I force myself up. Close my eyes. Open them. I'm outside my house, at my front door, and I'm trying to figure out how to open it because this is the moment I've been dreading and my fingers aren't working right.

After a second I get it.

I'm not inside two seconds when Bailey runs at me, barking happily. I pat him on the head. The dog who's decided to love me no matter what I do.

"Where have you been?"

Mom and Dad pussyfoot into the hall from the kitchen. I know they want to look scary and parental, but they just look pale and scared. And devastated.

"Where have you been?" Mom repeats. "Your guidance counselor called us this afternoon and told us you were talking about killing yourself?"

"Now, Lara," Dad says quickly. "She did say she didn't think Parker meant it--"

"It doesn't matter--you don't go around making jokes like that!"

She loses it for a second. Her face crumples and she cries and Dad wraps an arm around her. Bailey paws at the carpet nervously.

"Now, Lara, calm down--"

"Where were you?" She sniffles. "You know you have a curfew and you break it on the same day you're making suicide threats? Do you know what went through our heads when we got that call? We got you a dog, we thought you were doing better, you were doing your homework and now you want to kill yourself?"

They stare at me, waiting for an answer.

"I was at the mall," I say. "And now I'm going to bed."

"Jim," Mom says.

Dad steps in front of the stairs, blocking my path.

"Now just a minute, Parker. We're not finished here. What were you thinking, talking like that? Is this something we should worry about? I mean--" He squints, like he doesn't know who he's talking to. "If it's going to be like this, maybe we haven't been doing enough. Maybe we should get some real help here--"

"No!" Bailey scampers to the living room for safety. I count to three. "I'm doing my best, but you just need to back off a little, that's all. Everyone does. Just leave me alone, okay? That's what I want."

Mom reaches into her pocket for a Kleenex and blows her nose.

"And then what? You do whatever you feel like? No curfew? You run off to another motel two hundred miles away and end up in the hospital again--"

I really don't want to hear it, but she won't shut up, so I force my way around Dad, head to my room and slam the door as hard as I can. After a minute, I open it and call for Bailey. He comes barreling up the stairs and down the hall and I sit on the bed and pet him. As tired as I am, I'm too wired to sleep now because all I can think about is that chintzy seventies-style wallpaper at that motel, the last thing I saw before I closed my eyes, and when I opened them again the walls were white. Hospital white.

Because I had my chance and I blew it.

TEN

On Thursday, I sit through a meeting with Henley, Grey and my parents.

A few things are decided.

Instead of having to suffer through an entire math unit, I'll sit for a special test and we'll consider me all caught up and isn't that great?

Friday meetings with Grey are still on.

Henley shares Chris's concerns that I might have come to school hungover that one time, and I don't confirm or deny it.

I don't say anything at all, actually.

Mom and Dad fall all over themselves apologizing for the trouble I cause.

The school is too good to me, they say.

I don't think they realize how it sounds.

Friday, after history and before art, I find my name on the Honor Roll plaques hanging in the entrance corridor. Right at the top. Three years running, with distinction.

My parents used to love to tell everyone the story about the time I was in kindergarten and the whole class was coloring these pictures of flowers and every time I went outside the lines I demanded a new picture to work with. I was going to do it right even if it killed me. Fifteen attempts later, I had the best-colored picture of everyone. I still remember being hurt when the teacher made as big a fuss over my classmates' lesser efforts as she did over mine, which was perfect. Or maybe not as perfect as I thought.

Talk about your self-fulfilling prophecies.

"Parker? Is that you?"

The air leaves my lungs. This horrible feeling settles in the pit of my stomach and I decide I'm in school, but I am dreaming this. And then I turn really, really slowly and everyone else in the hall disappears. I'm not dreaming it.

Evan.

He stands before me, still as pale and anorexic as he was the day I saw him, but at least he didn't know I was there then, and now he's here in front of me and I can't speak. He pulls me into a hug and I feel his bones poking through his shirt and I think I'm going to be sick and--God, let me go.

He lets me go.

"Oh my God, Parker, it's so good to see you." He brushes a few strands of ratty black hair from his face. "How are you? Chris called me a couple times and he told me--I mean, are you still hanging in there and everything?"

I try to swallow, but my throat is totally closed and my mouth is unbelievably dry. I can't believe how long his hair is now or how awful he looks this close up.

My palms start sweating.

"Holy fuck!" a voice cries behind me. "Evan? Is that you?"

Chris and Becky hurry down the hall toward us and I think that means their "break" is over, but that's hardly surprising. Becky would never give up the most popular guy in school that easily. Her face darkens when she spots me, but she forces a smile and lets Chris drag her over by the hand.

"Oh my God--how've you been?"

Evan laughs and Chris gives him one of those jock hugs, one of those violent squeezes that end in a brain-rattling pat on the back. I expect Evan to break. He doesn't. "I can't believe this! Parker said she thought she saw you the other day! How long are you here for? Is it temporary? Are you going back to your aunt's or--and what the fuck happened to your hair?"

"Grew it out, man," Evan says, laughing self-consciously. Becky bounces up and throws her arms around him. They hug for a long time and I can see him breathing her in. I try to breathe in, but I can't. "God, Becks. Wow. You look great."

"So do you, Evan."

I can tell she doesn't mean it. And I know what she's thinking. She can't believe this is the guy she used to throw herself at all the time and he was always fending her off. Chris makes a few more exclamations of disbelief.

"So are you back?" Becky asks.

Evan shifts from foot to foot and smiles tentatively.

Oh no.

"Uhm, maybe. I mean, yeah. I had the time away that I needed and I've got an appointment with Henley and we're going to talk about me finishing out the year here. If I get the good-to-go, I'm coming back."

Chris whoops and claps his hands together and my head feels like it's going to burst and I can't breathe, so I just walk away from them and head to art. I'm the first person in the room. Norton isn't even here. I sit down at my usual spot, gasping. Get a grip, Parker. Just forget it. In. Out. The bell rings. Students start filing in. I bolt from my seat and wander over to the supply closet and pretend I'm looking for something. If I can do this to myself, I can make myself stop. It should be easy. Stop.

I'm coming back.

"This is humiliating."

"Trust me, this is hardly humiliating," the school nurse--Mr. Grant--says, as he takes my blood pressure. "And I can tell you about humiliating. You wouldn't believe some of the things I've seen here. This hardly registers."

"It was pretty funny, though," Jake says from his spot by the door. "Never pegged you for the swooning type."

"Fuck off. Why are you still here, anyway?"

"Hey now, enough of that." Grant gives me a hard look. "Okay, Parker, question time: did you eat breakfast today?"

I sigh. "Yes."

"But isn't crabbiness a sign of low blood sugar?" Jake asks. "No, I know what it is! It's okay, Parker; don't be ashamed. You're not the first victim of my dashing good looks. Girls take one look at my sexy face and it overloads their circuit boards. Should you write that down, Mr. Grant? She was looking at me when it happened."

Grant ignores him. "That time of month?"

"Agh!" Jake covers his ears.

I roll my eyes. "No."

Grant asks a slew of personal questions while Jake's ears are still covered, so that kind of works out. When Grant's finished, he fixes me up a Dixie cup full of water.

"So it's just one of those things," he says. Jake uncovers his ears. I nod and the lunch bell goes. "I want you to stay here until lunch is over and we'll see how you feel then." He turns to Jake. "Can you stay with her?" I shake my head while Jake nods his head.

"I can do that," he says.

"Good. I'll be back shortly. I have to inform Mrs. Henley of this, Parker. They keep pretty good tabs on you, you know."

I stare into the Dixie cup. "Lucky me."

As soon as Grant's out of the room, I set the water down, head for the sink, grab a swath of paper towels, wet them and work on getting the yellow paint out of my uniform. Of course it wasn't enough for me to just pass out in class--I had to take a jar of yellow paint down with me.

"Maybe you should just sit for a second," Jake says, watching as I furiously scrub my skirt. The paint had better come out.

"I don't need to sit."

"I was joking before. It wasn't actually funny," he says. "I think you scared the hell out of Chris. Norton didn't know what to think."

I wish he'd stop talking. The paint isn't coming out. I toss the sopping towels into the sink and kick the cupboard underneath it, leaving a black shoe mark in the wood.

This is so stupid.

Jake stares. "It's not that bad, Parker."

I don't even want to dignify that with a response, but I do give him a look he shrivels under. I breathe in. At least I can breathe in now.