A Really Awesome Mess Read Free Page B

andgrabbed my suitcase, and Mom opened the door. A wave of Midwestern heat and humidity fell on me like a wet blanket. I saw Mom’s mouth moving, but I had Slayer going too loud to hear what she was saying.
    Then Mom did something pretty unlike her: She reached down and yanked my iPod cord, ripping the earbuds out of my tender ears.
    “Ah, God, Mom, what the hell!” I yelled.
    “You listen to me,” she said. “I know you’re not happy about this. I’m not happy about this either. But that does not mean you’re going to be awful to me. I’m trying”— and there were tears in her eyes, which made me feel bad, but I wasn’t giving in that easy—“I’m trying to get you some help. It’s hard for both of us, but I need you to be safe and I don’t know how to do that at this point. And as hard as it is for me to live with sending you here, it would be impossible to live with you actually succeeding in killing yourself. That’s what being a mom is about, Justin. You do anything to protect your kids. This is the only thing I know how to do right now.”
    And she was still crying, and I felt like a toad, or anyway something really low and disgusting. I was still pissed, but I got out of the car and decided to walk willingly through the heavy wooden front doors.
    The words
Miss Doherty’s Home for Wayward Girls
were engraved in the stone at the entrance. I was at the point of turningto Mom and making a joke—“Wayward girls? Hot!”—before I walked inside, but then I remembered I was mad at her and this joke probably wouldn’t help my case that I didn’t have sexual issues, so I didn’t say anything.
    A middle-aged, slightly chubby woman came out of the office to greet us. “Welcome,” she said.
    “Are you Miss Doherty?” I asked.
    She gave me a smile in return. Not even the annoyance I was hoping for. “You must be Justin,” she said. “Come on in, and we’ll go over the rules and the treatment program.”
    She walked us through another wooden door into the office, which was nowhere near as old and gothic and creepy as the outside of the building. The walls were a soothing pale yellow, with colorful landscapes and pictures of flowers.
    She steered us to a comfy couch where we awkwardly moved around, trying to figure out who should sit next to whom. We ended up with Mom in the middle, flanked by me and Patrick. Mom held Patrick’s hand with her left and reached out for mine with her right, but she didn’t get it.
    Seated across from us in one lushly upholstered chair and three plastic classroom chairs were “Miss Doherty,” who hadn’t introduced herself, a young guy with a Moses beard and a Band of Horses T-shirt, an old guy with an awesome gray mustache, and a young woman who might be pretty if she had better clothes and hair and makeup.
    “So,” Miss Doherty said, “I am Helen Campbell, executive director of Heartland Academy. This,” she said, gesturing at the old guy, “is Jack, who runs the SR group”—I didn’t know what that was—“Tina,”—the plain young woman—“who runs Anger Management, and Max,”—Band of Horses Guy—“who’ll be Justin’s primary therapist and treatment director.”
    “What’s up?” he said, extending a hand to me.
    “I get it. You’re the young, cool one who I can really open up to because you dig the kids of today. Am I right?”
    He wouldn’t take the bait and get mad. What the hell was it with these people anyway?
    He kept his hand extended. “You know, it’s rude to leave somebody hanging when they want to shake your hand,” he said.
    “You don’t say,” I said, keeping my arms folded across my chest.
    Mom elbowed me in the ribs and hissed, “Justin!” under her breath.
    “It’s okay, Mom,” Helen Campbell said. “This is a stressful time, and we’re pretty used to new students acting out. I’m sure you’ve been over the handbook by now”—Mom went over it, but I’d tuned out when she was talking and definitely