Page 44

“They probably took him to the breathing room,” Wes says.

After Wes gets his anxiety pills, I step up to the window. Shanice finds my name on the clipboard, hands me the small white paper cup that holds my two pills and another one filled with water, and watches while I swallow.

“Check.”

I open my mouth, stick out my tongue, and then lift it.

“Cough.” After I do, she marks my name before announcing, “Next.”

I rejoin Wes and we walk to the rec room.

“So, do you think pretty boy is going to break any time soon?” he asks about Sebastian.

“Doubtful.”

“What’s his story?”

“Aside from drinking, I have no clue.”

“I wonder if there’s something deeper than just a substance problem,” he says, and when I look at him, he shoots me a wink before dipping out and running over to the television to get the latest update on the Olympics before we have to go to art class.

“Harlow,” Max calls out as she hurries over to me. “Did you hear?” she asks with a smile on her face.

“Hear what?”

“We have a guest instructor for art today.”

“And?”

“Umm,” she says, uncertain about my lack of enthusiasm. Her eyes shift back and forth a few times while she tries to hold on to her smile, which drops slightly in her confusion. “Aren’t you excited?”

“Ecstatic.”

She shakes her head and walks off to share her elation with someone else. I used to find her childlike qualities endearing until she broke down in group last week and told everyone about some gut-wrenching things her uncle did to her when she was a little kid. Dr. Benson explained that suffering extreme trauma at a young age has the ability to stunt a person’s development. Now, I just see her behaviors as tarnished. They don’t come from a place of joy, but of trauma, and that sours them.

“Line up!” Marcus calls.

When we enter the large art room, there are canvases on easels that are stationed in front of each stool. I pick a spot as far away from Sebastian as I can. All the seats are fairly spread out, so none of us are too close.

Last time I was here, we didn’t get to do many classes like this since it was during the school year and we were busy with curriculum, but since it’s summer, curriculum hours are shorter, leaving more time for activities. They might be fun if they didn’t all come with a hidden agenda.

“Good afternoon,” a woman says from the small platform at the front of the room. “My name is Juniper.”

Of course it is. The woman looks like she just crawled out from beneath one, with her ankle-length brown cotton skirt and—I lean to the side to see her feet—her woven Teva sandals.

She goes on to give us a little background information about herself as if I care that she’s spent most of her life traveling around the United States as a therapeutic art instructor.

Max, however, has an obnoxious smile on her face as she listens attentively. Apparently, she cares.

“Today, I’d like for all of us to dig deep within our souls to find our places of tranquility. So, if everyone could close your eyes with me.”

The woman closes her eyes, and when I look at the people sitting around me, they all have theirs closed as well—all, except Wes, who smirks at me while mimicking the jerking off motion with his hand. I stifle a laugh as I turn back to the front.

“I want you to take a deep breath and imagine yourself surrounded by serenity. It doesn’t have to be a place you’ve been to before. It doesn’t have to be real. It can be whatever you wish it to be.”

I tilt to the side, curious to see if Sebastian has his eyes closed, but his easel blocks my view.

“Has everyone found their place of Zen?”