Page 129 of The Glass Girl

Phil’s eyes are wet. He clears his throat.

“Everyone,” he says, his voice faltering. “There’s been an incident.”

My stomach drops. Josh steps closer to me.

Tracy licks her lips. “Early this morning, Gideon was found unconscious in her room.”

“No,” I say. I step forward. Tracy holds up her hand.

Everything inside me drains away.

“What are you talking about?” Brandy says, her voice cracking. “Is she…d—”

She can’t even say the word.

“No,” Tracy says firmly. “She was unconscious, she’s been transported to the hospital, she’s being cared for.”

“But…how?” I ask. “Was she sick?”

“No, dummy,” Charlotte says, her voice thick with bitterness. “Grow up. She OD’d. Didn’t she, Phil? Tracy?”

Phil nods.

“But…like, how?” Brandy asks. “What was it?”

“Is she going to live?” I ask desperately.

Phil holds up his hands. “Too many voices all at once. Weknow only a little at this moment, but we wanted to prepare you before we get there.”

“This happens,” Tracy says. “Things get in. We aren’t perfect. People devise new ways all the time.”

“You got that right,” Charlotte mutters.

“But she was all alone in our room,” I say. “Didn’t they do a bed check or—”

“That’s why she probably did it,” Charlotte says. “Because we weren’t there. No one to bother her when she offed herself.”

I turn toward her, angry. “Are you saying she tried to kill herself?”

“Again, grow up,” Charlotte says, snapping her fingers in my face. “She’s not just going to take a tiny bit here and there in this place. She was supposed to get out in a few days, but she doesn’t have anywhere to go, remember? Her parents wouldn’t take her back.” She turns to Phil and Tracy. “Right?”

They nod sadly.

First Holly, now Gideon. My heart is racing.

“Why can’t you take care of people?” I spit at Tracy. “You say you do, but you don’t. Don’t you have something in place for people who have nowhere to go, after? That isn’t fair. Even with Holly, you knew she had nowhere but that…place. You knew her foster parents weren’t coming and you didn’t prepare her. She seemed happy. She had plans. She took pictures of me—”

“Bella,” Tracy says. “I know you’re upset—”

Beside me, Charlotte’s voice is cold. “Like this?” she asks, holding up her phone. “Pictures like this?”

My voice, slurred and feral, rings out in our small group, across the quiet desert.

Dyyyyyylaaannnn…

Look at me

Look at me

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