry into my tablet, I read it over twice, and I still don’t understand lots of what Riley and Evelyn were talking about this afternoon. Did Evelyn really think that some people who disagreed with Dr. Newman got him arrested as a sex offender? If so, wouldn’t that make her really mad? I don’t think she was really mad today. And why did Evelyn make Riley leave right after Riley complimented her on her hair? Does that make sense to you?
I’m so sick of not understanding anybody.
My head hurts and I’m going back to sleep.
Your friend,
Lauren
JOURNAL OF LAUREN C. FIELDING
Tuesday, October 7, 2031
Dear Dr. Corbin,
Nothing much to say. My head hurts, but not as much. I watched a lot of shows today, and even read a few pages from a novel we’re meant to read for English class. The Catcher in the Rye—have you read that, Dr. Corbin? So far I hate it. It’s all: blah blah blah, this person is phony, that person is phony. The author is such a complainer.
To be honest, I almost always hate novels.
At least with math you know where you stand. You learn what a right triangle is and from then on, you can always recognize a right triangle. It’s not like English, where you read a short story and you don’t know if the narrator is lying or telling the truth until the teacher tells you.
Anyway, sorry I don’t have anything more exciting to report, Dr. Corbin.
Your friend,
Lauren
CASE NOTES OF DR. FINLAY BRECHEL
December 4, 2031
Two days in. Given Lauren’s pronounced paranoia with respect to Dr. Corbin, I’ve asked Dr. Corbin to avoid all contact with Lauren, at least until Lauren’s mental state is more stable. Despite the privileged information that Lauren believes went online today, Dr. Corbin has continued to respect my wishes, casting further doubt (as if I needed it) on Lauren’s version of events.
I’ve also requested and been given access to the forms Lauren signed when she committed herself to the Paxeon Clinic. As Corbin assured me, Lauren freely committed herself to the clinic. I’m guessing that, in an unusually lucid moment, Lauren realized she needed help and also realized the best place to get it was the one medical clinic in the world with expertise in her condition.
My initial theory about what’s going on is this: a successful treatment of Lauren’s former condition left her ill-prepared for the routine dishonesties of everyday life. I understand from Dr. Corbin that she’s attempting to come up with a treatment that will roll back some of the changes in Lauren, mitigating Lauren’s paranoia without risking her cognitive gains.
Personal note—I need to keep a close eye on misplaced feelings of sympathy for Lauren. That skinny teenaged girl in
handcuffs and ankle cuffs has put at least two therapists in the hospital and permanently crippled one of her orderlies. Presuming the report is accurate, Eric Schafer, her former orderly, will never regain proper use of either his left leg or his right hand. (Which reminds me—I should visit Schafer to hear his version of events.)
That said, I would like very much to have more information on the background of Lauren’s case. In particular, why has Dr. Corbin invested so much time and so many resources? Corbin is one of the foremost researchers at Paxeon, meaning her time is quite literally worth millions of dollars per year. What has her so interested in Lauren? And, regardless of why she’s interested, why has Paxeon let her invest this kind of time in Lauren’s case? Paxeon didn’t become the foremost Department contractor by taking charity cases. I can’t help but think I’d have more insight into Lauren’s situation if I understood more about the treatment Dr. Corbin developed for her.
JOURNAL OF LAUREN C. FIELDING
Tuesday, October 14, 2031
Dear Dr. Corbin,
Today was my first day back at school!
You should be very proud of yourself! My head hardly hurts at all now, and I think I’m getting the hang of not believing everything people say. Like this morning, when Evelyn and I were leaving for school, my mom asked Evelyn, “What’s wrong?”
Evelyn said, “Nothing.” She didn’t look at my mother—just said “Nothing,” and walked out the door before my mother could ask anything else. And I thought to myself, That’s not true. That probably would have been obvious to any normal person, but before your treatment I would have shrugged and thought, Great! Nothing’s wrong with Evelyn.
I don’t know what’s bothering her, but something is definitely on her mind. Today was another beautiful fall day, red and gold leaves blowing everywhere, but Evelyn frowned the whole way to school. And all she wanted to talk about was her stupid rule.
One of the things that would be great if your treatment works is that I could finally forget all about the rules. Did my parents tell you about them? When I was a little kid, and my parents were just figuring out that I wasn’t normal, my father came up with five rules for me. The idea was that I would memorize the rules and they would compensate for how much I trusted everyone. Like Rule #1 is “Don’t get in the car with anyone not on the safe list.” Rule #2 is “No touches from anyone not on the safe list.” Over the years we’ve added rules, until now there are eight of them.
