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I close the door. I don’t have time for sympathy in this situation, and even if I did, I’m not good at handling crying females. Rach screwed up, and I’m going to have to fix it. Just like always.
     

 
     
    7 - Maggie
    The weekend is half-over before Hannah can get out of bed. By Monday morning, she’s still off-color and I’m worried and ready to find out what set this episode off.
    “Breakfast is served, milady.” I plop a plate on the bedspread in front of her, then match her pose and sit cross-legged at the foot of her bed. We’re not supposed to bring food up to our rooms, but the caf ladies let me slide today. I toss Hannah’s bottle of OJ onto her pillow.
    “Nooo,” she whines. “No more protein. I want cereal.” But she picks up the plate of eggs and bacon with a single slice of toast and starts eating.
    “It’s good for you. Get your strength up.”
    She’s got a little more energy this morning. She’s apparently dragged herself into the shower while I was at breakfast, because her hair’s still spiked with moisture. She’s still wearing her flannel pjs; the silly witch is always cold.
    “Well, one of us has been busy while the other slept the weekend away.” I say, leaning back on my hands. “I took over mentoring your two Freshies; we had a pizza party last night. They gave me a makeover.” I pull a face and Hannah laughs. She is well familiar with my aversion to makeup. I go on.
    “And I put together a discussion list for both our group sessions this week.” Getting to know the kids at E.W. House through group counseling is one of Hannah’s favorite parts of being here.
    “Plus, I picked up all my junk.” I wave to my side of the room, where the floor is conspicuously bare of its usual decorations—shoes, clothes, books, etc.
    And I spent all weekend listening for Lily to start rumors about me, but there hasn’t been a whisper of what happened between us on the third floor.
    “Wow, I’m sorry, Mags. You shouldn’t have had to do all that on your own.”
    I shrug away her apology. “So what happened? Was the drug addict really that crazy? How come it’s taking so long for you to feel better?”
    Her individual freckles morph into one big splotch as she wrinkles her nose. “What? Oh, no. It wasn’t him. It was the girl.”
    My mind goes to Chloe and the strange supernatural sense I felt about her. “What girl?”
    “The one in the wheelchair.”
    “Rachel?”
    “Was that her name? I forgot. Yeah, I was focusing on keeping her in the chair until the nurse got her back to her room and then, bam! All of a sudden she… I don’t know, shielded me or something. It felt like a punch in the face and then I got all woozy.”
    “Did she know she was doing it?”
    “I dunno. She was pretty out of it from the meds.”
    Weird. Something supernatural about one sister, and the other with an ability to keep Hannah out of her mind, a feat I’ve never been able to master.
    Finished with her breakfast, Hannah gets up and wobbles to her dresser. “I don’t think I should ditch today. Kaufmann is giving a big sociology test this afternoon. I don’t want to get in trouble for missing it.”
    “Hannah. Do we ever get in trouble for skipping? Plus, we’ve been in school long enough to learn everything eighteen times. You worry too much.”
    “Whatever. I just have a healthy respect for the rules, something you seem to lack these days.”
    She leans against her dresser, seemingly worn out just from standing up and moving around that little bit. “Maybe you’re right. I can retake the test later this week.” She comes back to bed and I move to straddle my desk chair so she can lie down.
    “So why’d you text Director Phillips on Friday? I thought you tried to keep communication between him and ‘Mr. Wellington’ to a minimum?”
    I shrug. “Mr. Wellington pays him well to keep the two of us out of trouble. He was just doing his job.”
    “Really, and I thought you hired our