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doesn’t have to be anything you think I want to hear. Feel free to let your mind wander and grab onto the very first thought you have.”
    Sorry.
    I started to feel pretty hot in that closed-in office. It was about the size of Grandma Nancy’s linen closet—with a lumpy couch and schoolroom desk squashed into it. There were no windows, just the one that was on the aluminum door. Sweat stung my eyes, and I wiped it off my forehead.
    Dr. Matthews cocked her head to the side. “Are you okay?”
    No. I mopped the sweat off my forehead and stared at my shoes.
    Then we sat quietly until Dr. Matthews said, “We’ll have a chance to get to know each other better. If you need to see me, even when it’s not your appointment time, you can always ask for me. Do you have any questions?”
    How long will it take the state to build up the case so they can put me away forever? What will it be like to live in prison? Did I do it? Did I kill Jason on purpose?
    She had a kitchen timer on the desk. She picked it up and slipped it into her pocket. “Our time’s up for now, Kyle.”
    Mark knocked on the door. Dr. Matthews invited him in. Some kid stood in the hallway with a brown-uniformed cop. The kid had piercing holes all over his face: eyebrows, lips, nose, chin. He stuck out his tongue—split down the middle like a snake’s to match the tattoo that coiled up his neck to his ear. He glared at me.
    â€œI’ll be right with you, Simon.” Dr. Matthews smiled a tired smile.
    Simon? Talk about the wrong name. A kid like that should be named something meaner, tougher, like Damian. But then again, Arnold Schwarzenegger doesn’t look much like an Arnold.
    Dr. Matthews closed the door behind Mark.
    â€œIt’s my turn, you mad cow! It’s my hour! The judge said.” Simon had a high, piercing voice, like it had never gotten around to cracking. The door didn’t do much to muffle his shouts.
    Dr. Matthews winced and sighed. She turned to Mark. “Please take a seat.”
    Mark looked really uncomfortable sitting behind the small desk.
    â€œWe need more time,” she said. “I want to see him every day.”
    Mark looked at me. I shrugged. I kinda figured that Simon could use more Dr. Matthews time than me; he was a human colander, for God’s sake.
    â€œKyle’s not quite ready to talk.” She smiled at me. “The mind is a wonderful thing. It has a way of protecting us from the truth sometimes.”
    Why can’t I remember?
    I dunno.
    Dude, do you remember?
    I’m the dead one.
    So dead people don’t have memories?
    I haven’t really thought about it.
    Some help you are.
    You could cut me some slack here. I am the dead one.
    Yeah. You mentioned that.
    Dr. Matthews stood up. She looked like a prism; her body shattered into thousands of colors. If she were one of Jase’s superheroes, she’d be Mega Matthews, the huge psychiatrist who wraps her enemies in straitjackets, then poisons them with cinnamon incense, erasing their memories.
    â€œKyle, are you listening?” Dr. Matthews asked.
    I looked up and shook my head. I had forgotten where I was for a moment and squinted. Dr. Matthews was pretty “mega.”
    God, I’m such an asshole.
    â€œI’m going to give you some medication for a few days to keep you on an even keel. It’s nothing to worry about. Just standard procedure, okay?” Dr. Matthews swayed in the middle of the room, and I focused, pulling all the color back together to make her whole again.
    â€œOkay. Sure. Standard procedure.”
    She squeezed my arm. “We’ll talk tomorrow.”
    Great. Mega Matthews, take two. How many takes would I need to get it right? I guessed as long as the state wanted to pay for it.
    Mark led me back to my cell. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning. We have the detention hearing first thing. I’ll come for you at seven