The Evolution of Mara Dyer

33

JUDE, MY MIND WHISPERED, AS MY VEINS COURSED with fear.

I whipped around; my eyes searched for him of their own volition.

He wasn’t here.

He couldn’t be. And he couldn’t have been in my house last night—not with John watching it.

Then I remembered my first day at Horizons. Phoebe stealing the picture from my bag. Blacking out my eyes.

She’d sat next to me in Group today.

Jude didn’t write the note. It was her.

But why?

Scratch that. She was insane. That’s why.

I took the note and shoved it angrily in my back pocket, and waited for Group Part II to resume, leaning back in my chair and pressing the heels of my palms into my eyes. My life was screwed up enough without adding Phoebe’s bullshit to the pile. Wayne came around with meds for some of us—myself included—and I downed them in the little paper shot glass. The aftertaste was bitter but I didn’t bother washing it away. I just watched the clock and counted down the seconds until I’d get the chance to confront her.

Brooke breezed back in with a mug full of what was probably organic, fair trade coffee and a stack of worksheets. She began handing them out as we all found our chairs, Phoebe included. She eyed the room and pointedly sat as far away from me as she could.

I took the paper from Brooke just a tad too fiercely. It had rows of ridiculous cartoon faces on them, contorted into various exaggerated expressions and, I supposed, their corresponding “feelings.” A squinty kid sticking his tongue out of one corner of his mouth as he smirked, with an unruly spike of hair to connote “sneaky”; a placid-faced, blond-pig-tailed girl with closed eyes and folded arms above the word “safe.” There was a preponderance of stuck-out tongues and googly eyes. Brooke began handing out markers.

“I want you all to circle the face and feeling that best describes your mood today.” She looked at me. “It’s called a feelings check-in. We do this twice a week.”

I whipped the cap off of the marker and started circling: mad, suspicious, furious, enraged. I handed her back the sheet.

My feelings must have been evident on my face because I was the focus of over a dozen stares. Not Phoebe’s, though. She was staring at the ceiling.

“It seems like you have a lot of interesting feelings right now, Mara,” Brooke said encouragingly. “Do you want to share first?”

“I’d love to.” I lifted my hips and pulled the note out of my back pocket. I handed it to Brooke. “Someone put this in my bag this morning,” I said, speaking to Brooke but staring Phoebe down.

Brooke opened the note and read it. She maintained her calm demeanor. “How do you feel about this?”

I narrowed my eyes. “Wasn’t that the point of the feelings check-in? Why don’t you tell me what you think about it?”

“Well, Mara, I think it’s something that has clearly upset you.”

I laughed without humor. “Yes, clearly.”

Adam raised his hand. Brooke turned to him. “Yes, Adam?”

“What’s it say?”

“I see you,” I said. “It says ‘I see you.’”

“And what do you think about that, Mara?” Brooke asked.

If Phoebe wasn’t going to admit to it, I would call her out and let the chips fall as they may. “I think Phoebe wrote it and put in my bag.”

“Why would you think that?”

“Perhaps because she is batshit crazy, Brooke.”

Jamie slow-clapped.

“Jamie,” Brooke said calmly. “I’m not sure that’s productive.”

“I was applauding Mara for her extraordinarily appropriate use of the term ‘batshit crazy.’”

Brooke grew annoyed. “Do you have anything you’d like to share, Jamie?”

“No, that pretty much covers it.”

“My elbow hurts,” Adam chimed in.

“Why’d you write it, Phoebe?” I asked.

She looked as squirrely as ever. “I didn’t write it.”

“I don’t believe you,” I said.

“I didn’t write it!” she shouted. Then she dropped to the floor and began rocking back and forth.

Fantastic. I rubbed my hand over my face as Brooke moved over to the wall and pressed a button I’d never noticed before. Phoebe was still rocking on the floor, but when Brooke’s back was turned, she glared at me.

Then smiled.

“You little shit,” I whispered under my breath.

Brooke turned. “Did you say something, Mara?”

I narrowed my eyes at Phoebe, who had covered her ears now. Ponytail Patrick had appeared and was trying to coax Phoebe up off of the carpet.

“She’s faking it,” I said, still staring at her.

Brooke glanced down at Phoebe, but I could tell she didn’t believe me. She looked up at the clock. “Well, we don’t have much time left anyway. Patrick,” she asked him, “will you take Phoebe back to Dr. Kells?” And then in a lowered voice, added, “I can page Wayne if you think she needs to relax.”

And look at that. Phoebe was off the floor. Magic.

“Everyone else, grab your journals and take a few minutes to write about your feelings. We’re going to talk more about what happened today later, all right? And don’t forget—tomorrow’s family day. You should all be working on your list of ten things your family doesn’t know about you but you wish they did.”

And with that, everyone stood and retrieved their journals to write. I only pretended to. I was still furious. Phoebe could fool Brooke and Dr. Kells and the rest of them—I knew from experience it wasn’t that hard—but she could not fool me. She wrote the note, and I would make her admit it.

And just before the end of the day, I got my chance.

I found her in a small lounge area, writing something in her journal with robotic, bloodless focus.

I looked around. There was no one in the hall, but I didn’t want to be too loud. I kept my voice low. “Why’d you do it?” I asked her.

She looked up at me, all innocence. “Do what?”

“You wrote the note, Phoebe.”

“I didn’t.”

“Really,” I said, my temper flaring. “You’re really not going to cop to this? I don’t even care—God knows you have enough problems—I just want to hear you say it.”

“I didn’t write it,” she said robotically.

I grabbed the door frame with one hand and squeezed it. I had to go or I’d lose it.

“I didn’t write it,” Phoebe said again. But her tone had changed; it made me face her. She was staring directly at me, now, her eyes focused and clear.

“I heard you.”

Phoebe dropped her eyes back to her journal. A smile inched across her lips. “But I did put it there.”