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be honest, I wasn’t that unhappy that she and Bree started drifting apart,” Mom continues. “I was worried it might get unhealthy for Bree to continue to hang around with her so much.”
    Weird. She never told me that. In fact, if anything, I felt the opposite, because Mom has always been so obsessed with Mrs. Kelley. She started copying the way she dressed and the way she spoke. And she always laughed a little too loudly whenever Mr. Kelley told a joke. If Lara and I weren’t going to be BFFs anymore, it gave her less reason to be BFFs with Mr. and Mrs. Kelley.
    “I don’t get it. How does that matter now?” Liam asks. I abandon my table-leg staring to look at him, because he’s taking this so seriously. “Are you saying just because Lara was kind of a head case in middle school it’s okay for all those kids to write that stuff on her wall?”
    “No, but —”
    “Because that’s just wrong.” Liam interrupts Mom before she can even finish her sentence. “Like, ‘to the end of the universe and back’ wrong.”
    “Liam, I’m not saying it’s right for anyone to write things on Lara’s wall,” Mom says. “But let’s face it — a more stable child probably wouldn’t have ended up in the hospital.”
    Liam crosses his arms over his chest. He’s not buying what Mom’s selling.
    “They’re our friends. Dad and Mr. Kelley built the tree fort together. How can you be so …” He trails off, searching for the words to describe the ways he finds Mom and me lacking. Unable to find it, he punches the doorjamb and shouts, “Forget it,” before stomping upstairs and slamming his door.
    And then it’s just me and Mom.
    She glares at me, eyes narrowed almost to slits, and hisses, “What were you thinking?”

C HRISTIAN SAID I was a loser.
    He said the world would be a better place without me in it.
    And now I’m a loser at trying to make that happen.
    Everyone expects me to be happy that I failed.
    But I’m not.
    Which is why I can’t have shoelaces. Or a belt.
    And they make me open my mouth after they’ve given me my pills to make sure I’ve swallowed them.
    And they do bed checks every few hours to make sure I haven’t hanged myself with the sheets, so I can’t even get a good night’s sleep.
    And I want to sleep all the time, because when I’m asleep, I’m not here. Not here in this place, where every movement is watched. Where everything I say is being turned over and analyzed, making me want to curl up into myself and say nothing.
    But it’s bad if I say nothing. It means they’ll just keep me here longer.
    So I have to say something.
    I’m searching for the magic words to get out of here … Abracadabra ? Alohomora ?
    There are get-well-soon cards on the dresser from my family and friends.
    Mom said my friends Julisa and Luis want to visit.
    I told her that I’m not up to visitors yet. Not even them.
    The truth is, I don’t want Julisa and Luis to see me in this place. This prison, filled with crazy people.
    Crazy people like me.
    Luis thought I was crazy enough when I tried out for cheerleading. He must think I’m completely loco now.
    The cheerleading team sent flowers. They’re beautiful — roses and carnations and daisies in cheerful yellows, pinks, and whites. But they’re arranged in an ugly plastic male urinal.
    “I’m sorry, Lara, glass vases aren’t allowed,” the nurse told me.
    I pretend to be excited about the flowers and the cards.
    I pretend that I can’t wait to get out of here to see my friends.
    I have to find the words to convince them that I’m fine. That everything is perfect.
    Maybe I should ask Mom.
    She’s the expert on that.

“I N CONCLUSION, science, technology, engineering, and math are more important than the arts,” my friend Oliver says. “The future of our country depends on graduating students who are proficient in STEM subjects, so if we have limited resources to spend on education, we shouldn’t waste them on unnecessary subjects like