Piper pops a cookie in her mouth and talks while chewing.

“Yeah, we’re not too good with outsiders. You’ve seen the mascot, right? The xenophobic Viking with anger issues?”

I nod. “He’s hard to miss. But I won’t be there long. Kind of a temporary trial run on life situation. After two weeks, everyone can forget I even exist.”

Piper cocks her head sideways, her lips stuck out in a mock pout.

“Well, that’s about the most pathetic thing I’ve ever heard.” She pulls out her phone—hot pink like her stripes. “Okay, since I know you exist now, what’s your handle?”

“Don’t have one.”

“I’m sorry, what kind of person isn’t on social media?”

“Hate to bring attention to the charbroiled elephant in the room, but—” I point to my face. “The kind of person who has no business plastering pics online.”

Piper puts her phone in her lap and folds her arms, looking me up and down.

“I’d like to revise my earlier statement. That is the most pathetic thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Hey, this is therapy. No judging the depths of my patheticness,” I say.

Piper smiles. “Touché. Well, your lack of social media savvy aside, I, for one, am glad you graced us with your pathetic presence today, Ava.”

She crumples her napkin into a ball, tosses it into the air, then smacks it midfall with a quick flick of her wrist, sending it sailing through the air into a trash barrel.

“Ace!” She turns to me. “So, you free after group?”

“For what?”

“To hang out,” she says, as if we’ve already synced our calendars.

I search her face for an explanation.

“Did Dr. Layne tell you to be my friend?” I say.

That’s exactly the kind of thing the committee would do. Cora and Dr. Layne probably had a powwow about my social status, and this wild-eyed girl in her hot-pink compression garments is the best they could come up with.

Piper holds up her hands.

“Wow, defensive much? No, she did not, and I wouldn’t have done it even if she did,” Piper says. “Jump all over me for trying to be burn buddies.”

“I don’t need buddies,” I say. “I’m only here for two weeks.”

Piper considers this for a second and then leans toward me.

“I don’t care if it’s two weeks or four years, no one survives high school alone.”

The late-afternoon sun streams through the rec room in slanted polygons, bouncing off Piper’s bright garments and a small, golden bird charm around her neck. I recognize it immediately—a phoenix, the mythical bird that rises from the ashes of the fire unblemished.

“You swear this isn’t some rigged charity mission? Because I do not need it.”