Page 23 of Emma on Fire

Montgomery silenced her in the classroom.

Rhaina begged her to be normal in the hallway.

No one wants to hear what she has to say. Except maybe this person … someone whose job is to listen, someone who is being paid to listen.

Emma pulls her hand away from Lori and dashes away her tears, remembering something else her father told her.Tears are like blood in the water for sharks. Spill a few, and a predator will move in.

CHAPTER 13

EMMA CLEARS HER throat and fiddles with her mother’s class ring, which she wears on her middle finger. “Fifty percent of my family isdead,”she says sharply. “I don’t see how talking about it is going to make it any better.”

Lori nods. “I’m not saying talking is magic. It doesn’t bring anyone back to life. But keeping everything shut up tight inside you is dangerous.”

Emma meets the therapist’s calm gaze.We don’t even live in the same world,she thinks.You have no idea what it’s like over here.

But she says, “Fine. My mother died of cancer, and my sister killed herself. Happy now?”

“No, Emma, I would not say that I’m happy now. But I’m very sympathetic.” Lori pushes her glasses up on hernose. “This isn’t something I usually tell people, but I lost my brother to suicide.”

Emma sits up straighter in her creaky chair. “How did he do it?” When Lori blinks at her response, Emma flushes and quickly adds, “I mean, I’m so sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you,” Lori says. She sighs. “He shot himself with our father’s gun. He was eighteen years old.” She gives an almost imperceptible shake of her head. “He would’ve been forty this year.”

“I’m sorry,” Emma says.

But she doesn’t know if that’s actually true. Lori is just trying to relate to her, show her that she understands her plight. But she so clearly does not. She thinks all of Emma’s problems are rooted in the deaths of her family members, in her inability to reconcile her feelings. Emma would much rather talk about how her death will motivate others to facilitate change, to save the world. Lori hasn’t askedwhyEmma wants to set herself on fire, which is the bigger question.

But no one has—not Montgomery, not Hastings, not Rhaina. They just want to know what is wronginsideher, not understanding that the worldoutsideher matters so much more.

“What are you thinking now?” Lori asks, and Emma pulls her gaze away from the framed picture of a bird on the wall.

I want to see birds. Real birds.

Emma sighs. Maybe if she plays along she’ll get outof here faster. “I feel trapped,” she says. “Trapped in this school, trapped in this office, and trapped inside my head.” She digs her nails into her palms again, aware that a little bit of truth has slipped out. “Sometimes when I wake up in the middle of the night, it feels like I can’t even breathe.”

“What happens then?” Lori asks. “What do you do?”

“I lie there with this giant weight crushing me, and I just stay quiet until I can breathe again.”

“Then can you fall back asleep?”

“I don’t sleep much these days. But if you’re going to suggest Ambien, don’t.”

I’ll sleep when I’m deadwas another of her father’s sayings, repeated often as he hovered over his laptop, Mom telling him once again that he looked tired.

“Then I guess I’ll look forward to cuddling with a corpse,” Mom shot back once. But she beat him to that particular finish line.

“I wasn’t going to suggest sleeping aids.” Lori leans back in her chair and crosses one long leg over the other. “I want to hear about your sister, though, if you’re willing. You must’ve been very close.”

Emma certainly thought they were. But afterward, she realized how much Claire had been keeping from her. It makes her wonder if she ever knew her sister at all.

“She died in a car wreck on Christmas Eve.” Emma’s words come out flat and blunt. She can still hear her father’sagonized voice on the other end of the line, the shock of hearing her father express something other than determination or anger making her legs collapse. Suddenly she was on the floor, and the ceiling was spinning above her. She has a scar on her chin from that fall. “It had snowed that morning, but she didn’t hit a patch of ice. The police said there were no signs that Claire lost control of the car.” She swallows the growing lump in her throat. “Or that she even tried to brake.”

After a pause, Lori says, “That’s so hard. I’m so sorry.”

Emma knows it’s what you’re supposed to say—and shejustsaid it to Lori—but she absolutely hates it when someone says it to her.You’resorry?she wants to scream.Do you think that’s going to make me feel better?Nothingcan make me feel better. So you can take your “sorry” and shove it up your ass.

“Can you tell me something else about her? About her life, I mean?”

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