Page 105 of The Glass Girl

I close my eyes, listening to her voice, which sounds far away to me now. He couldn’t even reschedule a meeting for a, what, seven-minute phone call?

My mother is still complaining.

“Mom,” I say sharply, opening my eyes. “Stop, please stop. Just stop. I can’t…I can’t take it. Please just stop.”

“Bella? Bella, are you all right?”

kill me now,says the wall.

I get it. I do.

I miss her so much. I miss him. And I want nothing more than to ask her, in what little time I have left, how Ricci is, but I can’t quell this burning inside me.

“Mom,” I say, my voice shaking. “I don’t want to see you on parents day. I don’t want to see Dad. I don’t want to listen to the both of you complain about each other any more in front of me. I don’t want to sit at a table at parents day and not have him show up and if he does, to listen to you be mad at each other when I am literally in a drug rehab because I almostdied.I am so sorry I was even born right now, you have no idea. So don’t come. Please. I’m begging you.”

“Bella, baby, n—”

I hang up the phone.

I open the desk drawers, looking for something, anything. Ifeel around. My fingers close on a pencil shoved far at the back of one.

already dead,I write, even smaller, underkill me now.

The door pops open. I drop the pencil, kick it under the desk. Wipe my face.

Fran says, “You need a tissue?”

She holds out a box.

“No,” I say. “I do not.

Bite my lip.

“You ready for Dad now?” she asks gently.

I stand up.

“He’s in a meeting. Maybe you can call and leave a message and he’ll get back to you. If he can fit you in.”

“Oh, Bella,” Fran says. She touches my shoulder. I brush her hand off, squeeze past her and her stupid tissue box and walk as quickly as I can down the hall, turn the corner, and run into our bathroom.

I lean against the wall, hot and cold at the same time. Bang the back of my head a little against the tiles to try and clear it.

The first time we talk, and all she did was complain about him. And ask if I was mad ather.And he could not even be bothered to make time forme.

God, there’s nothing in here to break. Even the mirrors are a weird texture; not glass.

I take deep breaths.Wren, sparrow, bullshit, bullshit.

In between my breaths, I hear gulping sounds.

“Hello,” I say. “Anybody here?”

I kick off the wall and walk down the stalls and shower cubes. In the last shower cube, I lean down, peeking under the curtain. A body, all in black, curled up, making sounds.

I yank the curtain open. Holly’s head whips up toward me.

But her hand is moving, even as she’s looking directly at my face, her eyes wide and frantic.

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