Page 82 of The Glass Girl

Don’t cry.I grind my teeth, but that hurts my face, so I stop. I pinch my thigh under the table and shrug.

“Bella, tell me what kind of kid you are. Do you need me to say you did very well on this worksheet, do you need me to ask you to work harder, or do you need me to just accept it?”

“That’s a weird question,” I say slowly.

“I’m just trying to get a sense of you,” she says.

“Well, I like good grades,” I say. “I try to get them.”

“Why?”

Billy is drawing ghosts with devil horns on one of his worksheets. I watch his fingers working carefully, gracefully. The ghosts are actually pretty good, with nice shading.

I think of my art project, that tree. I guess I’m going to fail that now. Along with every other class. By the time I’m out of here, school will be over for the fall. It will be after Christmas. I’ll be so far behind everyone else.

“Because it makes people happy,” I finally say.

“Who?”

“My parents. Teachers.”

“Does it make you happy?”

“Well, if they’re happy, I’m happy.”

“But, see, I don’t think youarehappy. I don’t see that on this sheet. If you get all As and your parents are happy, why are you still not happy? Has it ever madeyouhappy to get good grades?”

“I don’t know? I mean, it’s stressful. All that work. Most of it I don’t even care about.”

I’m getting confused. Because now I’m thinking my grades don’t actually make my parents happy. They’re always angry/mad/sad no matter what.

Don’t cry.

I grip the pencil between my fingers. I’d like to snap it in half.

“I’m the kind of girl who just wants you to say I did a good job on this stupid packet and let me go be by myself. That’s the kind of girl I am,” I say.

“Then you did a good job on this sheet, Bella. You can go.”

I stand up.

“Dammit,” Billy says. “I’m always the last one to finish a test.”

Fran laughs. “Again, not a test, Billy. Not a test.”

—

We spend the afternoon napping. Or rather, Brandy naps. I just stay in my bunk staring at the bottom of the mattress above me and feeling the soreness of the run with Chuck in my legs. Holly still isn’t back. I’m very jittery. I can’t tell if I’m bored or if I’m anxious. I get up and look through Laurel’s suitcase. I didn’t bother to put my clothes in the dresser by my bunk since we’re supposed to go to Gen tomorrow anyway.

I flip through the things my mother packed again. My favorite gray wool cardigan from Tucson Thrift. A swimsuit. Flip-flops. Mittens. A wool hat.

I take off my hoodie and put the cardigan on.

I paw through the rest of my things. A Cormac McCarthy paperback. That one I asked her to buy me after watching this guy talk about it for four hours on YouTube but I’ve never been able to finish it. It’s complicated and I kept getting distracted. The copy ofWild.My fuzzy slippers. And an embroidered black velvet pouch.

I unzip the pouch, curious.

Inside are photographs.

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