springs ago.
The one I cupped in my hands and fed
with an eyedropper every time it cried:
Mashed potatoes. Egg yolk. Cod-liver oil.
I remember how the fluff disappeared
from the baby bird’s head and how
pinfeathers sprouted from its wings.
I’m surprised when Roger says the girl’s name.
Skylar.
Like the bright blue sky
on the day I released the robin.
I remember feeling all tangled up inside that day.
Happy to set the bird free. Sad to watch it go.
I think about how enormous that feeling was,
like a balloon blowing up inside my heart,
bigger and bigger, until all I wanted to do was find
a way to let the feeling out before my heart popped.
I think about how I tried to follow the bird with my eyes.
To see where it landed in the tall cypress trees.
But then Avery sprayed me with the hose
and made me jump two feet, and she laughed
when I couldn’t find the bird anymore.
“Thank God that little crapper’s out of here,” she said.
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Skylar Flits Out of Her Seat
It’s all her mother’s fault. For heaping
so many unnecessary calories on her plate.
She jabs a finger at her SkinnyJeans.
“I’m huge ,” she says.
“I had to stop eating.
What else could I do?”
Nobody answers.
I look at Roger, with his cheap, coupon haircut
and his brown Walmart shoes and I wonder
how someone like that could ever help any of us.
But then he does something unexpected.
Something almost promising.
He get one of those aha looks in his eye
and he hops out of his chair,
and for a split second, I feel a flutter of hope.
But then he stops behind Skylar’s seat.
Waiting.
Expectant.
Motioning with his hands
like we’re supposed to do something.
“Well come on, Group,” he says at last.
“What do you think Skylar should do?”
And that’s when I realize
I was right all along.
Roger doesn’t have the answers either.
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I Get Thirty Minutes of Free Time
But there’s no point in free time because
there’s nothing to do. I think of all the text
messages piling up on my cell phone.
Holy crap!
WTF?
R U there?
I wish I could answer them.
But, my phone is locked
in the secured room,
along with the blade I hide
in the battery compartment.
My stomach starts to knot.
What if Rennie called?
I know she’s my best friend and all.
But she gets pissed when I don’t answer.
I mean, really pissed.
Or what if there’s a text about Tara
spreading lies?
Or what if there’s a message from
Chase Grayson, the Soccer God,
and he says something
sweet and adorable like
uok?
and I’m stuck in this oatmeal pit,
cut off from civilization,
missing my one and only chance
to talk to the boy I’ve had a crush on
since the second grade?
If they had to take away my cell phone,
they might as well have amputated my head.
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Day Nurse Flaps Her Big Bullhorn Lips
“Exercise time.”
I follow her to the rec room.
But there’s not much there.
Just some crumbly old floor mats,
a stationary bike, and a treadmill.
It’s not like the fitness center back home
with rows of stair climbers
and elliptical machines
and a rack of blue balance balls
just waiting to be squeezed.
I get on the treadmill and dig in my heels.
The conveyer grinds an inch. Maybe two.
Like there’s sandpaper on the bottom of the belt.
When I look up, a boy is standing inches away,
staring at me with his army-green eyes.
I notice his tangled hair, his crooked nose,
and the little scar above his lip that
makes it look like he’s about to snarl.
“I can fix that,” he says.
I step down and let him yank on the belt
just so I can watch his
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