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my gut?
    Jumping at every creak the house made, I threw off the covers and grabbed my iPod from my desk. Playing music would help break the silence and relax me. I perched myself on top of my desk and pried the window blinds apart to look out into the night. The moon broke through the clouds as the fog slid through the trees. I was trying to relax and get in rhythm with the soothing music, but chills continued to prickle my skin. The feeling of being watched crept over me again.
    I was about to snap my blinds back together and go back to bed when something moved in my peripheral. A pair of green, cat-like eyes stared right back into mine from the forest. I jerked. Fear clamped down, strangling the scream wanting to bubble out of my throat. I blinked and the eyes were gone. I just imagined it. I repeated over in my head as the therapists had conditioned me to do when an “episode” happened. I did a running jump to my bed so nothing underneath could reach out and grab my ankles. Wrapping myself up tightly in my duvet, I kept the lights on, drifting in and out of sleep for the rest of the night.

Seven
    On Monday I took advantage of not having to go to school and spent most of the morning catching up on the sleep I hadn’t gotten the night before. By noon, I finally dragged myself out of bed, mostly because my stomach was growling so loud it sounded like bears were waking up from hibernation in my gut. It was threatening to start gnawing on itself so I finally gave in and got up. 
    It was strange not to be at school. I could picture Kennedy and Ryan sitting at our normal table at lunch, one person short of our three-pack. My heart twisted at that thought. Unless Principal Mitchell had a change of heart, I would not be eating lunch with my friends in the foreseeable future.
    I sighed and lugged my body down the hallway towards the kitchen. Mark sat at the breakfast bar working on his laptop as I lumbered into the kitchen. He was obviously doing a “work at home” day. At least we didn’t have to go out in the torrential rain that was assaulting the windows.
    “Morning . . . or afternoon, I guess,” I mumbled, feeling awful about our conversation the night before. I had many sleepless hours to go over the situation and see what a brat I had been. Although I was still upset, I hated hurting Mark. I knew he was trying his best. He didn’t ask to be a single parent of an orphaned girl. But he had me, for better or worse.  
    It made me miss my mom so much my heart ached. I missed her laugh, her smile, the way she made everything better. We had been really close. For so long, it had just been the two of us. I longed for our talks, especially since talking about boys or girl stuff with Mark was not particularly comfortable for either one of us.
    “I was wondering when you’d get up,” Mark said breaking into my thoughts.
    I poured some coffee, thankful Mark had kept a pot going for me. “Yeah, I didn’t sleep well last night.” 
    Mark pinched his lips together. He looked like he wanted to say something. An awkward silence filled the room when he said nothing. Glancing around, I noticed Mark had left some eggs on the stove for me. My throat tightened up. I grabbed a plate from the cupboard. 
    Mark pointed to the microwave. “There’s some turkey bacon in there.”
    “Thanks,” I replied, but I knew he didn’t hear me. My voice couldn’t get above a whisper without it cracking with emotion. 
    Silence hung in the air before Mark started again. “I set up a meeting later this afternoon with Mrs. Sanchez, who runs the facility at Silverwood.”
    I kept my back to him and only nodded in recognition. More silence. Eventually Mark got up with a heavy sigh. He moved into the living room and turned on the sports channel. I turned back to my plate of bacon and toast. As hungry as I was, my stomach was contorted with sadness and guilt. I forced the food down. 
    After I finished, I controlled the impulse to retreat to the