“No, I really don’t think I should,” she said. “I want to know from you. I want your perspective.”

“Uh—Well…” I hesitated. “I think so. Yeah.”

“You think so?” she repeated, somewhat unconvinced.

“There are still some things I can’t quite accept.”

“Which things?”

“I wish the meds could speed things up a bit, for one.”

“Speed what up?”

“I think ‘recovery’ is a term you’d use.”

“But you wouldn’t?” She raised a single brow, looking rather pleased.

“No, I wouldn’t.”

“Which term would you prefer?”

“I dunno. But not that one.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t know if recovery is possible.”

“You don’t think you can get better?”

“I didn’t say that.”

She smiled. Now, that made her look more like herself.

“It takes time, Thomas,” she said.

“Yes. Time.” I rolled my eyes.

“Is that what bothers you?”

“Waiting bothers me. Thinking that’s all I need to do bothers me. It’s bullshit.”

“Why rush things?”

“Rush?” I laughed. “Three years hardly pass by swiftly.”

“Yet, you are not the same boy you were three years ago. Isn’t that a good thing?”

“Look, a good thing would be if I got to stop having nightmares; good would be if I could stop feeling sad for no reason, out of nowhere—”

“You think you’re sad for no reason?”

I let out a breathy sigh but didn’t speak. I simply shook my head.

“Are you better?” she asked.

“Again, I really think you should be the one telling me that.”

“Don’t you think you’ve made any sort of improvement since leaving the hospital?”

“Sure.”

“Doesn’t that answer the question?”

“I don’t know; it was your question.”

She looked amused, which wasn’t the same as being satisfied with my answer. “Did switching schools help?”

I nodded.

“Why?”

“Magnolia was like a memory I’d lose myself in every day.”

“And your new school?” she asked.

“Isn’t.”

She tilted her head, waiting.

“My new school has turned out better than I thought it would.”

“Why?”

“I made friends,” I told her. “I met…him.”

She smiled. “I want to talk about him. But first, I want to talk about these new friends. Are they different than the ones you had before?”

“Of course they are.”

“I don’t mean literally, Thomas.”

“Me neither.” I smirked.

“How are they different?” she pressed.

“First, I thought it was because they didn’t know my history.”

“And now?”

“I think they just demand different things.”

“Is that good?”

“It doesn’t take as much.”

“But your old friends do?”

“Now, see, if I say yes, it’ll sound ungrateful. If I say no, it’ll be inaccurate.”

“Be accurate, then.”

“My old friends have known me most of my life. It’s not the same.”

“I agree.”

“Great.” I rolled my eyes.