I started to get defensive until I put together what was pissing him off. I had a grin plastered on my face, a goofy one. My cheeks were sore, probably because I’d never used those muscles that way for that long. I quickly wiped off the grin and said, “Wow. I can’t believe your dad… I mean…he didn’t even tell you?”

“Nope,” he said, digging at a knot in the wood of the bench with his thumbnail. He trembled like a time bomb ready to go off. “It was supposed to be a visit, but they hit it off so well, they just went with it. You know California people. They’re all free-spirited hippie types. They live for shit like this. How’d you know how to do that, anyway?”

“Uh. What?”

He seemed annoyed at me. “The skin thing?”

“Oh. I don’t know. I think I saw it in a movie,” I answered, still feeling tingly from where Declan’s and my skin had almost touched. My goofy smile threatened to return, so I squelched it. “But your dad is…”

“Insane. Obviously.” Kane stood up. “I’ve got to go. My dad wants to take us out to a family dinner. Some family.”

Thursday, February 14

Just Before Midnight

I can’t eat unless I’m under a blanket.

I’ve always been weird about food, but it’s been a year since I stopped eating meals at the dinner table, in the cafeteria, or any place you’d normally eat food. It’s been ten months since Juliet, my therapist, told my parents to let me. She said that they should allow anything that helps with the healing process, as long as it doesn’t hurt me.

I’m not sure scarfing down Cheez-Its while under the covers of my bed is helping the healing. Still, I do it every night. Sometimes an entire box will disappear while I’m getting ready for bed.

I’ve slept with covers over my head since I was a little kid. My mother hated it because she was afraid I’d be smothered in my sleep. But I like being insulated from the world like this. Safe.

It’s only since I got back from Shady Harbor that I’ve been inviting the Cheez-Its to accompany me.

My sheets are gritty with electric-orange crumbs. I smell and feel the sour cheddar and chemicals, and most mornings, my stomach hurts. I’m chubbier now, a side effect of the antidepressants. Or maybe I should say pleasantly plump. Chubbier implies that I care. And I really don’t. Though Juliet says exercise would do me good, she agrees my improved mental state is more important than gaining a few extra pounds.

Not that my mental state is anything to cheer about.