Out of My Mind (20 page)

“Step it up.” He snaps his fingers.

“What’s your problem?”

He walks out and shuts the door. Actually shuts it. Not good.

I shower quickly and run styling oil in my hair to keep it from frizzing. No sense trying to style it since it’ll go where it wants anyway.

I’m downstairs in twenty minutes, more than a little anxious. Mom offers me a bowl of cereal and my meds. The house is so quiet I’m a little creeped out.

As we walk out to the car I glance across the street at J.D.’s house, and then snap my eyes back to Mom.
Dangerous move, Cat.

Cat
. J.D.’s nickname for me.

I smile to myself. I hope he sees me smiling from his window. I’m sure he’s watching. Knowing he’s there makes me feel a little less freaked about whatever my parents are about to dump on me.

We pull out of our driveway and head west toward Seattle. I adjust my ear buds and choose a Classic Rock play list on my iPod. Glancing out the window, I welcome a day off from worrying about Greg. J.D. texted me early this morning that there’s a fundraiser at school all day, so today can’t be the day Greg will seek vengeance.

With a sigh, I push back all thoughts of Greg and think about last night. Once J.D. and I strategized ways to prevent Greg from getting revenge on Mr. Cooper, we talked music and movies. We both like THE BREAKFAST CLUB. Makes sense. A movie about kids stuck in separate worlds that break free for one day and form friendships. We talked about his brother, my struggles with school, and what bands were playing at El Corazon this month.

He teased me and I teased him back, and we laughed until I cried. It was the best time I’ve had with another person since the accident. My girlfriends’ gossip doesn’t interest me and my parents are always smothering me with worry. No one really listens or discusses anything of importance.

But J.D. listens with an open mind and a compassionate heart.

I must have drifted off because the car slows as we pull off the freeway.

“Where are we?” I sit up.

Dad parks in an office building lot and gets out.

Mom turns to me. “We’ve been having some adjustment problems and your father made an appointment with a psychiatrist.”

“If he’s got the problem, why are we here?”

“Please, he doesn’t ask for much.”

She’s right. Dad’s had a rough time. He’s not himself lately.

The three of us walk into the imposing, glass building in silence and Dad checks in with the security desk. As we take the elevator to the eleventh floor, Dad hovers in the corner as far away from me as possible.

“Dad?”

He looks at me.

“It’ll be okay,” I offer.

He snaps his attention to Mom. She shakes her head.

The elevator doors pop open and I glance out into a long, gray hallway trimmed in abstract prints that look like…

Bubbles.

My heart drops. It’s the hallway from the “commit Catherine” HULU.

“Mom?” I squeak.

With an arm around my shoulder, she guides me out of the elevator. “It’s okay, honey, they can help you here.”

“No!” I wrench free of her.

“Catherine,” Mom hushes. “We’re concerned and we think Dr. Miller can help.”

“Why?”

“She’s a shrink,” Dad blurts out.

“I don’t need a shrink.” I back up but the elevator doors have closed behind me. I lean against cold steel, willing them to open again. “Why are you guys doing this to me?”

Mom takes a step toward me. “Because we love you, honey.”

“This isn’t love.” A tear slips down my cheek. I angrily wipe it away. I know love. Love is J.D. holding me, stroking my hair and kissing me.

“Sweetheart, please trust us.” Mom extends her hand.

How can I trust her? I’ve seen the future. I’ve seen them sign the papers to commit me.

“I don’t need a shrink,” I say with conviction.

“Just humor us sweetie,” Mom pleads.

“Do you promise not to commit me?”

“Oh, honey, why would you—”

“Promise!”

Mom’s eyes grow round and sad. “I promise.”

She reaches out but I jerk away and walk past her. I really don’t want her touching me right now.

I head down the hall. Dad has already disappeared into the office. Here I thought I had everyone fooled and yet they drag me to a shrink. On a Sunday!

But they haven’t committed me. Not yet.

Wait a second—I can change the HULU! I did it with J.D.’s brother. I need to calm down, prove to them I don’t need psychiatric help or a padded room.

I need to act normal, but which normal?

The office waiting area is empty. There’s no receptionist or secretary. The walls are pale blue and a few plants are strategically positioned in various corners. I take a seat in a gray cushioned chair as far from my father as possible.

This had to be his idea. Hell, he needs the shrink, not me.

Mom glances at both of us, sighs, and sits by Dad.

Nice. Guess I’m on my own.

I grab a magazine off the table and flip through it, not really focusing. I had such an amazing night with J.D. and now I’m in hell.

A few minutes of strained silence later, the office door opens and a woman steps out to greet us. She glances at my parents, then at me.

“Catherine?” she says.

I toss the magazine on the table. “Guilty.”

“I’m Dr. Miller.” She offers her hand.

I stand and shake it. It’s not her fault I’ve been dragged here against my will.

She turns to my parents. “Mr. and Mrs. Westfield.”

They all shake hands. Very proper, very polite.

I fantasize about racing down the bubble hallway to the elevator, but have no idea how I’d get home from the city. I don’t even have bus fare.

“I think it would be a good idea to speak with all three of you first.” The doctor holds her office door open.

Mom nods and walks past her. I glance at Dad. He’s not moving.

“Mr. Westfield?”

“Why do you need me to be in there?”

“Adam,” Mom scolds. “She came in on a Sunday.”

“Mr. Westfield, I find that meeting with the family first helps me get a better sense of the dynamics,” Dr. Miller explains.

He begrudgingly follows Mom into the office. Dr. Miller smiles at me. “Ready?”

“Do I have a choice?”

* * *

Dr. Miller seems young for a shrink. She’s short like me, maybe five three, with blond highlights and friendly blue eyes. She explains her shrink style, and says she’s been working with traumatic brain injury victims for seven years.

Odd. I don’t feel like a victim anymore. Except for maybe a victim of ignorant parents.

“Your dad’s friend Bill is my cousin,” she says directly to me. “He is the reason they were able to get an appointment on a Sunday. Do you know why you’re here?”

“Because they think I’m messed up?”

Dr. Miller glances at my parents.

“We’re worried,” Mom says.

“Because?” Dr. Miller pushes.

Mom looks at Dad. He’s staring at the floor.

“Her friends think she’s troubled,” Mom offers.

“Which friends?” I push.

“Catherine, let’s give your mom a chance to share her concerns, okay?”

I zip it. What’s the point? They’re not listening to me anyway.

“Her best friend is worried about her, and Catherine’s boyfriend said that last weekend she ran off from a party into the woods.”

I’m tempted to say that creep could never be my boyfriend, but I stop myself. That would only prove Mom’s case: Catherine must be nuts if she doesn’t like the football star!

“Anything else?” Dr. Miller asks.

“Yesterday someone saw Catherine with the boy who ran her down,” Mom said.

Damn. It doesn’t matter who narced on me. I was seen with J.D. so I must be insane.

I’m totally screwed. I fist my left hand.

Don’t lose it
.

“He’s my note taker,” I explain to the doctor.

“They were holding hands,” Dad snaps.

“In other words,” the shrink directs her question to my parents, “this behavior concerned you enough to make an emergency appointment with me?”

“Yes,” Mom says.

Dad nods, then glances at me. “Holding hands?” he whispers. “How could you?”

Shame floods through me like I’ve been caught drinking and driving. Yet all I did was like a guy.

Which they can never find out about or they
will
certainly commit me.

“Do I get to defend myself?” I ask the doctor.

“There’s no need to defend yourself. I’m going to send your parents into the waiting area so you and I can talk.”

She opens the office door. “Mr. and Mrs. Westfield, please wait out here.”

They leave and she shuts the door, sits down and studies me.

“Are you sad?” she asks.

“Is this confidential or are you going to share everything I say with my parents?”

“Confidential.”

I stand and wander to the window overlooking the city. It’s so clear outside that I can see the Olympic Mountain range in the distance.

“I’m frustrated,” I admit. “I’m not the same girl everyone knew before the accident so they think I’m whacked.” I turn to her. “Reality check:
they
need the shrink.”

She smiles. “We all need a shrink.”

“Even you?”

“Yep.”

I sit back down.

“What about your boyfriend’s concern about you running away from a party?” she asks.

“First, he’s not my boyfriend. He and my mom would like him to be, but he’s not.”

“Why would he get the impression that he is?”

“I used to like him, you know, before the accident.”

“But not anymore?” She writes something on her legal pad.

“Like I said. I’ve changed. Everything’s changed.”

“And you ran from the party because you were upset?”

You would be too if you saw the boy you were crushing on lighting someone on fire
.

“High school parties are loud,” I explain. “Everyone was drunk and it was too much for me. It was my first party since the accident.”

She scribbles with her pencil. “Let’s talk about the accident.”

“I don’t remember much.”

“Your mom said it upsets you to see the boy who hit you with his car.”

“Yeah.”

“But now you’re holding his hand?”

And kissing him, hugging him. I glance at the floor.

“Can you understand why this might alarm your parents?” she asks. “Victims of TBI—”

“I hate that word, victim. Like I’m weak and broken and branded for life. I’m not. I fought really hard to start school on time and get back on Cheer.”

“Your mom thinks you’ve lost interest in Cheer.”

I shrug. “That was my old life. This is my new one.”

More notes. She’s probably writing down “depressed” or “delusional.”

“And your new life involves the boy—”

“His name is J.D., and I was dancing in the middle of the street when he hit me.”

She jots something down.

“I’m crazy, right? Because I’ve forgiven the boy who hit me?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Do you know how alone I feel? It’s like I’m invisible and everyone’s waiting for the old Catherine to put on her Cheer uniform and raise money for starving kids in Africa or something.”

More jotting. Then she stops and looks up at me. Thank God for the sunglasses. I really don’t want to see into this woman’s head. I can only imagine what kinds of crazies fill her brain.

“Do you miss your old life?” she asks.

I lean back in the chair. Think for a sec. “I guess. Things would be a lot easier if the accident never happened.”

“Your new life is hard work?”

“Some days.”

“And confusing?”

I shrug.

“What about this boy who hit you?”

“What about him?”

“Your parents think he’s trouble; that he’s going to hurt you again.”

I jump to my feet. “It was an accident. My Dad can’t forgive himself for not protecting his little girl and my mom wants her cheerleader back. They know nothing about J.D., how his mom abandoned him, or how his dad abuses him. My parents saw his dad shove J.D. into the front steps and give him a bloody nose, and you know what they did? Nothing. Dad said he probably deserved it. How could he say that?”

“Your father is hurting for you.”

“No, he’s hurting for himself. All this blame and self-pity. I hate it.”

“But you like this boy, J.D.?”

“He accepts me. Just like this.” I raise my arms and let them drop to my sides. “What is so wrong with liking him?”

She jots down something.

“I’m nuts, right? That’s what you’re writing down, right?”

“Actually.” She holds up her pad so I can see it. Pencil doodles fill the page. “It helps me think.”

“Yeah, me too. J.D. is teaching me to draw.”

“Tell me more about him.”

I lost it a second ago, blurted out any thought that streamed through my brain. I confessed my feelings for J.D., well almost all of them, and suddenly I feel vulnerable. I need to protect him.

Dr. Miller searches my face. “Catherine? I meant it when I said our conversation is confidential.”

I study her. It would be nice to be able to dump on someone other than J.D. He’s got his own crap to deal with. “Have you got another pad and pencil?”

Dr. Miller smiles. “You bet.”

* * *

They didn’t commit me. Score one for Cat.

Mom and Dad are convinced that the session helped, but they still look at me like I’m a stranger. I didn’t tell the shrink about my HULU’s. Couldn’t risk it. But it felt good to unload some of the other stuff.

We don’t talk much at dinner. I wonder if my parents are still worried about me or just angry that, in their minds, I’ve made such bad choices like running away from Greg and befriending J.D.

The rest of my Sunday night is uneventful. J.D. and I text back and forth about what happened at the shrink’s office. I ask him to meet me before school in the art room. A hug from J.D. will ground me and make me feel safe. I text Taylor that Mom’s giving me a ride to school because I have an early meeting.