What?
He didn’t look at me. “Elizabeth’s mother and I both need to get back to work, and I know we still have some paperwork to complete.”
My heart flew into my throat. He was abandoning me? I’d had this whole scenario worked out in my head that when my parents saw the other girls here, they’d realize I was basically fine and take me home. They’d say, Elizabeth, we’ve made a terrible mistake. This place is for sick girls. Not you. Then we’d sweep through the front doors and jump back in the car and all go to Starbucks, and over coffee we’d laugh about how they almost had me committed.
Instead, Dad took me by the shoulders. “I love you so much, kiddo,” he said, voice gruff. “I’ll miss you.” And then he held me so tight I could barely breathe. He grabbed his coat and tried to leave before the first sob but didn’t make it, his shoulders heaving. “You are a wonderful daughter. I love you so much.” And then he was gone.
Mom smoothed her skirt and adjusted her sweater, clearing her throat like she always did when she was nervous. “Well, do you need anything else?” Her voice was brisk and professional.
I shook my head, not trusting myself to speak.
“Okay, then. Don’t forget to call us, all right? You’re going to be fine.” She looked me up and down and nodded. “Yes, you are going to be fine.” She said this more to herself than to me. We hugged. We never hugged. Mom wasn’t the cuddly type, but all of a sudden I didn’t want to let her go. I inhaled her perfume, realizing for the first time how much I liked it. And then she too slipped out the door, a cloud of Chanel No. 5 lingering behind her. Without thinking, I walked through it, hoping a bit of her would stay with me.
With everybody gone, the room felt lonely and too quiet. I tried to make myself as small as I could. I sat on the corner of the bed. It crackled.
“All set?” Mary asked. I’d forgotten she was there. I nodded.
“Let’s go, then.” She led me into the hall, where a row of girls waited in front of double doors that read Dining Room. The tiny girl from the couch was at the end of the line, picking at a scab on her arm.
“I’m going to leave you with Willa,” Mary said. “She’ll be in your cohort.” The girl barely looked up at me.
I was confused. “Cohort?”
“Your cohort is the group of girls you’ll be doing the majority of your therapy with. You have six in yours. Willa, here, is the youngest.” I looked at her. A tiny gold Winnie-the-Pooh, a silver Ariel, and an orange-and-black enamel Tigger clung to her earlobe. “Willa, this is Elizabeth. Take care of her, will you?”
Willa smiled then, and as she did, her face changed. Became friendlier. “Welcome to the crazy house,” she said in a smoker’s growl. How old was she?
Mary frowned. “Willa,” she warned.
“Sorry.” She grinned. “Welcome to paradise.”
2
I was still trying to understand the strange creature that was Willa when the dining room doors flew open. A woman dressed in baggy jeans and a plaid shirt straight out of the nineties stood just inside the door, greeting each girl as she entered. “That’s Kay,” Willa whispered. “The food police.” I looked at her, not understanding. “She’s the meal monitor, the one who makes sure you eat what you’re supposed to and makes you drink Ensure if you don’t.”
“What’s Ensure?”
“A high-calorie nutrition shake. The chocolate isn’t so bad.”
Oh, those. I’ll never drink one of those, I promised myself. Ever.
“Hello, Willa.” Kay smiled. “And are you Elizabeth?”
I nodded.
“Welcome! Come on in.”
I followed them through the doors into a room the same size as the classrooms at school. Big windows overlooking a stone patio lined the wall opposite the entrance. Off to the left, a door led to a kitchen, where girls entered in a long, slow line. Willa grabbed a tray. “So, the rules in here are simple: Eat. No matter what.” Then she whispered, “And don’t even try to stick the food down your pants. They’ll see it, I promise.” I had a feeling she was speaking from experience.
Kay appeared holding a sheet of paper. Her reddish hair looked frizzy, like she’d had an unfortunate run-in with a curling iron. “Your menu plan is a basic one today. Here’s your list—one muffin, one apple, and one milk. Not too bad. You go through the kitchen line for snacks here, but for your meals, the kitchen prepares your tray before you arrive. When you finish, raise your hand and I’ll check you off. Got it?”
“I, um, I’m sorry, but I don’t like milk,” I said.
She didn’t even blink before responding. “Well, once you can design your own menu, you can discuss that with your nutritionist. But until then, I think you’re stuck.”
I couldn’t drink milk. I’d throw up. With a pang I wondered what my parents were doing, if they’d stopped for coffee on the way home or if they’d driven straight to their offices. I stared at the floor, blinking to keep back the tears.
Kay noticed and touched my shoulder. “It’ll be okay,” she said. “You’ll see.”
I doubted it. Being here was like a permanent stain. No matter what I did in the future, I could never erase the fact that, once upon a time, I’d been locked up like a crazy person. The eating disorder unit was separate from the rest of Wallingfield, but it was still a part of a mental institution.
Five tins of muffins, straight from the oven, filled the counter. The cinnamon crumble on top of each one made my stomach growl and my mouth water. I hadn’t eaten that morning, and I ached for one. That was what anorexia was. A constant battle with the ache.
At home I wouldn’t have gone near them, but here I didn’t have a choice. Gingerly I picked out the tiniest muffin I could find, the grease from it making my fingertips shiny. I shuddered and wiped them on my pants.
My brain spun, calculating. I’d never been good at math, but when it came to calories I could add like Stephen Hawking. Dunkin’ Donuts coffee cake muffins had 590 calories. That’s right. Five hundred and ninety calories. Oh, and 24 grams of fat. I knew because I’d looked it up once. These were smaller, but still. Three hundred and fifty calories at least. I’d put the grams of fat at 16. Maybe more. My stomach rumbled. No. I was not hungry. No way. Not allowed. Not for a muffin, anyway.
I felt a nudge from behind.
“Sorry,” I mumbled to the girl behind me.
“It gets easier,” she said sympathetically.
I nodded. I doubt it, I thought.
I took an apple from a basket. I saw other girls reaching into a refrigerator and grabbing low-fat yogurts and cheese sticks. Others helped themselves to little containers of premeasured granola stacked like a pyramid on the counter. Granola was a calorie bomb—up to 280 calories for half a cup. Would I have to eat that someday, too?
Milk was next. The carton was wet and made my hand smell sour. I wished I had some Purell to get rid of the smell. Willa came up behind me. “All set?” she said.