Something about it unsettled me. I figured it was supposed to make us feel better about being in Bowling Green, Kentucky, rather than elsewhere. I was thinking of the other places I could be when Greg walked into the living room carrying Why Men Love Bitches, a contraband item, as we were only supposed to be reading self-help literature that Nancy had sanctioned. His blond hair was slicked back, making it hard to tell where his forehead ended and his hairline began. He was wearing white patent-leather loafers and a T-shirt that said, “Your Village Called, They Want Their Idiot Back!” After he poured himself a cup of coffee, he sat down beside me and snapped his book against my thigh. “Hey, baby girl!” he said. “How you doin’ this morning, you sleep well?”

He smiled a big game-show-host grin. Was this an attempt to flirt? I raised an eyebrow and sneered in return. “Yo, Miami Vice,” said a guy with a lip ring, tapping his foot against Greg’s, “are those your dancin’ shoes?”

“These bad boys?” Greg said, pointing down. “They better do more than that, I paid three hundred bucks for ’em!”

The guy with the lip ring shook his head and laughed. Greg laughed along earnestly, unaware that he was being mocked. I gazed at the pine trees outside, and as the sun rose, streams of light poured in through the windows and illuminated the dust in the room. Greg looked at me and smiled again. “It’s your Higher Power saying ‘good morning,’” he said.

“Yeah, right.” I smirked. He seemed momentarily deflated. I realized I had mistaken his earnestness for sarcasm, and I immediately regretted mine.

I had breakfast; a glass of water and half a grapefruit. Afterward, I was about to step outside when I heard a cowbell ringing. Then someone called out, “Phase Two in the big room, Phase One in the small!”

Phase One. The newbies, lumped together in one group with our various addictions and afflictions. There were four of us: Greg; my roommate, Molly; another guy, named Alex; and me. I appeared to be the youngest. Following the three of them, I made my way upstairs to the small room. Richard stood in the doorway, waving us in. I chose a seat against the back wall. As Richard shut the door and walked toward the whiteboard at the front, I felt as if the room were shrinking, the walls zeroing in on me. I was terrified by the prospect of sharing anything vulnerable with these people, of being in such a confined, intimate space with them, every day for a month! I raised my hand and Richard nodded at me. I looked at Molly, then squinted at Greg. “Will the four of us be doing all of this together?” I asked. “As a group?”

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