by B L Teschner
“No way,” I answered with a shake of my head. “I’ll be a junior this year, which in my mom’s mind means it’s a year to focus on studying to be a senior. She thinks tennis would get in the way of having good grades.”
“I’m in sports and I have good grades.”
“That’s great! Most of the guys at my school just get the minimum grades you have to have to be able to play.”
He leaned forward across the table even more than he already was. “Well, I’m not like most guys.”
Lines formed around the corners of his mouth that added another dimension of cuteness to his smile. And gosh, he smelled so good, like some kind of after-shower body spray that jocks usually wore. As my heart noticeably sped up, I offered, “No, you don’t seem like most guys.”
“And you don’t seem like most girls.”
“I’m not.”
He kept his smile as he moved away from the table, relaxing back in his chair. “Honestly, I don’t have straight A’s. But I do have straight B’s.”
“Straight B’s are great,” I assured him happily. “I only wish I was allowed to get a B in a class. Maybe I could relax a little more.”
“And play tennis,” he added.
“Yeah,” I smiled. “But I plan on using the tennis courts here, trust me.”
“Can I play with you?” he asked with a hopeful look on his face.
“Yeah,” I nodded happily. “I would really like that.”
He smiled. “What state are you from, anyway?”
“Indiana.”
“Yeah? That’s not too far. Did you drive or fly?”
“My mom and I flew. What state are you from?”
He pointed at the ground. “This one.”
“Oh really?”
“Yeah.”
“At least you’re closer to home then.”
“It was still a long drive. And I feel like I might as well be in another state.”
“I know what you mean.”
Footsteps creaked down the hallway outside of the door. Our eyes widened in unison as we looked around for a place to hide.
Toby carefully pushed back his chair so it wouldn’t make a sound. “Quick, under the table!”
I listened and ducked down beneath the table with him, stretching my arm back up around the side and grabbing my book, sliding it off and holding it against my chest just as the door opened. Toby and I stayed silent in the muted room, our faces inches away from each other, our breaths reaching deep into our lungs as we worked hard to be as unnoticeable as possible.
The footsteps were slow and deliberate, as if whoever it was knew we were in there. I could tell by the pants that it was one of the two guards, either Troy or Steven, which wasn’t comforting at all. But honestly, there wasn’t one person of authority in this place that seemed trustworthy, especially after finding out that they didn’t help Blue when she desperately needed it.
Toby and I locked eyes as the guard passed our table. We both jumped in unison as his knuckles tapped above our heads on the solid surface like he was casually knocking on a door. Did he know we were under there? Were we supposed to come out now? I went to move but Toby’s head shook once to tell me no. It was a good thing that I listened, because the guard moved away, strolling along the other tables in the room, choosing to knock on random ones just as he had knocked on ours. A few minutes passed and he left, and we could breathe easier again.
“That was a close one,” he whispered. He laid down on his side, trying to make himself comfortable on the hardness of the tiled floor. “We should stay here a while. If he suspects anyone was in here he’ll probably be watching the door to see if anyone comes out.”
“I agree.” I joined him on my side, facing him, trying to maneuver my elbow so it didn’t hurt so much. I eventually gave up and laid down completely, bending my elbow and using my arm as a pillow. His eyes found mine, and we did nothing but breathe together and stay silent as the old building around us made random creaking noises as it settled in for the night.
“Your hair is pretty,” he finally said.
The compliment made me smile. “Thanks.”
I felt comfortable and safe, and I knew it was because of Toby. There was something about him, a kindness; a trustworthiness that exuded from him without any effort on his part. I was finally drowsy. My eyes closed and I drifted off to sleep, feeling the warmth of his breath reach the edge of my arm that was tucked beneath my head.
I woke to his hand rubbing up and down my shoulder. “Millie?”
My eyes fluttered. “Yeah? What’s wrong?”
He offered me a small smile. “Nothing. It’s been an hour; we should probably get back to our rooms.”
I slowly pushed myself up off of the uncomfortable floor to a sitting position, keeping my head ducked over so I didn’t hit it against the table above me. “You think the coast is clear?”
“There’s only one way to find out.”
He got out from beneath the table first and stuck his hand down, offering it to me so I could get up easier from the floor. I slid my hand into his grasp and delighted in the way his fingers closed protectively around mine. Once I was up, our hands stayed together as we crept to the door. Toby opened it and stuck his head out, looking up and down the halls.
“I think we’re safe,” he whispered back at me. We stepped out into the hall and faced each other. “See you at breakfast?” he asked as he squeezed my hand and let it go.
I tucked my hair behind my ear in my usual shy manner. “Yeah,” I smiled. “I’ll see you at breakfast.”
We parted ways and I went back to my room, remembering to check back on Blue first. I stepped into the quiet bathroom, hearing nothing but the sound of a dripping faucet. All the stalls were empty, even the showers. Blue must have gone back to bed. Walking back through the dark room, I tried to make out if she was in one of the beds where I knew she was at earlier that day, but it was hard to distinguish the lump of a sleeping person from the lump of balled-up blankets. I slid under my covers, resolving to dream about Toby and to look for Blue in the morning.
Five
Toby
Millie had a worried look on her face as she chewed on a piece of bacon and scanned the cafeteria. “What’s wrong?” I asked.
She swallowed and shifted her body toward me, her eyes still searching. “You know that girl Blue I told you about last night?”
“The one you found in the bathroom?”
“Yeah.”
“What about her?”
“Millie told me about her this morning,” Layla said. “She hasn’t seen her.”
My eyebrows lifted. “Really?”
Millie’s head shook. “No. I went back into the bathroom last night after you and I left the club room—”
“Which Millie also told me about this morning…” Layla interrupted with a grin.
With her cheeks slightly reddening, Millie’s eyes cut over to mine before continuing, “She wasn’t in the bathroom, and I couldn’t tell if she was in one of the beds or not. I looked for her in the room this morning and didn’t see her, and she’s not in here either.”
Dwayne and Connor joined the table, sitting down next to Layla as they had the last time we all sat together. “Who’s not in here?” Dwayne asked.
“There was a girl in the bathroom last night who was going through withdrawals from Percocet. She was so sick.”
Dwayne plucked a fork from the center of the table and instantly dug into his syrup-covered pancakes, cutting them into bite-sized pieces. “Man, that’s rough. I have a friend who went through pain med withdrawals. Said it was the worst thing he’d ever been through in his entire life. Kept him from getting back on the stuff, though, that’s for sure. I bet it’s even worse for street drugs like Heroin. Who knows? Maybe not. I’m sure someone in here knows.”
Connor took a bite of his toast. “What’s Heroin?”
“Man, I don’t wanna teach you about that kinda stuff,” Dwayne said before sticki
ng a bite of pancake into his mouth. He nodded at Millie. “What’s the girl’s name? Maybe I can ask around.”
“I don’t know what her real name is, but she said they call her Blue back home because it’s her favorite color. She was even wearing blue pajamas.”
Connor looked over one shoulder and then the other. “So maybe we should look for a girl who’s wearing blue?”
“I’ve already looked,” Millie said with a tone of disappointment. “She’s not here.”
The cafeteria quieted as Martha made an appearance. She was dressed in the same kind of skirt suit as yesterday; it was even the same color. Did she not change her clothes? Maybe she did. She kind of struck me as the type of person who kept multiples of the same outfit in her closet all lined up perfectly in a row.
“Good morning,” she addressed us happily. “I trust you all slept well your first night at the Mendukiah Center for Healing.” Layla and Millie exchanged glances. I knew what they meant; the mattresses were terrible. “Today you will start your group counseling sessions,” Martha went on. “Upon waking you should have seen a list on the door to your room that showed the time and place of your session. Please arrive on time as the counselors do not have time to wait for you, especially since they will be starting the other group sessions every hour on the hour. After your session is through, you have the entire day to partake in any of the wonderful activities we provide here. Just remember, lunch is to be had here right at noon. Do not be late.” With that she spun around and left, her lack of presence making the kids feel comfortable enough to speak again.
“Doesn’t she look exactly the same as yesterday?” Millie pointed out.
“I was thinking the same thing,” I said with a half-laugh.
Connor’s finger pointed excitedly in my direction, aiming over my shoulder. “Is that her?”
I turned on my seat and Millie did the same. “Who?” I asked him.
“That Blue girl you’re looking for.”
We all focused on a girl wearing a blue shirt carrying her empty food tray to the trash. “No,” Millie said. “That’s not her. She has short brown hair.”
“I’ll ask around too,” Layla offered.
“So will I,” I put in.
Millie tried to let it go, but I could tell there was a cloud hanging over her head. “Thanks, guys.”
* * *
“Toby Red.”
I raised my hand. “Here.”
The counselor, Dominic, stared down his nose at me, looking over the top of his glasses. “Yes, I know you’re here. I’m calling on you because I want you to start off the group session.”
I lowered my hand. “Oh, uh, sorry.”
He offered a small smile. “It’s fine. I know most of you are nervous right now.” His eyes scanned the large circle of teenage boys that he was sitting amongst. “A lot of you may not have ever had any counseling before, and I’m sure it’s harder speaking in front of other teens about it. But I assure you all, this is a big part of moving past the sin you are guilty of. Some of you are drug users; some of you are drug sellers. Some of you are alcoholics; others are steroid users…” The group of us couldn’t help but rotate our eyes to the gigantic kid in the circle with muscles like Arnold Schwarzenegger; even Dominic’s gaze lingered on him for a moment, his stare almost as bad as pointing a finger at him. “This group is made up of a lot of different areas of sin that we will explore,” he went on. His eyes landed on me once again. “So, Toby, why are you here? What is your sin?”
I cleared my throat. “Well, my offence is—”
“Sin,” he corrected me.
I inwardly rolled my eyes. “My sin is that I tried pot.”
The group was quiet, but a few of the kids were leaned back into their seats, smiling as if my offence was small potatoes. Technically, it was.
“And why did you feel the need to try the marijuana.”
I almost laughed, but I knew better. “Well, I felt the need to try the marijuana out of peer pressure.”
I got a few chuckles from the other kids, which made Dominic’s eyes dart around at them, their previously-round shape narrowing slightly. “That’s enough.” His voice was firm, and the ones who had laughed wiggled uncomfortably on their old wooden chairs. Looking back at me, he asked, “Peer pressure? How were they pressuring you?”
I shrugged. “They asked me if I wanted to try it.”
“Did they ask you just once or multiple times?”
“Just once.”
“And did you tell them no?”
“No.”
“Hmm.” He focused down at the clipboard in his hands and scribbled something on the piece of paper that was fastened to it. “So, it doesn’t really sound like they were pressuring you,” he said as he looked back up at me. “Does it?”
They weren’t pressuring me; I wanted to try it. But I wasn’t going to tell this douchebag that. “Peer pressure comes in many forms,” was all I could think of to say.
This time, he was the one to chuckle. “Let’s move on.” He lifted the top paper on his clipboard and stared down at it. “Robert Millen.” He focused over on a boy my age who was slouched down in his chair with one arm flung over the back of it, like he didn’t give a crap that he was here.
“Sup,” he answered.
“Can you tell the group why you are here?”
“Dealin’ weed.”
“Ah,” he looked back and forth between the two of us. “And can you tell me, does Toby’s experience with being offered weed in the way he had been offered it sound like peer pressure to you?”
Robert’s eyes cut up at me. He shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“Would you say you’re skilled in selling weed to your peers?”
He shrugged again. “I don’t know.”
“Do you sell a lot of weed?”
“Yeah.”
“So you should know, shouldn’t you?”
He bit his lower lip in thought. “I don’t know. The kids I sell to I usually don’t have to pressure. They’re returning customers. I have other friends who recruit the new kids.”
Dominic’s mouth lifted at one corner. “It sounds like you’re pretty proud of your little weed-selling business.”
His body language oozed with a cockiness that made my skin crawl. “I built it from the ground up; I make a lot of money.”
“As do your parents, for them to be able to afford to send you here.”
He offered his usual shrug. “So?”
“Do they spend a lot of time with you?”
“No but I like it that way.”
“Are you sure? Sometimes kids act out because they’re missing that wonderful interaction that only a parent can provide.” Dominic leaned forward in his chair, turning his body more in Robert’s direction. “Does your dad spend time with you? Hmm? What about your mom? Is she too busy selling real estate in Beverly Hills to ask you how your day at school went?”
For the first time, Robert seemed uncomfortable. “You know nothin’ about my family. I do what I want because I want to do it.”
Dominic leaned back in his chair. “Well, your parents obviously don’t want you to do it, or else you wouldn’t be here.” Once again, he lifted the top page on his clipboard and looked down at it, picking out a name. “Steven Sun. What is your sin?”
* * *
Millie
“Racing cars illegally, shoplifting, excessive partying, eating disorders, fighting…” Sarah took a moment to let that sink in. “Sound familiar?” No one said a word. “It should, because that is what you are all here for today.” She leaned back in the creaky wooden chair she was sitting on and crossed one slack-covered leg over the other. “I was a teen once, so I understand that there’s a lot of pressure to be popular. But it’s time to turn your lives around and head in a new direction. What do you say? Does that sound good or what?” We did nothing but stare at her like she was missing her head. She clapped her hands together cheerfully. “Good! We’re already off to
a great start! We can do this, you guys, I know we can!” She pointed at the thin Latina girl beside me. “Why don’t you tell us your name?”
The girl nervously looked around at us. “Michelle.”
“And what are you here for, Michelle?”
“Um, an eating disorder?”
“That should have been a statement, dear. There is no question about it, you have an eating disorder. I mean look at you, you’re skin and bones!”
Michelle immediately crossed her arms self-consciously over her chest and looked down at them. “I can’t help the way I am.”
“Oh sure you can,” Sarah rebutted. “We’re all in charge of our own bodies, aren’t we?” She pointed at another girl in the group, a young-looking one with short blonde hair. “And why don’t you tell the group your name?”
She stiffened in her chair. “Lori.”
“And what is the reason you’re here, Lori?”
“My phone.”
“Your phone?” She plastered on a gigantic fake grin. “Why don’t you explain to the group exactly what that means?”
She scoffed and rolled her eyes to go along with it; if we were allowed gum during counseling sessions, I had the feeling she would be chomping it aggressively and blowing bubbles. “It means my dad thinks I’m addicted to using it.”
“And are you?”
“No.”
“Do you get a lot of texts?”
Her lips pulled back with a satisfied smile. “You can say that.”
“How many per day would you think you get?”
“Hmm…” She tugged on a strand of her blonde hair by her ear as she thought about it. “I’d say about three hundred on a slow day.”
The group snickered. “Alright ladies,” Sarah shushed us. “So, Lori, you don’t think that’s a sign that you’re addicted to your phone?”
“Not at all.”
“And are your grades suffering?”
“A little,” she shrugged. “But that’s normal. I’ve never professed to be smart.”
