Bad Read Online Free PDF

be dissected, analyzed, and debated. Even her closest girlfriends had no idea what Heather’s life was
really
like. And that was exactly how she wanted it.
    â€œThis is it!” Heather yelled, spotting the address 1513 on an elegant brownstone.
    He slammed on the brakes. The cab lurched to a stop. Heather’s head nearly slammed into the partition. The meter read $9.40. Heather pulled out a crumpled ten-dollar bill and handed it to him. Sixty cents was
more
than enough tip for this jerk.
    As Phoebe got out of the passenger side of the taxi, Heather grabbed her sister’s duffel bag and slid out of her own side. She had barely shut the door before the driver screeched away.
    Heather’s eyes wandered up the front steps. There was no sign on the halfway house. It looked like any other Chelsea brownstone.
    Phoebe groaned again. “I don’t get why I have to stay here. I want to go home. Or back to school.”
    Heather glowered at her. “You have to stay here because left on your own, you’ll eat half a carrot and call it breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Remember?”
    Before Phoebe could respond, the front door opened. A plain-looking woman stepped outside. Her gaze instantly zeroed in on Phoebe. “You must be Phoebe Gannis,” she called. “Welcome.”
    Heather gently took Phoebe’s arm with her free hand and helped her up the steps into the warm and softly lit front hall. Maybe this place was a bummer, but at least it was a welcome relief from the cold, harsh hospital. Instantly it felt like a real
home
—cleanand cozy and furnished with antique rugs. Heather allowed herself a sigh of relief.
    â€œI’m Mariah,” the woman said, closing the door behind them.
    â€œHeather Gannis. Phoebe’s younger sister,” Heather replied. She shook Mariah’s hand. She couldn’t help but notice that the woman had the kind of all-knowing, unflappable attitude that Heather automatically associated with psychiatrists. It was kind of annoying. Phoebe hadn’t even stepped in the door, and she was already under the microscope.
    Mariah glanced at the bag in Heather’s left hand. “Phoebe can carry her own luggage, Heather,” she announced. “Part of the purpose of her stay here is to gain personal independence.”
    â€œFine with me,” Phoebe snapped.
    She grabbed the bag from Heather. Her arm was so skinny that it looked like the weight of the duffel might make it snap off. Mariah forced a strained smile.
    Great start, guys,
Heather thought grimly.
    She followed Mariah and Phoebe down the hall to the staircase, trying to ignore how miserable and uncomfortable she felt. Better to focus on the house itself. She had received strict instructions from her mom to inspect the place. And she had to admit, it was gorgeous. High ceilings, hardwood floors, freshflowers. It looked more like the home of a New York socialite than a holding bin for troubled girls. She could even smell something delicious . . . something like homemade pasta sauce simmering. At the very least, it didn’t look like Phoebe was going to be bundled into a straitjacket and hustled off to a padded cell anytime soon.
    Mariah paused at the bottom of the staircase and glanced at her watch. “Phoebe, I’ll take you to your room to get settled. Then we’ll meet up with the rest of the girls for group therapy in about half an hour. You won’t meet with the nutritionist until tomorrow.”
    â€œSounds like a packed schedule,” Heather joked.
    Mariah shrugged. Her smile faded. “We’ve got a nice balance of planned activities and free time. Each girl has time to paint or write in her journal or bake bread ...or do whatever else she chooses.”
    Heather raised her eyebrows. Nice.
Very
nice. It sounded more or less like a spa for unnaturally thin people. She imagined Phoebe lounging on the sofa in the middle of the afternoon, leisurely sketching a bowl