Page 71 of Oh, Flutz!

“See? You can’t even get through a conversation without freaking yourself out over nonsense. Grow up, Bryan.”

For one, twisted second, I wish I could be like him. Maybe if I were stronger, I’d be able to yell back. Justtearinto him, maybe throw a punch, stand up for myself for once instead of letting him and Mom and Katya andeveryonewalk all over me like I have my entire life. The worst part of it is, he knows it. He sees just how much of a godforsaken mess he’s made me, and he doesn’t care.

I try to breathe. I try to keep looking at him. I try not to break eye contact, but the empty look in the blue eyes that are just like mine, it’s too much. I look away.

I fight to keep my voice steady. “I’m gonna go call my sister. Someone has to know where she is.”

He doesn’t care. I can feel it. I don’t know why it keeps coming as a surprise. “Good luck,” he says.

I turn around and leave before he can see how much it hurts. I must imagine the sound of him swearing as the door slams shut behind me.

Chapter Twenty

KATYA

Sitting in the waitingroom of the psychiatrist’s office, all I can think is,what kind of fun house hell have I walked into?

It’s unlike any doctor’s office I’ve ever seen. Sterile, sanitary, you know.Beige?Instead, the walls are papered with photos of people—headshots, stock photos, magazine cutouts, just faces everywhere—and enormous black-and-white optical illusions, hypnotist-style swirly vortexes. I have to tear my eyes away after I’m overwhelmed by the sense that the walls are closing in. I keep shifting in my seat, which of course is not your standard issue waiting room seat, rather a blinding neon-yellow bean bag that does nothing to prevent me from sinking to the floor.

I do not like this at all. And not just because I’m in this acid trip of a hellhole in the first place, or that I’ve been sitting in it on this godforsaken bean bag for seventeen minutes past my appointment time.

They didn’t even let me explain. Not that I should need to—really, who are they to stick their noses in my habits, let alone judge me for them? Lian is one thing. She’s my coach too now, and I can at least understand different coaching styles, whether I agree with them or not. But Bryan?

He could’ve covered for me. He could have, heshouldhave, and he made the decision not to. He’s supposed to be my partner, and he betrayed me. I can’t believe I almost trusted him. Emphasis on the almost. I don’t trust anyone unless they’ve proven they can be, and this is exactly why. Because I get stabbed in the back every time without fail.

He’s just jealous, a familiar voice sounds in the back of my head.He’s trying to sabotage you. Don’t you dare let him.

I’m not planning on letting that fool do anything to me, let alone mess me up. I don’t care how much he smiles at me. If anything, it’s a relief, because now I know for certain that he isn’t on my side, and never will be.

A knock sounds against the doorframe, and I look up to see a South Asian man, probably early thirties, with clear glasses frames and curly black hair that would probably make Mikhail cry from jealousy, dressed in aKeep Austin Weird!t-shirt and acid wash jeans.

“My next victim!”

There is no way this is him.

“Hi. I’m Sanjiv, Sanjiv Acharya, sports psychiatrist to the stars. You can just call me Sanjiv. Or whatever, really. I’m not picky.”

He smiles in a way that’s probably disarming to any normal person, but just triggers all of my fight-or-flight instincts. He walks over, and I stand up from the bean bag, doing my best to keep the growing dread off my face. Is this it? Is this my punishment? I have to be stuck in a room with this hippie “doctor” while he tries to dissect my brain? Forget sleeping pills, I might take something stronger to avoid whatever madhouse I’ve just been thrown into.

“Katya, right?”

“Ekaterina,” I correct immediately, and he raises his eyebrows over the rims of his frames, but he seems almost a little amused. Ugh. I hate when people think it’s just soadorablethat I want to kill all of them and then myself.

“Yeah, Lee’s told me a lot about you. Ekaterina, then, it’s nice to meet you. Come on in.”

I follow Sanjiv into the, unsurprisingly, equally psychedelic inner office, although along with the weird collages there’s (unframed) diplomas and a lot of (framed) pictures that I can’t make out from where I’m standing, in the middle of one of those grass curtains you’d find in a tiki bar. Really, it’s like he mistypedpsychiatryaspsychedelicand a massive box of multicolor décor kits showed up.

“So!” he declares, settling into his armchair, kicking his feet up on the coffee table. “What’s your poison?”

“What?”

“The sleeping pills. Temazepam, triazolam, benzos, zolpidem?”

I’m so shocked by the question that I tell him. “Um, zolpidem. Quick release.”

He nods appreciatively, tapping his pencil on the table. “I’d have probably given you the same thing originally.” He tilts his head. “They didn’t make you dizzy or lightheaded at all?”

I don’t know why he’s thrown me off so much, it’s obvious that Lian would’ve told him why she sent me to him. It’s just a little weird he’s not even trying to disguise his motives, try to befriend me or anything. It’s…interesting. “No. Not really.”

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