Free An Anonymous Girl by Greer Hendricks and Sarah Pekkanen Page A

girl named Taylor, but I knew he meant you.”
    He rummages through a big beer mugnext to the cash register that’s stuffed with pens and business cards and a pack of Camel Lights. He pulls out a business card.
    BREAKFAST ALL DAY it says across the top. Underneath is an illustration of a smiley face: Two sunny-side-up eggs serve as the eyes and a strip of bacon as the mouth. At the bottom is Noah’s name and number.
    I frown. “Is he a cook?”
    Sanjay gives me a mock-sternlook. “Did you talk at all?”
    “Not about his profession,” I shoot back.
    “He seemed cool,” Sanjay says. “He’s opening a little restaurant a few blocks away.”
    I flip over the card and see the message:
Taylor, Good For One Free French Toast. Call To Redeem.
    Lizzie comes through the door just then. I jump off my stool and give her a hug.
    “Happy Birthday,” I say, palming the cardso she doesn’t see it.
    She pulls off her jacket and I catch a whiff of the new leather smell. It looks a lot like the one I wear, which Lizzie has always admired, but I got mine at a thrift store. When I go to touch the fur collar, I see the label: BARNEYS NEW YORK .
    “It’s faux fur,” Lizzie assures me, and I wonder what she read in my expression. “My parents gave it to me for my birthday.”

    “It’s gorgeous,” I say.
    Lizzie lays it across her lap as she settles onto the stool next to me. I order us vodka-cran-sodas and she asks, “How was your Thanksgiving?”
    The holiday seems like a lifetime ago.
    “Oh, the usual. Too much pie and football. Tell me about yours.”
    “It was awesome,” she says. “Everyone flew in and we played a giant game of charades. The little kids werehilarious. Can you believe I’ve got five nieces and nephews now? My dad—”
    Lizzie cuts herself off as Sanjay slides the drinks over and I reach for mine.
    “You never wear nail polish!” Lizzie exclaims. “Pretty color!”
    I look down at my fingers. My skin is darker than Dr. Shields’s, and my fingers are shorter. Instead of elegant, the color looks edgy on me. But she is right; it is flattering.

    “Thanks. I wasn’t sure if I could pull it off”
    We chat through another two drinks, then Lizzie touches my arm. “Hey, can I borrow you Tuesday afternoon to do my makeup? I need an updated headshot.”
    “Ooh, I’ve got a sess—” I cut myself off. “A job way uptown.”
    During our first in-person meeting, Dr. Shields had me sign another, more detailed confidentiality agreement. I can’t evenmention her name to Lizzie.
    “No prob, I’ll figure it out,” Lizzie says cheerfully. “Hey, should we get nachos?”
    I nod and give the order to Sanjay. I feel bad that I can’t help Lizzie.
    And it feels strange to hide things from her, because she’s the person who knows me best.
    But maybe she doesn’t any longer.

CHAPTER
TWELVE
    Tuesday, December 4
    You were unsure of the burgundy nail polish, but you wear it today.
    This is evidence of your growing trust.
    You also select the love seat again.
    At first you lean back and fold your arms behind your head; your body language signals your increasing openness.
    You don’t believe you are ready for what will happen next. But you are.

    You have been groomed for this; your emotional stamina stretched, similar to how a methodically planned increase in endurance prepares a runner for a marathon.
    A few perfunctory warm-up questions about your weekend are asked.
    And then:
In order for us to move forward, we need to go back.
    When those words are spoken, you abruptly adjust your position, pulling your arms down and crossingthem over your body. Classic protective posturing.
    You must already sense what lies ahead.
    It is time for this final barrier to come down.
    The question you shied away from during your very first computer session in Room 214 is presented once more, this time verbally, with a gentle but firm inflection:
    Jessica, have you ever deeply hurt someone you care about?
    You curl