Drowning Instinct Read Free

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    problems.‖

    ―You told them about me?‖ I shot a glance at Rebecca, who was scowling. ―Did you know about this?‖

    ―Not exactly,‖ Rebecca said. ―Dr. Lord, don‘t you—‖

    ―I didn‘t think it was necessary to involve Becky in the preliminary stages.‖ Dad never called Rebecca Dr. Savage and even Rebecca didn‘t call herself Becky . ―This isn‘t Becky‘s decision to make anyway.‖

    ―But you didn‘t ask me,‖ I said, stupidly believing that maybe, oh, all those hours of family therapy had made a dent. ―We didn‘t discuss it.‖

    Mom, the apologist, jumped in. ―Your father didn‘t mean any harm.‖

    ―Why can‘t I just go on being homeschooled?‖

    ―That‘s a nonstarter,‖ said Dad.

    ―Why?‖

    ―Because. Emily has her hands full with the bookstore. I‘ve got surgeries scheduled every day, and that‘s not counting emergency reconstructions. I‘m at the hospital six, sometimes seven, days a week. Neither your mother nor I have the time to babysit you.‖

    That drew a little blood, as Dad had intended. I looked away, chewing on my lower lip, willing the tears not to fall. I turned to Rebecca. ―Please. Say something.‖

    Rebecca sighed. ―Unfortunately, your parents have a point, Jenna. You do need to be around kids your own age, and preferably ones without serious problems. You won‘t get that if you hide in your house. Being alone is when you‘ve run into problems.‖

    ―Yeah, but I was in school when it hap—‖ I let that die. I couldn‘t argue. Even though I hadn‘t cut for over six weeks—a new record for me back then—the urge was there, all the time. It was like what that bulimic girl from the ward said: If I go an hour and don’t think about throwing up, I worry there’s something wrong. Puking’s the new normal.

    Slicing and dicing myself would land me back in the hospital, though, and I knew it.
    All the doors in the new McMansion had locks, but I wasn‘t allowed to use them.
    Sometimes after I showered, my mom would barge in as I was toweling off with her patented: ―Oh! I didn‘t know anyone was in here.‖ Uh-huh. I saw how her eyes flicked fast, up and down, searching for new cuts, fresh scabs. I knew she checked the trash for bloodied tissues or used Band-Aids. Heaven forbid they ever looked behind the false panel beneath my vanity and found my nail scissors. I hadn‘t used them since I‘d been home, but they were . . . insurance.

    I thought of something else. ―Wait a minute,‖ I said to Rebecca. ―Don‘t you need my permission before you release records or something?‖

    Rebecca shook her head. ―Not technically. You‘re only fifteen.‖

    ―I‘ll be sixteen in September.‖

    ―It doesn‘t matter. Until you‘re eighteen, your parents have full say over release of your records. Legally, I can‘t stop them.‖

    Dad snapped his fingers to get our attention. ―Let‘s stay on track, shall we? The point is, Jenna, you are perfectly capable of being around kids your own age, and Turing‘s an excellent private science and tech school.‖

    ―Who said I‘m going into science?‖ I demanded, although that was probably the stupidest thing I could‘ve said. The best Christmas gift I‘d ever gotten was this Edu Junior Scientist Kit Matt bought with his own money when I was five. Mom had a fit when I filled the basement with orange smoke. ―Doesn‘t my opinion count?‖

    ―She has a point,‖ Rebecca said. About time, too. ―I‘ll be honest, Dr. Lord. I was under the impression we were discussing Turing. I had no idea Jenna‘s records had been released, much less that she‘d been accepted. I haven‘t even gotten a request for a summary letter from Turing‘s guidance counselor.‖

    ―Wait.‖ Mom looked at Dad. ―They don‘t have a letter from Rebecca?‖

    ―No,‖ Dad said, and then he sighed as if he was just so sick of having to get us all up to speed. He spoke slowly and distinctly, like we were morons.