Read After Obsession for Free Online Page A

imbalance, or a disorder. There’s genetic predisposition. It’s not just about giving up.”
    “Genetic predisposition?” Court mock whispers. “She should know.”
    I swear the whole room hears her except for Mrs. Bloom, who has gone deaf on purpose. Something inside me explodes and hollows out. What is with her? I close my eyes and will everyone to go away. Instead, an image of my mother flashes into my head. Her hands reach out to me from the black river water. Her voice says my name, begging me to save … who? I open my eyes to witness Blake giving Court the glare-down, which I totally appreciate. He gets good boyfriend points for that one.
    “That’s true, Miss Avery!” Mrs. Bloom is going after me full force now. Her blue eyes are bland excitement. I have entered the land of teacher’s pet. “Why do you think Shakespeare did this?” She turns away from me. She trots to the front of the room, happy as a poodle at a big dog show, smiling, prancing, tail up in the air. She doesn’t give anyone a chance to answer. “Shakespeare does this because Ophelia’s choice mirrors Hamlet’s. Shakespeare uses insanity to prove a thematic point.”
    Mrs. Bloom is oblivious to how upset I am, and she just keeps teaching. It’s amazing how teachers have no clue about what’s going on inside us. I mean, Courtney’s giving Blake the finger and everything. Blake grabs her finger and whispers in her ear.
    We start reading Hamlet out loud, but I zone out in the parts Ophelia’s not in and think about my mom, which is dangerous.
    When I was a real little kid and my mom was still with us, I woke up one night and got out of my bed. I’d had a dream that my mom was floating in the river, facedown, her long brown hair streaming out around her and fish nibbling on her toes. Her body was puffed up like there were balloons beneath her skin, and she was a funny color.
    It scared me so much that I left my bed just to make sure she was okay. I tiptoed down the stairs and past my dad, who was passed out on the couch. I looked in my parents’ room, but the bed was empty.
    In class everyone turns the page. I turn my page, too. I read my lines. Another page. I skim ahead. No Ophelia for a little while, so I go back to remembering looking in my parents’ bedroom. I go back to remembering things that are probably completely Ophelia-style unhealthy to remember.
    “Mommy?” I whispered into the empty bedroom. “Mommy?”
    But I knew where she was.
    I knew because of my dream.
    I ran past my dad this time, not caring about noise. I raced out the door and went as fast as I could across the backyard, through the woods, and to the river. You could see the river from the house, and the moon was high and full in the middle of the sky.
    There was a lady standing by the river, right between the trees. I was sure it was a lady; I knew it from the shape. Her shape was a darkness that deepened the night. And standing in the river was a man. He was beckoning for her to come to him. Water flowed out of his mouth. His eyes were nothing eyes, charcoal pits. And he wanted her.
    “Mommy?”
    She didn’t answer.
    I ran as fast as I could, but it was hard in my nightie, which was too narrow to allow my legs to stretch out into full stride. The pine needles and branches hurt my feet, pricking into them, cutting them. I kept running.
    “Mommy?” I whispered as I got closer to the darkness of the river and the man, closer to her, and I stopped running. “Mommy?”
    The whole world smelled rotten, like old cucumbers in the fridge that had gone mooshy.
    I took a step toward her. I reached out my hand and my fingers touched her fingers, even though for a second hers didn’t move. Her face was blank like the moon; it had already started the work of retreat. Already. Way back then. She was far away, across the sky, into the moon, maybe the stars, or just the blackness between.
    “Mommy?” My fingers felt warm and glowing and powerful. I clenched her hand