Free The Dream Where the Losers Go by Beth Goobie Page B

go?”
    Larry settled back in his chair, observing her carefully. “I’m not sure you’ve resolved your issues,” he said slowly.
    “My issues,” Skey mimicked angrily. “Just exactly what are my issues?”
    Larry studied her as if she was in a cage and he had all the time in the world.
    “You talking about this?” Pulling up one of her sleeves, Skey held up the scars. Larry nodded silently. Mrs. Mitchell turned her head and focused vaguely on the off-white wall.
    “I won’t do it again,” said Skey. “I never even think about them.”
    It was true. She caught glimpses of the scars when she bathed and changed her clothes, but they simply brushed past the periphery of her consciousness, a slight electric ripple in her brain. Other than that, she never thought about them. The scars were just there, something on her skin. Something she had done once upon a time, in a fairy tale long ago. In another life.
    “Something led to it, Skey,” said Larry. “We need to know why you’re so angry.”
    “Angry!” Skey’s mouth dropped and she stared at him. “Wouldn’t you be angry if you were locked up for five months?”
    “I meant before you were placed here,” said Larry.
    “I wasn’t angry before I was dumped here,” said Skey.
    “Then why did you cut your wrists?” The question came from her mother, broad-siding Skey and wiping out her thoughts. Mrs. Mitchell didn’t usually join in on the attack, leaving the fancy-ass mind control to Larry.
    Skey’s thoughts returned. “I thought I’d beat you to it,” she shot back.
    Her mother gasped. Behind his desk, Larry coughed again, working the animal in his throat. With a hiss, Skey clamped down on the violence that shifted through her, longing to let loose on the two big fakes in this room, the jail-keepers that held the keys to her life. But that wouldn’t help her, wouldn’t get her out of this place. She didn’t want to become another Viv.
    Closing her eyes, Skey gripped the arms of the lime green chair and waited. Darkness settled in around her, and then she heard the boy breathing close by. She let out a long string of swear words.
    “I know what you mean,” said the boy.
    “All I want is a day off,” she said. “From insanity. Theirs.”
    “People are pretty partial to their own insanity,” the boy said calmly.
    “Lock me up and stare at me,” she muttered. “Take digs at me, figure out all my problems. They’re just as bad, but I’m the one who gets locked up and they’re the ones taking notes.”
    “So, take them for a ride,” said the boy. “A tangent.”
    “A tangent going where?” she asked.
    “Anywhere you want,” he said.
    As she thought about this, some of her tension receded. “Yeah,” she said, and opened her eyes. “So,” she said, careful to keep her voice calm. “What were we talking about?” Relaxing her hands, she let go of the chair arms and stretched. Then she smiled at Larry, who had his eyes glued on her, his mind doing flip-flops to keep up.
    “Oh yeah,” said Skey. “Anger. Well, I have a suggestion for something to keep me calm. I want to go out with myfriends from school. Friday night, just for a while. You let me out to go to school and I always come back on time, so I think you should let me out in the evening.”
    “I’m not sure you’re ready for that yet,” said Larry. “I’d like to see how school goes for a while first.”
    Skey locked him in a determined stare. “So give me a curfew of nine o’clock.”
    “We wouldn’t consider an independent evening outing like that for several months,” said Larry.
    The violence was back, rearing through Skey like a scream.
    “Your mother and I have been discussing a home visit,” continued Larry. “A Sunday afternoon, perhaps a month from now.”
    Shooting out of her chair, Skey took two steps forward and leaned over his desk. “No!” she screamed, the sound tearing her mind wide open. Then she turned and raced out of the office, down the