Free Pretty Girl Thirteen by Liz Coley Page A

blame you. She’s such a loose lips.”
    Angie felt like she should defend Livvie—she never spilled other people’s secrets—but then again, Liv might have changed there, too. “No. It’s really true. I have this giant mental block. But I have a psychologist helping me with it.” The whole medical evidence thing, the words and phrases she’d overheard, she didn’t want to think about. Definitely didn’t want to share.
    “Well, you look great,” he said. “It can’t have been too awful.”
    Look great? It wasn’t the first compliment on her new appearance, but it was the most meaningful, coming from him. Maybe she could learn to like her big eyes and narrow cheeks.
    “I love your hair this way,” he said, stroking it all the way down the back of her head and halfway down her back. “It’s like honey pouring.”
    She’d never cut it!
    His fingers pressed against her back, bringing her just an inch closer to him. “C’mere,” he said. “I missed you. I missed you so much. God, we were all so sad. It was awful wondering … and wondering. At eighth grade graduation, you know, they rang the bell for you, thirteen times. I felt like they were ringing you out of existence.”
    His eyes were sad and faraway. “I didn’t want to believe it.” He twisted a strand of her hair between his fingers. “And now, here you are.”
    Angie ached to hold him, comfort him, close the distance. She wasn’t sure what to do.
    But someone knew. You just needed a little help, Angie, and I knew who to send. The ache ran down from your heart, through your belly, and lower. It shivered you. With a little push from us, you shifted and straddled his thighs, put your arms around Greg’s neck, and opened his mouth with your tongue. He devoured you, like a sweet candy, kisses and more kisses. Closer and closer you pressed while the hot shivering took you out of your mind. She moved your hands for you, knowing the way to show how much you loved him.
    Then he broke the slow spell. “Angie.” He said your name, first as a sigh. Then, “Angie.” It was louder, harsher. And you popped up, scared and embarrassed. Your eyes opened, and the face you saw wasn’t the sweet boy in the lazy river you remembered. Cheeks flushed, pupils huge, sweaty brow. “Angie, I can’t,” he said. “I’m sorry. But it’s like, me and Liv? We’re—”
    You leaped off the bed, stared at your hands like they didn’t belong to you. Which was true, in a way. They had a mind of their own. So to speak.

INVITATION
    “T HEY’RE TRYING TO TAKE OVER MY LIFE , D R . G RANT ,” A NGIE complained. She had moved to the sofa, figuring that sitting on the desk again would look like an act of defiance. And she didn’t want to be defiant. She wanted help.
    The doctor was wearing a pale blue sweater set today. It set off her eyes, a matching robin’s-egg blue. Carefully tweezed eyebrows rose at Angie’s outburst.
    “Your parents? The other kids at school?”
    “Well, yes, them too. No, the … the personalities. The alters?”
    Only a tiny twitch of her head betrayed the doctor’s emotional reaction. “So now you are aware of their presence? At our first meeting, you weren’t so sure.”
    The power of those brilliant eyes compelled honest gut-spilling—a good feature for a psychologist, Angie thought. “Well, yes. At our first meeting I was in denial. Right? I thought I was just spacing out during the fuzzy dropped time. You know, when it was just seconds here and there—I could make excuses to other people, and to myself.” She forced herself not to break the eye contact. “I mean, everyone tunes out occasionally. Right?”
    “Of course.” Dr. Grant slow-blinked, a subtle nod. Go on.
    “But now much weirder things are happening. Things that make me think you … you may be right.”
    “Such as what?” the doctor asked in a level voice. Calm, interested.
    Obviously, Dr. Grant didn’t find any of this strange. Multiple personalities.