BooksBarbecue
Back When We Were Friends
Chapters (52)
  1. Cover
  2. Praise
  3. Dedication
  4. About the Author
  5. 31
  6. 14
  7. 31
  8. 14
  9. 31
  10. 14
  11. 31
  12. 14
  13. 31
  14. 15
  15. 31
  16. 16
  17. 32
  18. 16
  19. 32
  20. 17
  21. 32
  22. 17
  23. 32
  24. 17
  25. 32
  26. 17
  27. 32
  28. 18
  29. 32
  30. 18
  31. 32
  32. 18
  33. 32
  34. 18
  35. 32
  36. 18
  37. 32
  38. 18
  39. 32
  40. 18
  41. 32
  42. 18
  43. 32
  44. 18
  45. 32
  46. 32
  47. 33
  48. 33
  49. 33
  50. Acknowledgments
  51. Discussion Questions
  52. Booklist

And my phone dropped to my bedroom carpet with a thud.

32

now.

I stepped out into blinding lights, trying not to trip in my power heels. Applause billowed around the rafters. A packed out Southbank Centre, my biggest chairing gig yet. I think it was fair to say my Other Side of the Tissue Box series was going well.

“Welcome, everyone,” I said into the mike, which dangled Madonna-style under my chin, trying not to drop my cue cards as I sat on the sofa. “Thank you so much for coming. I’m Fern, mental health editor of Gah!, and I’m delighted to introduce the amazing Dr. Petra.” The crowd cheered at the sheer mention of her name. All I could see were the blinding white lights in my eyes and the collective blur of a thousand faces. Ben, my parents, and Jessica were out there in the blur somewhere, supporting me. “She’s got four million Instagram followers, and her bestselling book Your Diagnosis Is Trauma has challenged the world’s perspective on mental illness. Here in London, for one night only, she’s going to talk to us about trauma, healing, and everything in between. Here she is,” I threw out my arm, “Dr. Petra.”

The crowd went wild, drowning the stage with a giant roar as Dr. Petra strode on, waving and grinning, polished and perfect. Dr. Petra was the real deal, and her book was the best thing I’d read about mental health in years. When I got the call from Dr. Petra’s publicist, asking me to chair her London event, my knees practically buckled into dust.

“She’s seen your blogs about the counseling process, and she thinks they’re great,” the publicist had emailed. “She’d love you to host this part of her UK tour.” I’d danced on the sofa as Ben read the email aloud, giving me a giant thumbs-up, but still not marrying me...

But, yeah, as I took my seat onstage and started asking her my questions, I couldn’t deny work was going well. I was getting daily emails from counselors and psychologists, saying how helpful it was. How they were even posting links to my articles on their websites about the different types of therapy and what they meant. And the other students in my counseling class were quite enjoying their anonymous fame. “Put this in the blog,” they said in every lesson, whenever we learned something important. “Write an article about this.”

Chairing Dr. Petra was easy work. Glossy and rehearsed, she was a pro, and I could totally relax, despite the thousand pairs of eyes on me.