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as I get into my devious plan. At that moment, Dr. Gabriel’s little timer goes off, signaling the end of the writing portion of the class. {And now a quick appearance from Ke$ha with “Tik Tok.” }
    “Time to share our narratives,” Dr. Gabriel says. I listen to the first few writing samples and make comments when Dr. Gabriel asks me for them. Yes, he asks me for comments even though he hasn’t ever told the students who I am.
    I get rather stuck when one student uses a sentence beginning with, “I seen a girl.” SAW SAW SAW! Or “have seen” perhaps? That drives me freaking crazy.
    I, of course, don’t mention that when Dr. Gabriel asks me for my commentary. Instead, I praise the young girl for her foreshadowing techniques. I don’t want to humiliate her in front of the whole class. She would probably go home and cry and then maybe start cutting this class, which might lead to her dropping out of school…and then what? She would end up a self-conscious woman struggling to make ends meet in this poor economy all because a creeper in the class (me) couldn’t keep her (my) mouth shut. No, thank you.
    Who knows? Maybe she’ll come to the writing center sometime where I can privately help her with her irritating verb usage.
    Eight more students read their narratives before it is 3:00 p.m. and class ends. I guess the rest will go next Friday.
    I hurry out of the room so I don’t end up walking out with Dr. Gabriel. I head home. After spraying my shoes and washing my hands quickly, I go up to my room. My hands are not even one hundred percent dry when I open my laptop. DA Blake has written me two emails. The man who wouldn’t even look at me two days ago has now sent me two emails within an hour.
    Count and click. First email open.
     
     
     
Calista,
Nice work—very succinct. I have just a couple of follow-up questions for you.
2.)  Family
How often do you see your family?
Do they know about your OCD?
3.)  Television
I enjoy watching food shows myself.  You don’t cook though, do you?
-Dr. Blake
     
     
     
    How does he know I don’t cook? I can’t even convince my mother that I’m not watching cooking shows in the hopes of being some big sort of chef. I swear she buys me a new cookbook every Christmas.
    I hit reply.
     
     
     
Dr. Blake,
I see my parents and my brother a couple of times a month. I live with my sister, Amanda, and I see my other sister, Melanie, every Friday night for Girls’ Night. Yes, they all know.
No, I don’t cook at all.
-Calista
     
     
     
    I force myself not to ask how he knows about my cooking. It would probably inspire a whole new list of questions.
    One. Two. Three. Send.
    One. Two. Three. Click. Second email.
     
     
     
Calista,
Here is your second list.
1.) Church
2.) Dating
3.) Weight and food
-Dr. Blake
     
     
     
    Geez. So many personal questions. Like he mixed up his OCD “standard” topics with a questionnaire for speed dating.
    I hit reply quickly. This will have to be fast. Girls’ Night starts at 8:00 this evening, and I need to get everything ready. Here goes.
     
     
     
Dr. Blake,
1.) Church
Every Sunday
Catholic
Confession on Saturdays
2.) Dating
No one currently.
3.) Weight and food
I step on my bathroom scale every morning.
I eat 1,400 calories a day.
     
     
     
    I sign my name. Short and to the point, just like he asked. If he needs more personal specifics to work his doctor magic, he’ll have to tell me.
    Laptop closed. I head to the kitchen to get things in order for tonight, and the answering machine light is blinking. I’m momentarily shocked that I missed seeing the flashing light when I rushed to my room to check my email.
    I press the “PLAY” button.
    “Hello. This is Annie from Pierce Mental Health. This message is for Miss Calista Royce. Unfortunately, Dr. Spencer will not be back from New York for your appointment at two fifteen next Wednesday. Dr. Spencer has spoken to Dr. Lennox, and they’ve both decided that you should spend one