Every Last Word

The elevator is already waiting. I press 7 and then, because I can’t help it, I press 7 two more times. As soon as I open the office door and step inside, Colleen’s head pops up from behind the counter and her whole face brightens. “Ah, it must be Wednesday!”

At first, I found her regular greeting mortifying, but then I realized there are never any other patients here, and even if there were, there’s no reason to hide. We’re all regulars.

“She’s running about five minutes late. Water?” she asks, and I nod.

I fish my phone out of my purse, pop in my earbuds, and put on my typical waiting room playlist, In the Deep, named for lyrics in a Florence + the Machine song. I think of my naming strategy as a hobby, even though my psychiatrist doesn’t see it that way. I don’t simply listen to music, I study the lyrics, and when I’m done making a playlist, I pick three words from one of the songs—three words that perfectly encapsulate the collection—and that becomes its title.

I let my head fall back against the wall and close my eyes, ignoring all the motivational posters hanging above me. I mentally transport myself back to the pool two weeks ago, to that moment when Brandon kissed me but didn’t, and I feel my face relax as I relive the fantasy again. His mouth was so warm. And he smelled good, like Sprite and coconut sunscreen.

“She’s ready for you,” Colleen says.

Sue’s office hasn’t changed in five years. The same books line the same shelves, and the same certificates hang from the walls covered in the same beige paint. The same photographs of the same children stand propped up on her desk, suspended in time like the office itself.

“Hey, Sam!” Sue crosses the room to greet me. She’s this tiny Japanese woman with thick black hair that hangs to her shoulders, and she’s always impeccably dressed. She looks like she’d be refined and soft-spoken until she opens her mouth.

I’d only been seeing her for a few months when I came up with the nickname “Shrink-Sue.” I never actually thought I’d call her that to her face, but one day, it slipped out. She asked me how I came up with it, and I told her it sounded like something badass you’d call out while throwing a judo chop.

Until that point, I hadn’t really stopped to question whether or not psychiatrists appreciated being called shrinks. I was only eleven years old. And I didn’t want to offend her, but once I’d said it, I couldn’t take it back.

But Sue said she liked the name. And she told me I could call her anything. I could even call her a bitch, to her face or behind her back, because there would certainly be times I’d want to. I liked her even more after that.

She sits in the chair across from me and hands me my “thinking putty.” It’s supposed to take my mind off the words I’m saying and give me something to do with my hands so I don’t spend the entire fifty-minute session scratching the back of my neck in threes.

“So,” she begins, opening the brown leather folio across her lap like she always does. “Where do you want to start today?”

Not with the Eights. Not with the spa.

“I don’t know.” I wish I could tell her about my secret meeting with Caroline tomorrow, because that’s pretty much all I’ve thought about over the last two days, but I can’t break my promise. Then I think about the rest of the conversation, the two of us bonding over medication and therapy sessions.

“Actually, I sort of…made a new friend this week.” The words sound so dorky coming out of my mouth, but apparently Shrink-Sue doesn’t hear them that way, because her eyes light up like this is the best news she’s heard in ages.

“Really? What’s she like?” she asks, and I feel myself mimicking her smile. I can’t help it. I think about the way Caroline put her hands on my face like an old friend. That look in her eyes when she said she wanted to help me. The whole thing caught me completely off guard.

“Well, she’s not like any of the Crazy Eights,” I say, picturing her long stringy hair and lack of makeup and those chunky hiking boots. “She’s kind of awkward, but she’s nice. I barely know her, but I already think she sort of…gets me.”

Sue opens her mouth, but I hold my finger up in the air between us before she can speak. “Please. Don’t say it.”

Her mouth snaps shut.

“This doesn’t mean I’m leaving the Eights. You always make it sound easy, Sue, but I can’t just ‘find new friends.’” I put air quotes on the last words. “They are my friends. These are the people that every girl in my class aspires to be friends with. Besides, it would kill them if I left. Especially Hailey.”

Sue shifts in her chair and crosses one leg over the other, taking an authoritative pose. “You have to make decisions that are best for you, Sam. Not for Hailey or anyone else,” she says in her straightforward way.

“Sarah made a decision that was best for her, and look what happened.”

I’m not about to be on the receiving end of what we all did to Sarah. Shooting her dirty looks as we passed her in the halls, talking about her from the other side of the cafeteria, leaving her out of our plans for the weekend. I’m not proud of myself, but when she dumped us for her drama club friends, we made it feel like an act of disloyalty on her part.

“She’s probably quite happy,” Sue says.

“I’m sure she is. But being part of the Eights makes me happy.”

Their friendship might require weekly therapy, but I have fun with them. And I’d be truly crazy to say good-bye to parties every weekend, cute guys crowded around us at lunch, and VIP tickets to every major concert that comes to town.

“Either way, this is a really positive step, Sam. I’m glad to see you making new friends.”

“Friend. Singular. One person.” I hold up a finger. “And no one can ever know about Caroline.”

“Why not?”

Before I even realize what’s happening, my chin begins to tremble. I take a deep breath to steady myself and stare at the carpet.

“Why can’t they know about her, Sam?” Sue repeats softly.

“Because.” The word comes out all wobbly. “If they kick me out—” I can’t finish my thought. I squeeze the back of my neck three times, as hard as I can, but it doesn’t help. “I don’t have anyplace else to go.”

The tears start to well up, but I fight them off, biting the inside of my lower lip, forcing my gaze toward the ceiling. Sue must be able to tell how uncomfortable I am, because she jumps in and says, “Hey, let’s change the subject.”

“Please,” I whisper.

“Did you have a chance to print out those pictures?”

“Yeah.” I blow out a breath and reach into my bag.

Dad took a bunch of photos during the county championship meet and sent them to me. Last week, I showed them to Sue. She spent twenty minutes sliding her fingertip across the screen of my phone, carefully taking in each photo. Then she asked me to pick my three favorites, print them out, and bring them with me today.

“These are great,” she says, taking her time to examine each one. “Tell me, why did you choose these three?”

“I don’t know,” I say with a shrug. “I guess because I look happy.”

Her expression tells me that wasn’t the answer she was looking for. “What word comes to mind when you see this?” she asks, holding one of the pictures up in front of me. “One word.”

Cassidy is squeezing me hard; her nose is all scrunched up and her mouth is open, like she’s screaming. Dad took it right after I beat her time by a tenth of a second, breaking her record in girls’ butterfly. I was afraid she’d be upset, but she wasn’t. “Friendship.”

She holds the next one up. My stomach feels all light and fluttery when I see Brandon resting one hand on my shoulder and pointing at the first-place medal around my neck with the other. He kept high-fiving me. And hugging me. All day.

Sue wouldn’t approve of the word “love,” even though it’s the first one that pops into my mind, so I fix my gaze on the medal, thinking about the way he made me push myself all summer, making me believe I could be faster, stronger. “Inspiration.”

I feel my face heat up and I’m relieved when Sue moves on to the next picture and says, “I was really hoping you’d print this one.”

Dad took it with a long lens and you can see every detail in my face. I’m standing on the block in my stance, seconds away from diving in, and even though my goggles are covering my eyes, you can see them clearly. I stare at the picture for a long time, trying to think of a single word to describe what I like so much about it. I look strong. Determined. Like a girl who speaks her mind, not someone who cowers in the dark every time she gets her feelings hurt.

“Confidence,” I finally say.

Sue’s nod is proud and purposeful, and I can tell my word was spot-on.

“Here’s what I’d like you to do. Bring these to school tomorrow and tape them on the inside of your locker door.” She taps the last one with her perfectly manicured fingernail. “Put this one right at eye level. Look at it off and on all day to remind you of your goal this year. Which is?” she prompts.

“I’m going to make swimming a priority, so I can get a scholarship and go to the college of my choice. Even if it’s far away.”

The “far away” part makes me start hyperventilating. I feel nauseous when I think about moving away from here, leaving my mom, leaving Sue. But I force myself to stare at the picture, locking in on that strong, determined expression.

A swim scholarship. Competing at a college level. A chance to reinvent myself.

This girl looks like someone who could do all those things.

“And don’t forget,” Sue says. “This isn’t Summer Sam, who shows up in June and disappears when school starts. This is you.”

“Is it?” I ask, staring at the photo. It was only two weeks ago, but I already feel like a completely different person.

Sue rests her elbows on her knees, forcing me to meet her eyes. “Yes, it is. And she’s in there all year long. I promise. You just have to find a way to pull her out.”