Spin (13 page)

I walk back to my bed and sit on the edge. He sits
on Amy’s bed, facing me.

“I assume the note’s from Connor?”

“Yup.”

“He wants her to meet him?”

“Probably.”

“They’ll get in a lot of trouble if they’re
caught.”

“Then they’ll have to do their best not to get
caught.”

“Why does he want to meet her?”

He gives me an incredulous look. “Why do you
think?”

“That’s not an answer. He must’ve told you
something.”

“Guys don’t talk about that kind of stuff,
FYI.”

“
FYI,
girls don’t
believe guys when they say that.”

We grin at each other, having another one of our
moments that is both awkward and not.

“What if she doesn’t want to meet him?” I ask
eventually.

“Why wouldn’t she want to meet him?”

“Well . . . given what happened the
other day in the cafeteria . . .”

He looks certain. “She’ll go.”

“Despite the Britney Spears toxicity of their
relationship?”

“Are you trying to get me to sing again?”

“Would you?”

He shakes his head. “No way. That was a
one-time-only performance.”

“Too bad.”

I meet Henry’s gaze. It has an intense quality to
it that makes me blush.

I look down at my knees. “If they’re so bad for one
another, why are you acting as his messenger?”

“Life’s full of little ironies.”

You have no idea, buddy.

There’s a sound in the hall. We stand and step
toward each other, startled. We’re close enough that I can feel the heat of his
body and hear the sound of his breathing. It’s strangely intimate.

I listen carefully, my breath drawn in. It must be
Carol doing bed checks.

“Quick,” I whisper to him. “Get under the bed.”

He nods and slides under Amy’s bed. I make sure
that the blue-striped bedspread reaches the floor on the side facing the door
and then leap toward my bed, snapping off the light. I hear Carol open the door
to Mary and Candice’s room two doors down.

“Kate,” Henry whispers. “The towel.”

Shit. I jump out of bed, grab the towel, and climb
back into bed as quietly as I can. I just manage to pull the covers over me as
the door opens. I close my eyes and try to keep my face looking like that of a
sleeping person’s.

A patch of light passes across me. The door
closes.

I let out a sigh of relief, the sound of my
pounding heart filling my ears.

Christ. I’m thirty years old and clasping a
foolscap note to my chest, worried I’ll get caught after lights out with a man I
barely know hidden under a bed. How the fuck did that happen?

“Is the coast clear?” Henry whispers.

I get out of bed and put the towel back under the
door. I turn on the light and lift the bedspread. Henry’s on his side surrounded
by dustballs. He looks like he’s trying not to sneeze.

I stifle my giggle with my fist.

“What’s so funny?” he asks.

“You having fun under there?”

He wiggles out and stands up, dusting himself
off.

“You know it.” He runs his hands through his hair,
making it stand on end. “Shit, that was close. What do you think would happen if
I got caught in here?”

“I’m guessing we’d get kicked out.”

He looks surprised. “You don’t sound that
concerned.”

Right. Shit. I’m in rehab. I’m supposed to need to
be here. I’m supposed to want to be here.

“Of course I am. In fact, I’m very mad at you for
putting me in this compromising position.”

He laughs quietly. “It won’t happen again.”

“Good. So,” I wave the note, “what am I supposed to
do with this thing?”

“Sneak into Amber’s room and deliver it.”

“But what if I can’t get it to her?”

“I managed to sneak in here.”

“Ah, but you have previous experience.”

“Maybe.”

“Do you know where her room is?”

He gives me a look. “I thought you were her new
BFF.”

“Am I?”

“It’s the next hall over, second door in. Will you
do it?”

“I’ll try.”

“Thanks. I’d better get out of here before I get
caught.”

“Good idea.”

“Wait five minutes before you go.” He squeezes my
shoulder, letting his hand linger for a moment. “Good luck, Kate.”

He opens my door, peeks out, and leaves.

I sit on the edge of my bed, watching the minutes
on the clock tick over, resisting the extremely powerful temptation to read the
note. Although . . . aren’t I here to get exactly this kind of
inside information? I can hear Bob’s voice in my head.
Open
the goddamn note.

I unfold it and read the scrawled message.

Babe, renkonti min ce la benko
de la grande arbo ce noktomezo.

You’ve got to be kidding me.

I read it again. It’s still garbled garbage.

How frustrating. I wonder what he wants to meet her
for anyway. Probably for sex, right? Or maybe drugs? Maybe sex and drugs? Amber
really is going to get in serious trouble if she gets caught. She might even get
thrown out this time, despite the legal hold.

What do you care? Just deliver
the note like a good little enabler, and don’t get caught.

Right, good point.

I tuck the note into the band of my boxers and
leave the room stealthily, sliding my feet along the polished wood floor so they
don’t make a sound. When I reach the end of the hall, I freeze against the side
of the wall and peer around it. The coast is clear. I skitter to the next hall,
stopping outside the second door.

I hear a noise. It sounds like it’s one hall away,
but it might be closer. I raise my hand to knock, then decide to enter and take
my chances. I turn the handle gently and slip into the room. Someone with long
dark hair is sleeping on her side, the covers tucked around her slim shoulders.
Surely, this must be Amber.

“Amber,” I whisper.

She doesn’t react. I take a step toward her bed and
put my hand on her shoulder. Out of nowhere, she reaches up and grips my wrist
tightly.

“What the fuck are you doing in my room?” she
hisses.

“Amber, it’s me. Katie.”

Her grip loosens a little. A very little.

“Who?”

“Katie. Katie we sang together in the
cafeteria.”

Katie I’m here to use your life for my own personal
gain.

“Katie?”

“Yes.”

She lets my wrist go and sits up. “What are you
doing in my room?”

“I have a note for you. From Connor.”

She sits there silently. I can’t see the expression
on her face in the dark, but the set of her shoulders is that of a person in
deep concentration.

“Can I turn on the light?” I ask.

“Yeah, all right.”

I spy a towel lying folded over the desk chair and
use it to block the space between the door and the floor. I turn on the light.
Amber’s wearing flannel pajamas and her hair falls across her shoulders in soft
waves. She looks like she just came out of hair and makeup.

She holds out her hand. “Can I have the note?”

I dig it out of my waistband and hand it to her. I
watch nervously as she unfolds it. What if I didn’t fold it back up in the right
way? Maybe they have some special folding code? That would be bad. Very, very
bad.

She stares at the note for a moment and tosses it
onto the bed.

Some of the tension eases from my shoulders. “What
does he want?”

“For me to meet him in the woods.”

“Are you going to go?”

“Not sure yet. Did he bring this to you?”

“No, Henry did.”

She snorts. “I should’ve known. God forbid he
should deliver his own notes.”

Though every fiber of my being wants to probe her
for more information, I think the better move here would be to leave.

“Anyway . . . I should be getting
back to my room.”

“Will you stay with me for a bit?”

“Sure.” I sit down on her twin bed.

“What time is it?”

I check my watch. “Ten to twelve. What do you think
he wants?”

“What he always wants.”

Sex? Drugs? Rock ’n’ roll?

I notice that her hands are shaking. She catches me
looking and clenches them shut.

“Yeah, I know. Whenever I think about him I want to
use in the worst way.”

“Then maybe you shouldn’t go.”

“That’s what my head’s saying.”

“And your heart?”

She looks bleak. “My heart? My heart’s
saying . . . Connor Parks is waiting for
you . . .”

Connor Parks is waiting for you.
Connor Parks.
Even I’m tempted to go meet him, and I
know he’s not waiting for me.

“So . . . you’re going?”

“Yeah.”

She stands up and walks to her dresser. She takes
out a pair of black jeans and a dark shirt. She drops them onto the bed and
pulls her pajama top over her head, revealing her rather large, naked breasts. I
turn away so she can change with some privacy, though she obviously doesn’t
care.

“Goddamn rehab food,” she mutters.

I look at her. She’s concentrating on buttoning the
front of her pants.

“What was that?”

“Nothing. Thanks for delivering the note.”

“No problem . . . I couldn’t sleep,
anyway. Especially not after being visited by a man in the middle of the
night.”

She gives me a penetrating look. “You like him,
right? E.?”

Shit. What’s made her so perceptive all of a
sudden?

“I just met him.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t say anything.” She applies
lip gloss and puckers her lips. “What do you think? Will I do?”

“For an assignation in the woods with your maybe
ex-boyfriend?”

“Exactamundo.”

“Note perfect.”

She flashes me a smile. “Cool. I’ll see you
later?”

“Sure. Be careful out there.”

“Not a chance.”

Chapter 13

Trust Me

I
’m
standing on a platform twenty feet in the air with a harness around my waist,
chalk on my hands and a net waiting to catch me. I’m holding an extremely heavy
trapeze bar with my right hand. My left is clinging for dear life to a guy wire.
Any second now, the muscled man in tights behind me is going to yell “hep!” and
I’m supposed to swing into the nothingness in front of me.

As if!

I’m up here because today is Trust Day.

When Saundra told us about it earlier, I’d conjured
up images of the kind of trust games I played at camp. You know, where you wear
a blindfold and fall backward into the waiting arms of your bunkmates? Well,
that’s what I thought was waiting for me. I never imagined that a few hours
later I’d be up here in the stratosphere, about to jump.

I
’ve
been in a bad mood since I woke up this morning.

I’m in a bad mood because, for the first time since
I got here, I’m feeling kind of guilty. Guilty about being in rehab. Guilty
about the reason behind my burgeoning friendship with Amber. Maybe even guilty
about the truth behind some of the stories I’ve been telling Saundra.

I’m not sure what’s brought this feeling about, but
I don’t like it.

I don’t like the way it woke me up at the crack of
dawn, a few hours after I finally managed to drift off after delivering the note
to Amber, or the way it accompanied me on my otherwise impressive nine-minute
run. I don’t like the way it made me chatty in my session with Saundra (look at
me, look at me, I’m as fucked up as any of the other patients!), or the way it
robs my appetite at lunch as I sit alone mechanically eating a hamburger.

And most of all, I hate the way it keeps reminding
me that if I wasn’t in this stupid place, I could have a couple vodka tonics,
and I’d be feeling too good to feel guilty about anything.

If you weren’t in this place,
you wouldn’t have anything to feel guilty about.

I know that, OK?

I’m just saying.

Will you leave me the hell alone?

“Who’re you talking to?” Henry asks as he sits down
across from me with his lunch tray. His hair is damp, and he’s wearing a pair of
taupe Bermuda shorts and a black T-shirt with an alt-rock band logo on it.

Why does this guy always catch me doing
embarrassing things?

“No one.”

“Seemed like it was a pretty animated conversation
to me.”

“Right.”

“Look, if you’d rather be
alone . . .” He starts to leave.

Aw, shit.

“No! Don’t go.”

Wow. Major overreaction.

“Stay,” I say in a more moderate tone. “And sorry.
I’m just feeling grumpy today.”

He sits back down. “How come?”

“I didn’t get much sleep last
night . . .”

“Because you followed Amber and Connor into the
woods?”

“No!”

“Weren’t you tempted to? It must’ve been such a
touching scene,” he says sarcastically.

“So, why didn’t you follow them?”

He takes a big bite from his burger. “Because I’m
not a girl.”

“Nice. Mmm . . . you have some
ketchup on your chin . . .”

I reach out to wipe it off, then pull my hand
back.

He gives me a curious look as he wipes the ketchup
off with his napkin. “Thanks. So why didn’t you
go?”

“Because it wasn’t any of my business.”

“I see. Tell me . . . you ever read
a gossip magazine?”

My hands start to sweat. Where the hell is he going
with this?

“Of course.”

“Well, none of those ‘Celebrities Are Just Like Us’
moments are anyone’s business either.”

“I know, but at least I’m not the one invading
their privacy.”

At least, not in those particular magazines.

“But you’re one step removed. And if no one read
those things, then the paparazzi wouldn’t be there in the first place.”

If no one read those things, I wouldn’t be here in
the first place.

I try to laugh it off. “So, if a celebrity gets
drunk alone in the forest, it doesn’t make a sound?”

He smiles. “Exactly.”

“But don’t some celebrities want the
attention?”

“Sure, but does that mean they’re not entitled to
any privacy?”

“I never said that.”

“What
are
you
saying?”

That this conversation is hitting way too close to
home.

“That I’m as curious as the next person about how
extremely well-paid, beautiful young things live their lives, but I still didn’t
spy on Amber and Connor in the woods last night.”

“But you read the note?”

“No . . .”

He leans toward me. “Only because you couldn’t
understand what it said.”

“Why wouldn’t I be able to understand what it
said?”

“Nice try. Admit it.”

“Only if you tell me why I couldn’t read the
note.”

“Because it was in Esperanto.”

“Esperanto? That fake language that was supposed to
replace English?”

“Yup.”

“They communicate in Esperanto?”

“Yup.”

“But that’s . . .”

He smiles a knowing smile as he pops several french
fries into his mouth. “Incredibly geeky?”

“Says the man who can read Esperanto.”

He raises his hand to his heart. “You wound me,
Kate, Katie, whichever.”

“You’ll survive.”

W
hen I
leave Henry to go to group, the guilty feelings return. Maybe it’s because group
is all about guilty feelings, but as I sit there listening to today’s “I was
just going to do one line” stories, I feel more alone and down than I have since
I blew the interview for my dream job on my thirtieth birthday.

I feel like I need something dramatic to pull me
out of this funk. And since I don’t have access to what I usually use to cure
this kind of ailment, when Saundra tells us about Trust Day, instructs us to put
on comfortable clothes, and asks for a volunteer, my hand shoots in the air like
it used to do in grade school, when I was sure I knew all the answers.

Sign me up for anything but hanging out with myself
in my head.

I feel that way right up until we enter the gym and
I see the trapeze apparatus set up in the middle of the basketball court.

“Trust,” Saundra says, looking younger and more
athletic than usual in a pair of black stretch pants and a shirt emblazoned with
the words “Puppies Love Us!” in the same scrawl usually used for slogans like
“Porn Star!”

“It’s the most difficult thing to give and the
easiest to lose. Each of you has lost the trust of those closest to you because
of your addictions. You need to learn how to get people to trust you again. But
first, you need to learn how to trust others, and trust yourself. And that’s
what this exercise is about.”

“How is acting out an episode of
Sex and the City
going to do that?” The Director asks.
The right leg of his sweatpants is pulled up to his knee. He looks like a member
of a chorus line.

“That’s a good question, Rodney. The exercise works
in two ways. First of all, you have to trust the equipment and the people
operating it. But also, it’s scary up there. It’s going to require courage to
step off that platform. Finding that in yourself will help you start to build
your confidence. You’ll need that confidence to inspire trust in others.” She
looks around. “Any more questions? No? Good, let’s get to work.”

We spend the next half hour learning how to fly.
It’s the easiest thing in the world on solid ground, and I begin to relax. Maybe
I can do this after all.

When we’ve learned the basics, one of the
instructors (a well-muscled, slightly effeminate man in a dark blue circus
leotard) chalks his hands, climbs the rope, and positions himself on the
platform.

“Hold the bar like this in your right hand,” he
bellows down to us, his voice sounding far away. “When I say ‘Ready,’ let go of
the guy wire, grab the bar with your left hand, and steady yourself. You jump on
‘Hep!’ ”

He jumps and swings out over the large net beneath
him.

“At the far point of the swing I’ll say, ‘Legs up.’
”

He leans backward, brings his knees to his chest,
and tucks his legs over the bar.

“Next comes: ‘Release.’ ”

He lets his hands go and is swinging by his
knees.

“When I say, ‘Hands up,’ bring your hands back up
and release your knees.”

He follows his own instructions and is swinging by
his hands again.

“The second ‘Release’ means let go.”

He falls gracefully onto the net. He walks to the
edge and flips to the ground.

Candice applauds, and even the most uptight guys,
The Lawyer and The Judge, look impressed. He’s made it look easy, but we all
know it isn’t.

“You ready for your close-up?” Amber asks me. She’s
dressed like a ballerina, with her hair scraped back into a neat bun, a pink
leotard, and matching tights that end mid-calf. One can only wonder what
possessed her to bring that outfit to rehab.

I, on the other hand, look more like a bit player
from a Jane Fonda workout video from the eighties. All I’m missing is the bright
red headband and matching leg warmers.

“Nuh-unh.”

“But you volunteered,” she mocks me.

“Yeah, I have to remember to keep from doing
that.”

Amber laughs, and I realize that she’s in a good
mood. And not in the I-got-one-over-on-Saundra kind of mood she’s sometimes in
after group. Nope. This is a genuine my-life-is-kind-of-good mood I’ve never
seen before. Things must’ve gone well in the woods last night.

“You want to take my place in line?” I say.

“Sure, why not?”

“You’re not scared?”

“Nah. I’ve done this before.”

She walks to the head of the line, and Carol clips
her harness onto the safety rope. She climbs nimbly up the ladder and waits for
her signal to fly. When it’s given, she hops gracefully off the platform, brings
her knees to her chest and over the bar, and hangs from her knees as easily as
the instructor did. A few more swings and she’s right way round again without
any apparent effort and falling through the air toward the net. A hop, skip, and
a jump later she’s back on the ground beside me.

Her eyes shine brightly. “I forgot how much fun
that is!”

“I thought we were supposed to be learning a lesson
about trust.”

“Fuck that. I’ve had enough lessons to last me a
lifetime.”

Amen, sister.

“Katie?” Carol calls. “You’re next.”

My heart starts to pound. “I don’t think I can do
this.”

“Of course you can.”

Since when did Amber become Miss You-Can-Do-It?

I square my shoulders and walk toward Carol. I make
it up the ladder by taking one step at time with my eyes closed. The instructor
reaches down and hauls me onto the platform by my armpits. When I stand up from
my ungraceful landing, the world tilts away from me.

I take several deep breaths as the instructor
unclips me from the climbing line and reattaches me to the safety line. He
positions me on the edge of the platform facing the bar, then uses a pole with a
hook on the end to bring the bar toward me. I reach for it and the weight tips
me forward, ready to pull me toward nothingness. My left leg starts jittering up
and down uncontrollably.

“Are you all right?” he asks.

“I’m kind of afraid of heights.”

“You should’ve said something before you came up
here.”

“Yeah, well . . .”

“Do you want to go down?”

Yes, please!

“Give me a minute.”

I take several deep breaths and concentrate on my
chattering leg. You’re harnessed. You’re tethered. There’s a net. It’s perfectly
safe. You can do this.

“It’s no problem if you want to go down.”

“I know. I just need a minute.”

I realize that these are the exact same words I
used what seems like eons ago when Elizabeth was talking to me through the
bathroom door.

Just give me a minute.

The story of my life.

“You can do it, Kate!” someone shouts from
below.

I look tentatively over the edge of the platform.
Henry is sitting a very long way down on the bleachers next to YJB. He has his
hand cupped around his mouth so his encouragement can reach me all the way up
here.

Can he see my leg shaking?

Jesus. If you’re OK enough to
think about that, then you can definitely jump off this platform.

“OK, I’m ready,” I say in a small voice.

The instructor pulls the left side of the bar in so
that it’s parallel with my body.

“Let go of the wire and grab it firmly.”

Easier said than done.

“Go for it, Kate!” Henry’s far away voice floats up
to me.

I loosen my grip on the guy wire and grab the bar,
distributing its weight evenly between my hands. It feels like it could sweep me
off into oblivion if the instructor wasn’t holding onto my harness firmly.

“You feel ready?”

NNOOOO!

“I guess.”

“Remember, hop when I say, ‘Hep.’ ”

Can you say hep, hep, hep, hep
a hep?

“Right.”

“Ready . . . and hep!”

I bend my knees, close my eyes, take a little hop,
and . . . I’ve done it! I’m trapezing!

“Legs up!”

I try to bring my knees up to my chest, but they
don’t quite make it.

“Legs up!”

I squeeze my stomach muscles tighter than I’ve ever
squeezed them before and hook my ankles over the bar. Another push with my legs
and the bar is now firmly behind my knees.

Yes!

“Release!”

I release my hands. My body falls backward, and I
can feel my weight being held by my knees, the bar digging in.

“Hands up!”

I swing my hands above my head, groping for the
bar, but I can’t reach it.

“Wait for my signal!”