me
anything since I was nine.
“Of course. We just want to help you, Kaylee.”
Yet somehow, I didn’t feel very comforted.
***
Rachel Vincent / 35
I waited in the common area, stubbornly resisting the
jigsaw puzzles and crossword books stacked on a shelf
in the corner. I wouldn’t be here long enough to finish
one anyway. Instead, I stared at the TV, wishing
they’d at least show some good cartoons. But if there
was a remote available, I had no idea where to find it.
A commercial came on and my attention wandered,
in spite of my best efforts to ignore my fellow patients.
Lydia sat across the room from me, not even
pretending to watch the television. She was watching
me.
I stared back at her. She didn’t smile. She didn’t
speak. She just watched, and not with an unfocused
stare, which was obviously all some of the residents
were capable of. Lydia actually seemed to be
observing me, like she was looking for something in
particular. What, I had no idea.
“Weird, isn’t it?” Mandy dropped into the chair on
my left, and air whooshed from the cushion. “The way
she stares.”
I glanced up to find her looking across the room at
Lydia. “No weirder than anything else here.” And
frankly, I wasn’t looking to make conversation—or
friends—with someone who stuffed forks down her
pants.
“She’s a ward of the court.” Mandy bit into a halfeaten chocolate bar, then continued with her mouth
full. “Never talks. You ask me, she’s the strangest one
here.”
I had serious doubts about that.
36 / My Soul to Lose
“What’re you here for?” Her gaze traveled south of
my face, then back up. “Let me guess. You’re either
manic depressive, or anorexic.”
Inside, my temper boiled, but I was proud by how
calm my reply sounded. “I don’t talk either.”
She stared at me for a second, then burst into a
harsh, barking laugh.
“Mandy, why don’t you find something
constructive to do?” A familiar voice said, and I
glanced up to find Paul standing in the wide doorway,
holding…
My suitcase!
I sprang from the couch, and he held the rolling bag
out to me. “I thought that might make you smile.”
In fact, I was oddly excited and relieved. If I had to
be locked up, at least I could be miserable in my own
clothes. But then my enthusiasm flashed out like a
burned-up bulb when I realized what that suitcase
meant. Aunt Val had dropped off my clothes without
coming in to see me.
She’d left me again.
I took the bag and headed back to my room, where
I dropped the suitcase on the floor beside the bed,
unopened. Paul followed me, but stopped in the
doorway. I sank onto the bed, battling tears, my
suitcase forgotten in spite of the rough scrub bottoms
chaffing me in all the wrong places.
“She couldn’t stay,” Paul said. Apparently my
emotions were as transparent as the tempered glass
Rachel Vincent / 37
windows. Wouldn’t my therapist be pleased? “Visiting
hours don’t start until seven.”
“Whatever.” If she’d wanted to see me, she would
have, even if it was just for a few minutes. My aunt’s
tenacity was a thing of legends.
“Hey, don’t let this place get to you, okay? I’ve
seen a lot of kids lose their souls in here, and I’d hate
to see that happen to you.” He ducked his head, trying
to draw eye contact, but I only nodded, staring at the
floor. “Your aunt and uncle will be back tonight.”
Yeah, but that didn’t mean they’d take me home. It
didn’t mean anything at all.
***
When Paul left, I heaved my suitcase onto the bed and
unzipped it, eager to wear, see, and smell something
familiar. After just a few hours at Lakeside, I was
already terrified of losing myself. Of fading into the
glazed eyes, slow steps, and empty stares all around
me. I needed something from real life—from my
world outside this room—that would help me hold on
to me. So I was completely unprepared for the contents
of my bag.
Nothing
anything since I was nine.
“Of course. We just want to help you, Kaylee.”
Yet somehow, I didn’t feel very comforted.
***
Rachel Vincent / 35
I waited in the common area, stubbornly resisting the
jigsaw puzzles and crossword books stacked on a shelf
in the corner. I wouldn’t be here long enough to finish
one anyway. Instead, I stared at the TV, wishing
they’d at least show some good cartoons. But if there
was a remote available, I had no idea where to find it.
A commercial came on and my attention wandered,
in spite of my best efforts to ignore my fellow patients.
Lydia sat across the room from me, not even
pretending to watch the television. She was watching
me.
I stared back at her. She didn’t smile. She didn’t
speak. She just watched, and not with an unfocused
stare, which was obviously all some of the residents
were capable of. Lydia actually seemed to be
observing me, like she was looking for something in
particular. What, I had no idea.
“Weird, isn’t it?” Mandy dropped into the chair on
my left, and air whooshed from the cushion. “The way
she stares.”
I glanced up to find her looking across the room at
Lydia. “No weirder than anything else here.” And
frankly, I wasn’t looking to make conversation—or
friends—with someone who stuffed forks down her
pants.
“She’s a ward of the court.” Mandy bit into a halfeaten chocolate bar, then continued with her mouth
full. “Never talks. You ask me, she’s the strangest one
here.”
I had serious doubts about that.
36 / My Soul to Lose
“What’re you here for?” Her gaze traveled south of
my face, then back up. “Let me guess. You’re either
manic depressive, or anorexic.”
Inside, my temper boiled, but I was proud by how
calm my reply sounded. “I don’t talk either.”
She stared at me for a second, then burst into a
harsh, barking laugh.
“Mandy, why don’t you find something
constructive to do?” A familiar voice said, and I
glanced up to find Paul standing in the wide doorway,
holding…
My suitcase!
I sprang from the couch, and he held the rolling bag
out to me. “I thought that might make you smile.”
In fact, I was oddly excited and relieved. If I had to
be locked up, at least I could be miserable in my own
clothes. But then my enthusiasm flashed out like a
burned-up bulb when I realized what that suitcase
meant. Aunt Val had dropped off my clothes without
coming in to see me.
She’d left me again.
I took the bag and headed back to my room, where
I dropped the suitcase on the floor beside the bed,
unopened. Paul followed me, but stopped in the
doorway. I sank onto the bed, battling tears, my
suitcase forgotten in spite of the rough scrub bottoms
chaffing me in all the wrong places.
“She couldn’t stay,” Paul said. Apparently my
emotions were as transparent as the tempered glass
Rachel Vincent / 37
windows. Wouldn’t my therapist be pleased? “Visiting
hours don’t start until seven.”
“Whatever.” If she’d wanted to see me, she would
have, even if it was just for a few minutes. My aunt’s
tenacity was a thing of legends.
“Hey, don’t let this place get to you, okay? I’ve
seen a lot of kids lose their souls in here, and I’d hate
to see that happen to you.” He ducked his head, trying
to draw eye contact, but I only nodded, staring at the
floor. “Your aunt and uncle will be back tonight.”
Yeah, but that didn’t mean they’d take me home. It
didn’t mean anything at all.
***
When Paul left, I heaved my suitcase onto the bed and
unzipped it, eager to wear, see, and smell something
familiar. After just a few hours at Lakeside, I was
already terrified of losing myself. Of fading into the
glazed eyes, slow steps, and empty stares all around
me. I needed something from real life—from my
world outside this room—that would help me hold on
to me. So I was completely unprepared for the contents
of my bag.
Nothing
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