Page 75 of The Glass Girl

“Damn, girl,” Billy says, standing against the wall for Tracy. “And you’re still not better?”

“It’s not about being better, Billy. It’s about managing your addictions and behavior,” Tracy says. She holds the camera up to her eye.

“I’m not addicted,” Billy says. “I manage my pharmaceutical behavior just fine, thanks. I’m only here to do the time for my crime, ma’am.”

He sticks out his tongue. Tracy hands him his photograph, then motions to me.

“You signed the booklet,” she says evenly. “This is a required part of the program.”

“Lookat me,” I say. “I don’t want to.”

She gestures to the wall of kids. “Look atthem.Everybody’s face has a story here. These are all Detox photographs. You need to face yourself, Bella. If you can’t face yourself, you won’t do well here.”

I think I hate her. Her blond hair, her perfect, unblemished face. She’s like one of those smooth and beautiful rocks youfind on a walk along the beach: glistening, unmarked, special. You slip it into your pocket and keep it forever.

That will never be me.

Tracy walks up to me very slowly.

“I know what you’re thinking, Bella,” she says quietly. “I know it. You think you know my story just by looking at me. You have a whole idea in your head. You’ve written a whole novel about me.”

Brandy and Billy have gotten very quiet. My heart is knocking in my chest. Is Tracy going to hit me or something? Her face has changed, somehow. There’s an edge to her voice.

She opens her mouth and gently, with one hand, pops out her entire top row of teeth, just for a second, revealing the emptiness there. Then, as quick as if it never happened, she pops it back in.

“Someday I’ll tell you how that happened, Bella, and how I came to be at Sonoran, but for right now, don’t judge people based on what you think you see. Your face is part of the story that’s going to be written here over the next month.”

Billy nudges me toward the wall.

I walk over, fit my back against it, look at the ground.

“Who’s going to write that stupid story?” I mumble. “I wouldn’t want to read it.”

“Bella!” Tracy shouts.

Startled, I look up.

She presses the button, catches the photo as it slides out.

Smiling, she says, “You are. And you will.”

Day Three

“Yo, yo, yo, yo.”

Clonk, clonk, clonk.

“Yo, yo, yo, ladies!”

I shoot out of my bed so fast I almost slip on the floor and crack my head open. I stand in the middle of our room, staring at Brandy, who’s wiping her eyes.

It sounds like someone is trying to break our door down.

I drag myself over and yank it open.

A muscular college-aged guy with a crew cut grins and shakes his metal water bottle at us. He must have been using that to bang on our door.

A ping goes off in my brain. He’s the crew cut guy that was with Phil in the hospital when I left.

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