Page 58 of The Glass Girl

Tracy sits down and pulls a clipboard from a backpack next to her. “Let me start. This is going to be hard for everyone, but especially for Bella, so I’m going to ask you all to refrain from interruptions or shouting, okay? This is a listening and learning time.”

I look around the room. Dad. Mom. Amber. This person Tracy.

Oh my god. This is anintervention.Like those shows on television. Haggard, strung-out people slumped in chairs while their friends and family tell them what disappointments they are and how they’re going to die and…Oh my god. I cannot believe this is happening to me.

And it wouldn’t be happening if Kristen and Lemon and Gray-Tooth hadn’t dumped me at my house. This istheirfault.

Tracy looks at the clipboard on her lap.

“Bella, you came here five days ago because you drank so much alcohol you poisoned yourself. Blood tests show you were at nearly twice the legal limit. Other tests indicate that this isn’t an isolated incident. Your liver is already showing signs of damage, which is definitely concerning in someone your age. I think you’ve been drinking a lot, and I think you’ve been drinking for a long time. I think you’ve been hiding it for a long time. Based on the questionnaire you filled out and then ripped up, which I pieced together, it’s obvious to me that you have a problem with alcohol. You’re an alcoholic.”

I freeze, feeling my face start to burn red at all she’s said, like she found my diary and is reading it aloud.

On the plus side, maybe no one can see how red my face is because half of it is like a crushed eggplant.

“I am absolutely fucking not,” I tell Tracy, gritting my teeth, even though that hurts.

Beside me, Amber sniffles. She won’t look at me.

My mother is gazing intently at her lap. My dad is clenching his jaw.

“Okay, Bella,” Tracy says. “Tell me how many drinks you have on any given day. Were you truthful on the form?”

I shake my head. “I don’t…What is this? This is bullshit. Who even are you?”

“Bella!” my mother says sharply.

“Like I said before,” Tracy says, “I’m a counselor at a program for teens with substance-abuse and behavioral issues. I’m here to assess your problem with alcohol. How many drinks do you have in a day, Bella?”

“I’m not analcoholic,” I say, my voice rising. “This is insane. You saw my form. I just…like if there’s a party or something. It’s all normal. I didn’t have much to eat at Thanksgiving and I just had too much—”

Next to me, Amber shifts. “She drinks a lot,” she says softly. “She’s lying. She’s been drinking a lot.”

I stare at her, the blood draining from my face. “Thanks a lot, Amber.”

“Sometimes she calls me and the next day she can’t even remember,” she continues.

“That wasonce,” I counter.

She shakes her head. “No. Several times. Sorry. That was just the first time I called you out on it.”

My mother shifts in her seat. “I went to Grandma’s, Bella. Have you been drinking there? I talked to Mrs. Rabinowitz. She said she came over once and thought she smelled alcohol but was afraid to say anything, in case she was wrong. Was sheright?”

My mother’s eyes are so, so sad.

The way she’s looking at me is ripping me up inside.

“I think we’re blowing this out of proportion,” my dad says suddenly. “I mean, she’s been going through a lot. A divorce, her grandmother died…it’s been a real shitshow this year. And granted, maybe we haven’t been the greatest, most attentive parents—”

My mom’s voice turns steely. “Oh, really? ‘We’?‘We’?”

My dad throws up his hands. “And so it begins. The blame game.”

Tracy holds up a finger. “Deep breath, everyone.”

There is silence.

Tracy looks at me.

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