No shit, I said. I think I know.

Christ, chill out. I just don’t want you catching pneumonia.

Hey, Sara, I got a job too, Bruce said proudly. Pumping gas at the Cadboro Bay Mohawk. I gotta wear one of those blue welfare suits and be a gas jockey for all the rich bitch Cadboro Bay biddies. But I don’t care. I’m just gonna get super high every day.

Yeah, well, we’re gonna get high up in Horsefly, Bryce said. I’m bringing my bong and we’re gonna get high all day long.

Then he sang it like a song.

Gonna bring a bong, gonna get high all day long.

Bryce laughed, and Bruce laughed.

Gonna bring a bong, gonna get high all day long.

I laughed too, and that’s why I hate weed. It makes you laugh at things that really aren’t funny at all.

LYING AT LEDGER

THE cherry blossom trees were gifts from a Chinese emperor, that’s what I heard. I thought they must be the most beautiful trees in the world, and it was a shame they were planted on the long lane leading to Ledger House. Delicate and black, the branches bloom with pale pink petals. When there’s a breeze, the sky is full of a soft fluttering.

I reached over and sliced a slim branch. I thought I’d give it to Heather since I didn’t have a Get Well card or a cheery bouquet.

I thought I’d ask for a room because I wasn’t feeling so well myself.

Then, after a good night’s sleep, I’d burst into Heather’s room with all the energy of China. Hey, man, that’s what I’d say, let’s party! I’d break her out of the loony bin if I had to, smuggle her out in a laundry cart and bring her down to meet Justine.

As soon as I walked in through the front doors, I wished I had dressed more respectable. The place was very official and stern. A grim gray-haired woman in granny glasses banged away on a typewriter. Behind her, beige filing cabinets lined an entire wall. The whole place felt so beige and dead and serious that I wanted to scream.

Hey, I said to the tightass typist, where’s Heather Hale? I want to see her right now!

I’m sorry, she said primly, our guests aren’t allowed visitors.

Guests—I swear that’s what she said. As if Ledger was some ritzy cocktail party instead of the place where cops put psychos and suicide attempts.

I sat down on the beige couch, holding the cherry blossom branch between my knees. She typed away, ignoring me.

Heather used to strut around school in her tight jeans and white pumps.

Now, she was probably sedated.

She was somewhere, somewhere in a silent room.