by Ally B
Max high-fives me, and Graham rolls his eyes.
We work on our homework without much other conversation.
“I’ll see you later?” Graham asks me as I fling my backpack over my shoulder. I feel my heart grow warm as the corners of his lips turn upward.
“See you,” I tell him, following Max toward the cafeteria, thinking about Graham and his bright eyes.
Vulpecula
The Little Fox
“Jackson Cruz! You’re a monster!” Violet’s near-scream can be heard from the other side of the cafeteria, but she doesn’t seem to care at all.
“Vi, honey, it’s paper,” Kendall says softly, trying to calm her down.
“Has he no taste? No dignity?” Violet continues.
“It’s chocolate!” Tommy shouts over her.
“Who likes Milky Ways?” She shouts in Jackson’s face.
“People just like chocolate,” Jackson says quietly, clearly trying to hide his amusement.
“You really have no preference?” She slams her hands on the table.
“We’re going to have to send you back to where you came from if you don’t calm down.” Riley butts in, nodding his head toward Gabby and Ava’s table.
“Whatever underclassman.” She sticks her tongue out at Riley.
“I’m a junior!” He defends.
“You’re a five-year-old in Shrek’s body.” Violet fires back.
Everyone tries to hide their laughter, but Jackson loses it, and his stupid laugh makes everyone else follow suit.
“That hurt, guys.” Riley shakes his head.
“Riley, you’re hot, man. Don’t listen to tiny.” Tommy shakes his head.
“Call me tiny one more time—” Her threat is quickly cut off by Jackson.
“If I say Kit Kats are better, will you stop?”
“It’s possible.” She crosses her arms.
“I Jackson Mateo Cruz, of sound body and mind, admit that Kit Kats are superior to milky ways.” He puts his right hand on his heart and holds up his left.
“I don’t.” Riley shrugs.
“Whatever Shrek.” She sing-songs.
No one comes to Riley’s defense. Instead, the subject changes to homecoming.
“We’re doing pictures at Jackson’s house, right?” Max asks.
“Yeah.” Jackson nods. “Party there after, too.”
“Your parents aren’t going to be home?” Kendall chimes in.
“They’re going to Aruba on Saturday. Don’t get back until Monday.” He takes a sip of his water.
“I want to be your mom when I grow up.” Violet sighs, clearly in her own little fantasy world dreaming of white-sand beaches and none of the work pilots actually have to do.
“Little weird, Vi,” Kendall says, stabbing her salad with her plastic fork.
“I know, but I’ve committed to it.” She huffs, resting her head in her hands.
The rest of lunch is spent talking about the boys' soccer game and Kendall’s field hockey one. Hers is at 3:00 at home on Friday, right before the football game. The boys have their game on Thursday night. Second to football only during homecoming week, but that’s Emerson.
“Are we doing spirit week?” Kendall asks.
“You guys can. I’m going to successfully make it another year without costumes or face paint.” Tommy answers.
“Thomas. It’s your senior year.” Kendall scolds.
“Listen to your girl, man,” Riley instructs.
“Yeah, Thomas.” Violet laughs. “I agree with Shrek.”
“I’ll do spirit week if Jackson asks Vi to homecoming,” Tommy says definitively.
Everyone in the table looks at Jackson, waiting to see how he’s going to react.
“You can’t just put that on me.” He shakes his head, taking it surprisingly well.
Violet, however, looks like she wants to die.
“Fine. Max and Ava then. Either of you.” He changes his terms.
“You really suck,” Max says to Jackson. “Grow up and ask her.”
“I’m right here,” Violet speaks over everyone. “And incredibly uncomfortable with the current situation.”
“It’s Max’s turn to be uncomfortable now,” I reassure her.
“I’ve barely spoken to her.” Max rolls his eyes.
“But this government project is the perfect opportunity to get to know her better,” Violet adds.
“Jackson. Get on it.” Max instructs right before the bell rings, and we all go our separate ways.
“You should ask her,” I tell him as we take our seats in English.
“Maybe. I don’t know.” He shakes his head. “Don’t you not like her?”
“I don’t like her mom.” I correct him.
“I’ll think about it,” he says before turning to the front board, but I can tell by the look on his face that he’s thinking about something else.
Chamaeleon
The Chameleon
“I’ll text you after practice?” Max asks me.
“It’s really going to be fine,” I tell him.
“I know. You just haven’t been in a while. Maybe I want to know how the Brit is doing,” he says as we walk down the hall.
“Talk to you later.” I shake my head.
“Love you!” He shouts as we go our separate ways.
“Love you too!” I shout through the busy hallway as I push open the doors to the parking lot.
I don’t manage to beat the other students to the parking lot, so before I even dare to get in the line, I plug my phone into my barely-working aux cord and call my mom.
“What’s up, honey?” She asks me.
“What time is my appointment?” I ask her, pulling out of my space in line.
“3:30’” she answers. “But Doctor Hines said it’s fine if you’re late, just go right after school.”
“I think I’m going to go to work after,” I remind her.
“I called Jerry, and he said it’s fine.” Her voice is choppy as I drive underneath an awning. Great.
“I want to go in. He overworks himself.” I tell her.
“I know, honey. You’re sure you’re going to be all right after the appointment?” She asks.
“Pretty sure,” I tell her, desperate to get off of the phone before I pull onto the road. No distractions.
“Okay, love you,” she says.
“Love you, too,” I answer, quickly hanging up before pulling onto the road.
Doctor Hines practices in another small town about half an hour from Emerson. The drive there isn’t very interesting, it’s mostly just back roads lined with more pine trees and the occasional run-down house. The trees form a canopy over the entire road in some places, creating a tunnel of green with sunlight peeking through.
As I approach Blue Valley, the sides of the road are dotted with different farms.
There aren’t many farms around Emerson, but there seems to be a million in the surrounding areas.
I don’t have to parallel park at the office, thankfully. It’s in the center of town, but there isn’t much there, so they have room for a small parking lot next to the brick building.
I park my car and turn it off, taking a deep breath before unbuckling my seatbelt and opening the door. My feet carry me to the door, and I open it as softly as I can, but it still makes a weird noise and draws the attention of the people in the lobby. Thankfully, it’s only the receptionist and a blonde woman with a bob staring at her phone screen.
“Good to see you, Phoebe,” the receptionist grins.
“You, too.” I smile, completely forgetting her name. I know she’s been the receptionist here since I first started, but I’ve only been here without my mom a few times, and she always did the talking.
“Take a seat. Doctor Hines is with another patient right now. It’ll only be a moment,” she instructs, handing me a clipboard.
I sit down in an obnoxiously loud black leather chair and begin to fill out the paperwork. I thought I’d taken a picture of it the la
st time I was here, but a quick scan through my photos app proves otherwise.
I search my notes app for my insurance information, thankful that the note didn’t mysteriously disappear like the photo.
I scribble my information down on the sheet.
Name:
Age:
Phone Number:
Email:
Diagnosed Mental Illnesses:
Way to get right to the good stuff, Hines.
“Come on in, Phoebe.” Doctor Hines opens the door.
His office is white, but the white walls are covered in old band posters. There’s a bookcase behind his desk, but it’s nowhere near full.
I take a seat in the chair closest to the door, pushing the throw pillow to the side of the chair.
“How are you?” He asks, sitting in the chair across from mine.
“I’m good. How are you?” I ask him.
“I’m well.” He answers. “So, your mother said you had another attack?”
Right to the point, huh doc? “The song started playing at a party. It was under control in an hour.”
“Did you remember what I told you to do? What to focus on?” He asks.
“No,” I tell him honestly. “It’s hard to remember how to breathe, let alone anything else when it happens.”
“I know.” He nods. “Your mum mentioned meds, do you want to go back on them?”
“No.” I shake my head. “They make me feel super sluggish.”
He nods as he sits back, “I understand. I also know there’s some change happening in your life right now that could bring back all those memories from the accident when you were younger.” And now I know this isn’t about the party at all, it’s about my father.
“I’m really fine. I’ve only seen him twice. It’s not a big deal.”
“It is a big deal, Phoebe.” He tells me. “You can’t just push things like that aside.”
“It’s worked for me until now,” I half-joke.
“It’s definitely a coping mechanism.” He smiles softly. “Not a good one, though.”
“What do you suggest? Thinking about it all of the time so I can get more depressed?” I let out a nervous laugh. “That would make you some money, huh?” I add, in an attempt to sound a little less like I’m having a breakdown.
“You don’t need to think about it all of the time. However, you do need to acknowledge that these things are happening.”
“I acknowledge them. I just don’t think about them every second,” I reassure him.
“How about your other relationships?” He asks. “Your mom? Max?”
“Good. Mom works nights. Max is Max.” I tell him shortly.
“Any other important relationships?” He asks me.
I pause. “Other friends, nothing too big.” I shake my head.
“No boyfriend or girlfriend?” He asks.
“No… none of that.” I shake my head. I’m not lying. Graham isn’t my boyfriend. We’re just hanging out.
“It’s just been your dad and that song at a party?” He asks me.
“My father hasn’t been an issue,” I repeat. “Nothing wrong there. Just the song.”
“And you don’t want me to refill your prescriptions?” He asks.
“Nope.”
“So, you’re just here because your mum was worried?”
“You got it,” I tell him, crossing my legs.
“And you don’t want to talk about anything at all.”
“Bingo,” I answer.
“Then, you’re just here for fun? No after school activities you would rather be at?”
“I actually took off work to be here,” I tell him, eyebrows raised in amusement.
“I’m honored.” He chuckles.
“Great. Can I go now?” I ask him.
“Should we talk about some breathing techniques or something, so your mum doesn’t think I’m just taking your money?” He suggests.
“This is paid for by insurance.” I shrug.
“4-7-8 has worked for you before, right?” He ignores my joke.
“Yeah,” I answer. I’d used it a lot right after. Any time I got in a car. Or drove down that road. Or seen the ice cream place.
“And can you explain 4-7-8 to me?” He asks, his tone of voice more fit to speak to a toddler than a sixteen-year-old.
“In through your nose for four, hold for seven, out for eight,” I tell him.
“You’re not very interested in talking about breathing techniques, are you?” He asks.
“Not really.”
“Great, then we can talk about how ignoring your problems isn’t a good way to deal with them.”
“Breathing techniques are sounding pretty good right now.” I laugh nervously.
“You’re really trying to avoid talking about avoiding your issues?” His English accent rings through the small room.
“It’s not an issue! Really, my relationship with my father is fine.”
He nods. “Okay then. The pace is up to you. I can’t and won’t try to push you to do anything you can’t or won’t commit to. That’s a decision you have to make. I’ll see you next week.” He begins to flip through paperwork on the clipboard in his lap.
“Next week?”
“Your mum scheduled regular appointments once a week for the next two months,” he says casually.
“I haven’t come in regularly in two years. Why did she schedule—”
“She’s worried about the fact that your father was just released, and you’ve had an attack. I understand that you don’t want to accept that, but—”
“She shouldn’t be.” I feel as if I’m just talking in circles. “I see him once a week. He wouldn’t be in my life if I didn’t want him to.”
“Phoebe, after your accident, you kicked and screamed any time you had to get into a car for weeks.”
“Wouldn’t you?” I ask him.
“You worked through that and should be extremely proud of yourself for overcoming that obstacle. You can overcome the same with that song. Your father, the song, and that accident are very closely connected, Phoebe. I’d like to work with you on coming up with a way to avoid more in the future, and so would your mum, which is why you’re here today. But if you’re not ready—”
“And I’ve disassociated those things from each other. Is it really that much of an issue?” I ask. “I would love not to be made to feel like I hate my father, that’s what my other therapists have told me, he’s sick. It was hard enough to forgive him the first time, and you’re bringing it up a second?”
He looks at me sadly, like everyone else did back then. “Forgiveness is a gift you have to give not only him but yourself, Phoebe. Holding anger and hate for him inside your heart hurts you as well. You’ve worked tremendously hard to overcome that, and I know it has to be frustrating to feel like you have to do it all over again, but you and your future are worth it.”
“I’ve seen him a few times. I’ve yet to be disrespectful or carry any of that with me when I left him. Hell, I even stuck up for him when his family treated him like shit.”
I have no idea why he looks more relaxed now when I feel like I’m losing my shit, but he does.
“I’m sure he appreciates it. But he’s not your responsibility. He’s your father. You were his responsibility.”
Frustrated, I throw my hands in the air. “So what, I’m supposed to hate him now?”
He shakes his head no, “but it’s okay to be angry at him and admit it. It’s okay to stop feeling responsible for him, that’s not on you, Phoebe. We just have to make sure you’re ready to do that. And then, Phoebe, when you’re ready, you’re not supposed to do anything but be happy and breathe. You can only control you. So, let’s work on some techniques before you leave. One will work, I can promise you that, you’ve just got to keep breathing.”
All of a sudden, I feel exhausted. “It’s not always easy to do that.”
“Well, let’s work through it until it is.”
�
�Without meds,” I say adamantly.
He smiles and nods, “that’s the plan.”
Cassiopeia
The Queen
“How was the Brit?” Max asks as I back out of the driveway.
“Super-duper fun. I love therapy.” I say sarcastically, stopping at the light next to Mr. McCoy’s house.
“Was it really that bad?” He asks.
“My mom decided to start weekly appointments again,” I tell him.
“Is something up?” He asks, clearly concerned.
“No. She’s worried about Tom.”
“Is everything okay with him?” He asks as the light changes.
“It’s fine. I’ve seen him twice, and we literally just ate pizza and went grocery shopping. Then the family thing,” I tell him, nearly laughing.
“It is kind of a big change.”
“Thank you so much, Doctor Hines, be sure to put it in my file.”
“It’s a big deal! You ignore the big stuff a lot, Pheebs.”
“Are you a shrink now, too?” I ask as I make a right turn.
“A Phoebe Mitchell specialist, actually.” He laughs.
“You’re the first one I would tell if something was wrong. You know that. I’m really okay.”
“I’ll go to your appointments for you if you want,” he offers. “Wear a wig, talk about stars, and refuse to answer any questions. He won’t be able to tell the difference.” He grins, clearly amused with himself.
“And Anna Novák will ground my ass and lock me in my room for the rest of my life.”
“Then you’ll just have to grow your hair super long so I can come hang out.”
“Huh?” I ask.
“Like Rapunzel? Tangled? Keep up.” He huffs as he changes the radio station.
The rest of the drive to school is just talking about therapy, and Max scolding me about talking badly about therapy, which is oddly familiar and somehow comforting.
“When are you seeing him again?” Max asks as we walk into the school.
“Saturday,” I tell him.
“Aren’t you going to buy a dress Saturday?”
“After that.” I clarify. “Anything else you need to know about my schedule, I might’ve forgotten?”
