Page 6 of Ward D
“Run,” she instructs me.
Before I can even think about it, Jade and I are running. A voice behind us yells for us to stop, but it’s obvious at this point we can’t stop. We run through the mall, stepping between families with little kids in tow, and I nearly trip over a stroller at one point. Jade almost mows down a woman with a cane. But after we turn two more corners, Jade pulls me into a little nook, and we finally stop running.
Jade is breathing hard, but also laughing. Her cheeks are bright pink, and her bleached white-blond hair is wild. “Oh my God,” she says.
I hug my arms to my chest, massaging a stitch in my side. “What was that?” I ask, although I’m afraid I already know.
Jade pulls open her red purse. I peer inside, and there it is: a shirt stuffed inside with the tags still attached.
“Jade!” I cry. “I can’t believe you did that!”
She shrugs. “That store wassoexpensive. I didn’t have a choice! Anyway, it’s not a big deal.”
Jade and I have been best friends since the very first day of kindergarten, when we discovered we were wearing the exact same dress—white with a pink and purple heart on the chest. We had sleepovers every weekend from ages nine through eleven, she knows about every single crush I’ve ever had, and she swore she’d keep my secrets to the grave. I’ll never have another friend as good as Jade Carpenter.
But lately, I feel like I barely know her anymore. She used to be more like me: liked to go to school, liked to read, and followed the rules. But over the last year or so, she seems to get all these crazy ideas about things she wants to do. For example, last week she called me at two in the morning and asked if I wanted to break into Mrs. McCloskey’s pool and go skinny-dipping! No, I did not.
“You shouldn’t steal, Jade.” I don’t want to sound lame and give her a lecture about how stealing is wrong, so I just say, “What if you get caught?”
She waves a hand like this doesn’t concern her in the slightest. It concernsmethough. Next year, we’re going to be applying to colleges. I don’t want to have to explain a shoplifting charge on my application.
“Everyone does it.” Jade gives me a pointed look. “You should have taken that sweater. It looked great on you.”
I snort. “You know, that little girl was telling me I should take it. Can you believe that?”
Jade pulls the shirt out from her bag and holds it up, admiring the glittery lettering on the front. “What little girl?”
“The little blond girl who was standing next to me.”
“I didn’t see a little blond girl standing next to you. What are you talking about, Amy?”
I roll my eyes. Jade’s powers of observation are not exactly stellar. How could she not notice that little girl? The girl stuck out like a sore thumb in her frilly pink dress, all alone like that. And she was right next to me.
Wasn’t she?
4
PRESENT DAY
Hours Until Morning: 13
The psych ward is on the ninth floor of the hospital.
I stand in front of the set of heavy metal elevator doors, not sure if I want them to come faster or slower. If the elevators don’t come soon, I’m going to be late. But on the other hand, every moment I stand here waiting for the elevators is a moment when I won’t be in a locked psych unit. So there’s that.
While I’m waiting, my phone buzzes inside my scrub pants pocket. The thought of not being able to use my phone soon is nothing short of terrifying. It’s like having my arm amputated. Granted, this may indicate an unhealthy relationship with my phone, but I don’t care. Ineedmy phone. What sort of place doesn’t have cell reception? It’s inhumane.
I dig my phone out from the deep pocket of my blue scrubs, hoping it’s a call from Pauline, the psych administrative assistant, saying they don’t need me to cover Ward D after all. But of course, it’s not. It’s my mother.
Great.
My mother is the last person I want to talk to right now, but if I don’t answer and my reception goes out, she’s going to panic. So it’s better to take the call now and get it over with.
“Hi, Mom,” I say, just as one of the elevator doors finally opens. I’ll let this one go.
“Amy,” she says. “How are you doing?”
“Busy,” I say. “I’m going to be studying tonight.”
