Page 172 of The Glass Girl

And the third sip

The one resting inside my mouth

Itchy to go down my throat and drop into the warm-

And-getting-warmer pool in my stomach

Is just swirling there, tipping over my tongue

Crashing against the sides of my mouth

The back of my teeth

—

It comes out with vengeance

Pushed by that anger

That somehow rose from the broken me

All over his shirt

All over the floor

And he jumps away, his shirt soaked

And they all look at me

I drop the bottle on the carpet

And pick up all the broken parts of me

(I can put them back together I know I can)

And run, run, run

One Friend Is All You Need.

Seek shelter. That’s whatthey said at rehab. Make one if you don’t have one.

I’m on the sidewalk outside the front of the house, breathing in the cold February air, then spitting frantically on the ground, trying to get the taste out of my mouth. I feel dizzy.

I look around. I sort of know where I am and I sort of do not. I just have to go around the block, right, to get back to El Con? My phone is in my pocket. I wrap my fingers around it. I stand there.

My mom was right. It was too soon. It will probably always be too soon.

“Bella?”

I look up.

Dawn is standing across the street, arms wrapped around herself.

We stare at each other.

I walk across the street.

“Bella, what are you doing here?”

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