Page 131 of The Glass Girl

“I don’t care. Isn’t that against the rules? I’m supposed to be in isolation.” My voice is flat.

Being alone can really do a number on you.

“Yes,” she says. “But it’s a little girl. She says you’re her sister.”

From the phone, I hear a tiny voice say, “Bella, where are you?”

I grab the phone. Janet steps away but doesn’t leave.

“Ricci,” I breathe. “Ricci, are you all right? Where are you?”

Small hiccupping. “I’m at Daddy’s. I’m supposed to be with Mommy, but they trade me every three days now, since you went away. Whereareyou? It is Christmas Eve. Mommy said you’re on a school trip, but school is out, Bella.”

My heart sinks. She sounds so sad. And what an awful way to put it: beingtraded.Like a toy.

“Ricci…where is Daddy?”

“He’s right here. On the couch. He’s sleeping. Bella, I heard my friend’s mom talking at school and she said you’re in the hospital. Are you…going to die, like Grandma?”

A thousand knives pierce my body.

“No, Ricci, I’m not.” I take a deep breath. “I’m…I wasn’t doing too well, but I went away to get better. I’m not…I’m not going to die.”

She whimpers. “I knew you weren’t on a field trip. Field trips don’t last that long, and they don’t happen at Christmas. You would have sent me a postcard.”

“I would have. Ricci, where’s Vanessa? Is she there?”

A pause. “Vanessa hasn’t been here in a long time. Daddy doesn’t want to talk about it.”

I close my eyes.Daddy doesn’t want to talk about it.

“Are you coming home soon? Tomorrow is Christmas. Daddy didn’t get a tree. Mommy’s taking me to Agnes’s.”

“I—” I look up at Janet like she can help me, but she can’t. I know she can hear everything. She averts her eyes. I bet she knows if I got added time for attacking Charlotte.

“I’ll be home, but I don’t know when. But I’m not going to die, okay, Ricci? And I miss you so much.”

“I love you, Bella.”

“I love you too. Can you wake Daddy up, please?”

“Okay.”

I hear the phone thunking on something hard and then her whispering, “Daddy, wake up. Bella’s on the phone. Wake up, Daddy.”

“Bella? What’s wrong?” His voice is hoarse. “Are you all right?”

I suck in a breath.

“No, Dad, I’m not all right. I’m in rehab and one of my friends here died and another one OD’d and my baby sister called me to ask ifI’mgoing to die. I’m not all right. At all.”

“Bella—”

I cut him off.

“Listen to me,” I say, gritting my teeth. “You go out and get her a Christmas tree,right now.She issevenyears old. Then you decorate that tree with hertonight.There’s colored paper in the drawer in her dresser in our bedroom. Staple some rings, glue them, I don’t care. But decorate that tree. And if you didn’t get her any presents because you were too tired or you forgot or you thought Mom or Vanessa would take care of it, you take her to Walmart and buy her whatever the hell she wants.”

“Bella, listen—”

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