After grabbing Bowie’s stuff, we head out, our path taking us by the Little Theatre. The doors are open and I catch a glimpse of rehearsal going on without me. Liam’s in there; I still wonder what he was doing with Jasmine.
But it’s none of my business.
“You doing okay?”
I shake my head. “He’s never going to forgive me.”
“You know I don’t want to be in the middle of all this. But for what it’s worth... I don’t think he hates you. I think he’s hurting, and trying to figure out how to move past this himself. But he’s got his own baggage and most of it has nothing to do with you.”
“You don’t think he hates me?”
“I don’t think he has it in him to hate anyone, to be honest. Even if he should.”
I wince, but Bowie quickly says, “Not you. But sometimes I think he’s too nice for his own good.”
“I like that he’s nice. I’ve got enough mean in me for both of us.”
“You’re not mean, Jackson.”
“But all those lists—”
“Not knowing where to put your anger isn’t the same thing as being mean. Still, I’m glad you’re giving them up. We’ve got to find you a new outlet.”
“Maybe my new therapist can help.”
Bowie raises their eyebrows.
“Got an appointment next week.”
“Good for you.” They bump my shoulder. “Want to come over? Play someSmash?”
“Sure.”
46
Amy takes me to my first therapy appointment Wednesday after school. Dr. Jacinto’s fluent in ASL, which is a big step up from my last therapist. Then again, she’s also a lot more direct than my last therapist. By the time our hour’s up, I’m wrecked, not from listening but simply from thinking so hard. It’s like someone pulled my brain out of my nostrils.
“How was it?” Amy asks as we head to the car.
“Good.” I think. Dr. Jacinto asked me a lot of questions. Stuff about school, and my parents, and Jasmine, and Liam, but also stuff I wasn’t expecting—like how it felt that my family still hadn’t learned to sign.
I didn’t even know how to answer that one. But it left me feeling weird and unsettled.
“You need anything on the way home?” Amy asks. “Want some Dairy Queen?”
“I’m good.”
Amy’s quiet again for a while. But then she says, “I know you probably just talked a lot to your therapist, but I’m here for you if you need anything.”
“I know you are. Thanks.”
***
As I sit on my bed, organizing brackets for theMario Karttournament, my phone buzzes. I grab it so fast I accidentally fling it off my bed. I scramble to find it. Is it Liam?
But no. It’s Denise. She never texts me unless it’s an emergency.
Hey Jackson. This is Denise.
