Page 60 of The Glass Girl

I don’t remember it, I don’t remember it, I don’t rememberit.

“I’m going to sue,” my dad mutters.

Tracy says, “Legal issues are another matter and up to the parents to pursue. I want to concentrate on Bella right now.”

“I’m going to kill that kid,” my dad says under his breath.

“Bella,” Tracy says, ignoring him. “Let’s try again. Would you say you drink alcohol every day?”

The room is silent, waiting for me. I feel sick.

“No,” I say slowly.

“Liar,” Amber says.

“Idon’t,” I say testily. “You don’tlivewith me, you don’t know.”

“You guzzle cold medicine,” she says.

“What are you talking about?” I try to keep my voice neutral.

“You stayed over at my house a couple weeks ago. I know you didn’t really want to, but you felt like you had to so I’d shut up or something. And you said you were sick. You had a cough. You weren’t coughing, but my mom gave you some cold medicine and we decided to go to bed early. In the morning, it was all gone and I couldn’t wake you up. Do you think I’m stupid, Bella?”

My mother puts a hand over her mouth.

“Iwassick,” I say. “But I don’t know what happened to the rest. Maybeyour momis the addict, Amber. Maybe it wasyou.Maybe you aren’t so perfect after all.”

Panic is coursing through me.

“Oh my god,” Amber says, slapping her thigh. “I can’t believe you.”

I can feel a sheen of sweat on my upper lip and prickles in my armpits.

This is getting insane.

“Would you say you have a couple of drinks every day a few times a week?” Tracy’s pen is poised over her paper.

“Maybe,” I say. “I mean, who cares? Everybody does it.Daddoes it—”

My dad says, “Hey now, I’m an adult, there’s a difference.”

I ignore him. “I have to work and go to school. Like, I haveall As…well, I mean, I did. Anyway. It’s not like I can be wastedall the time.This is absolutely stupid, you know?”

Tracy’s pen moves on her clipboard.

“Have you ever blacked out, not been able to remember what happened the night before?”

“Well,” I say sarcastically, “obviously, yes. The other night.”

“Do you remember when you took your first drink of alcohol?”

I look down at my lap. I can’t answer that. I can’t. It will kill my mom.

“A little something sweet for my best girl,” that’s what Laurel said.

I don’t say anything.

“Come on, kiddo,” my dad says. “Let’s just answer the questions so we can get out of here and then we’ll move on, okay?”

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