An impromptu Committee on Ava’s Life sits around the room. Layne sits on the couch, her usual pristine makeup applied sloppily and not at all in some places, so I can see the discoloration of her scars. Glenn leans against the wall, his eyes on the floor, hands shoved deep into his front pockets.

Dr. Layne smiles at me with weary eyes when I enter. Glenn’s and Cora’s are strained, too. A pang of guilt hits me: they’re all worried about the broken girl in aisle seven. I brace myself for the onslaught of encouragements reminding me that everything’s going to be okay.

That I’m a survivor.

“Ava, sit down,” Dr. Layne says, patting the cushion next to her. “We need to talk.”

I shift in the seat, wondering what aspect of yesterday they want to discuss. I am not about to get into my boy drama with them, and how would they even know about my fight with Piper?

Dr. Layne taps her pen quickly on her notepad, a nervous tick that’s out of sync with her usually poised, professional demeanor. She should be happy: I finally had the breakdown breakthrough she’s always wanted. Surely a public meltdown falls somewhere between guilt and bargaining on the therapy path to healing.

Glenn refuses to make eye contact with me. Cora dabs the corners of her eyes with a tissue.

Something’s different.

Something’s not right.

“I really am fine,” I say, still trying to piece together the weird energy in the room.

Dr. Layne talks slowly, like she’s trying to keep me calm, or maybe even stay calm herself.

“Ava, something’s happened,” she says. “To Piper.”

41

Darkness settles in my chest.

“Piper’s parents found her early this morning. They think she may have taken too much pain medication.”

Cora sniffles and covers her mouth. Glenn looks at his feet. Layne looks at me.

“She overdosed?” I ask.

My anger toward Piper morphs into fear and guilt. She called me three times.

Layne measures her words carefully.

“It’s unclear—”

I cut her off. “Is she dead?” My voice rises along with my panic at this all-too-familiar conversation where people dole out truth morsels so I don’t flip out—so I choose to live despite the pain. “You have to tell people when people they love die! Just tell me! Dead or alive?”

Layne rests her hand on mine.

“Alive. She’s alive.”

Air fills my lungs and I put my cheek down on the couch armrest, my head suddenly weighing one thousand pounds.

“She wouldn’t have done that. Not on purpose.”

But even as I say the words, the darkness creeps deeper—not with fear, but affirmation. I knew Piper was in a bad place. I knew. But she said things were better since I got here.