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I didn’t look around. The spell was broken. I knew that if I turned around, Ami – my best friend, my
only
friend – would have vanished. For good. The clock kept ticking.
My eyes began to blur and my legs turned to liquid.

‘OK, Olive. Let’s do our
breathing
.’ Dr Richter was doing her encouraging smile. ‘In … and out. That’s the way. Keep that space in your
chest broad and those airways nice and open.’

While I
breathed
I looked out the window at the garden. The people who tended it were obviously told to keep everything smooth and calm. Nothing ugly. Nothing upsetting. Flowers were
removed before they had a chance to wither or curl. There was nothing jagged or spiky. Everything was soft and gentle and perfect here in Crazy Land.

The most solid-looking thing in the garden was the hedge. I guess that was because the hedge wasn’t just there to be admired, it had a job to do. It had to protect the patients from the
outside world, and it had to protect the world from us.

Once I’d
breathed
enough, Dr Richter nodded and smoothed away an invisible wrinkle on her skirt. I sometimes tried to imagine Dr Richter doing something that wasn’t neat and
elegant. You know. Like swearing after stubbing her toe. Or picking a bogey from her nose. But it was impossible.

‘Your mum will be here soon,’ said Dr Richter. ‘Are you ready to leave?’

‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘All packed.’ It wasn’t like I’d brought all that much with me anyway. A couple of changes of clothes. PJs. Toothbrush. iPod. The shredded
remains of my dignity.

When Dr Richter laughed it sounded like raindrops falling delicately on flower petals. Don’t get me wrong – Dr Richter was OK. She’d helped me in the past, teaching me
strategies
and stuff. But I wondered whether she could really understand what it was like being me.

‘I meant, are you ready to get back into life? To continue your journey towards sound mental health as an outpatient.’

Dr Richter made this conversation feel casual, or at least her version of casual. But it wasn’t, of course. Last time I was here, as in, after I’d tried to kill myself, I’d
said some dumb, flippant thing just as I was about to be discharged and ended up staying for another two weeks. So instead of spitting out the words I was thinking –
what life?
–
I produced what I hoped was a dazzling smile. ‘Yes, I am.’

Dr Richter clicked her pen, something she did a lot. If she hadn’t been a doctor, I would’ve called it a nervous habit. ‘And what about Ami?’ she said. ‘How are you
feeling about her?’

‘I miss her.’
Oops.
‘I mean, like I said, I guess I always knew she wasn’t real,’ I added hastily. ‘She was just …’ I forced down the lump in
my throat. Dr Richter probably wouldn’t approve of crying over the loss of someone who’d never existed. ‘She was just helpful sometimes.’

When I was a kid, I’d invented imaginary friends all the time. A boy called Bim-Bim, who was usually to blame when something was broken. And a girl called Spanner. I can’t remember
where the name came from but I know she was some sort of superhero who would whoosh in if I needed rescuing. No-one thought having imaginary friends was a big deal back then. Mum even encouraged it
– asking how they were and sometimes laying places for them at the dinner table. I was an only child for a long time so it made sense to create my own perfect friends who loved everything
about me and were happy to play my games endlessly.

I guess it’s common for kids to do that sort of thing. When you’re older it’s considered weird. But I created Ami for the exact same reasons I’d invented Bim-Bim and
Spanner. Because I needed her. I’d come out of the clinic heavier, blurrier, than when I went in, and no-one understood how I was feeling. Not Mum. Not Katie. Ami was someone I could
trust.

Dr Richter was still eyeing me, a look of practised understanding on her smooth face. ‘Don’t forget,’ she said, ‘that what you referred to as “Ami” was
actually the process by which you monitored your thoughts and feelings.’

A
process
. Is that all Ami was? I made myself nod. ‘Ami was really just me,’ I regurgitated dutifully. But I allowed myself a little private joke.
Me but with way better
hair.

Click click.
‘What do you think it will be like back at school?’

I picked at the seam of my jeans pocket. I was tired of these constant questions and the way I was forced to recall, over and over, the very things I was trying to forget. Like school. I knew
exactly what it would be like. I might have been wrong about Katie telling everyone what happened last time, but Miranda was different. As if she’d resist spreading such juicy gossip.

I bet they’d all had a big old belly laugh about it.
Freakazoid Olive and her imaginary friend. And wait till you hear what she thought Miranda was!
Would Lachlan laugh along too?
At least Dr Richter couldn’t torture me with questions about him – I hadn’t mentioned him to her once. I couldn’t even let myself think about him. Every time he crept into
my brain I pushed him away. That was way more than I could deal with.

‘Actually, I’m thinking about not going back,’ I said. ‘I want to change schools.’

Dr Richter scratched her chin with her pen. ‘What are you so afraid of, Olive? Is it to do with the girl you accused of being a witch? This Miranda?’

I sighed. ‘Shapeshifter.’ Outside I could hear a gardener pruning the hedge, making it perfect, cutting away all the messy shoots. ‘I called her a shapeshifter, not a
witch.’

Dr Richter crossed her legs. Removed another invisible crease. ‘You understand that it wasn’t true, don’t you?’ she said quietly. ‘There’s no such thing as
shapeshifters. Those headaches you reported getting when Miranda was around were to do with your medication, combined with stress. And the girl’s very pale irises – well, that could be
caused by a lack of sunlight, or a vitamin deficiency. From what I hear Miranda had not been properly cared for in the past.’

I gripped the arms of my chair.
They weren’t just pale,
I wanted to yell.
They were mirrored. What kind of a vitamin deficiency does that?
But of course I couldn’t say
that. I nodded.

‘I want you to put yourself in Miranda’s position,’ said Dr Richter, crossing then re-crossing her legs. ‘Imagine what it must have been like, hearing you say those
things about her while her best friend was in hospital.’

I remembered Miranda’s sneering face. The pleasure she got from destroying Ami right in front of me.

‘It must’ve been awful for her,’ I deadpanned.

Dr Richter scrutinised my face, checking for sarcasm. I kept my expression smooth and impenetrable – another useful skill I’d picked up from Dr Richter.

‘You can’t escape from Miranda, you know,’ she said suddenly.

My heart tumbled. ‘What?’

‘I mean that if you run away to a new school you won’t deal properly with this episode. You need to face what’s happened.’

The sight of Dr Richter’s hovering pen made me silent. I was familiar with that pen’s power. Just a few marks from it scrawled on a form could have me staying here for months.

‘She’s a particularly hard person to like,’ I mumbled unconvincingly.

Dr Richter lowered her pen and folded both hands around it. ‘Olive. You have to face the fact that you made some false and very cruel accusations. I believe it’s best for you to stay
at the same school until you’ve dealt with this and made peace with Miranda. I’ve already advised your mother not to move you.’

‘You can’t do that!’ I said, fighting the rising tears as hard as I could. Make peace with Miranda? That was impossible. And how could I go back to school, where
everyone
knows
how crazy I am? Last time I’d invented Ami to help me cope. But this time I would be on my own.

‘Believe me, this is the best and quickest way for you to heal,’ said Dr Richter. ‘Once you’ve come around to the idea, you’ll see I’m right.’ She
reached over and patted my arm. I guess it was meant to be soothing. ‘Don’t look so worried, Olive. You have nothing to be ashamed of. Clinical depression and anxiety, and even
temporary conscious psychosis, are not uncommon in adolescence. I’m sure a number of your school friends have had their own troubles. It will be fine. Better than fine. Your new – what
does your mum call your medication?’

I let myself slide back down in my seat. ‘Vitamins,’ I muttered.

Dr Richter nodded. ‘Yes. Your new
vitamins
will help. Less paranoia and … fewer delusions. The headaches should stop too. Once that’s sorted we’ll focus on moving
on. I know you’re upset, but you might be surprised by what happens once you get over these irrational feelings you have about Miranda. You might even end up being friends.’

I didn’t snort. It took monumental effort, but I didn’t snort. I couldn’t resist a tiny bit of sarcasm, though. ‘Maybe,’ I said, shrugging. ‘Maybe Miranda and
me and Katie will become
besties
.’

Outside there was the sudden growl of a lawnmower. I’d been staying in a different part of the clinic these last few weeks, but I hadn’t caught so much as a glimpse of Katie, let
alone her
healthy-weight role model.
I figured she’d beefed up enough to go home.

The noise of lawnmower seemed to make Dr Richter jumpy. For the first time since I’d met her, she seemed a little flustered. A genuine wrinkle appeared on her skirt and she didn’t
even notice.

‘Let’s just focus on Miranda,’ she said quickly, not meeting my eye.

Mum leant against the doorframe and smiled. While I’d been waiting for her to turn up, I’d planned exactly what I would say to convince her that sending me back to
school was a stupid idea. But she looked so tired standing there that I decided to let it pass for now.

‘Ready?’ she said.

I nodded. ‘Bring it on.’

Outside in the corridor I heard tinny, electronic noises. ‘Toby,’ said Mum. ‘Put that wretched game away and come in.’

There was a scuffling sound and Toby shuffled in, his eyes glued to some bleeping game thing.

‘Hi, Tobes,’ I said.

‘Hi,’ he said, not even looking up.

Mum grimaced. ‘That stupid toy. I hate it already.’

She insisted on taking my bag out to the car and finalising the paperwork while I
rested.
‘Toby will keep you company,’ she said as she hurried out.

Toby sat cross-legged on the floor, the game chirruping away.

‘Come and sit here,’ I said, patting the space on the bed beside me. ‘I’ve got something for you.’

Toby didn’t move. ‘I just want to get through this level.’

So I slid down beside him, watched him play for a while. ‘Where’d you get that from anyway?’ I asked. It wasn’t the sort of thing Mum usually forked out money for.

‘From Dad,’ said Toby.

‘Wow, cool,’ I said, managing to sound calm, like there was nothing astonishing about that. ‘Did he …
Dad
… send it?’

The game trumpeted a tinny little fanfare. Toby’s thumbs pressed buttons furiously. ‘No. I stayed with him a couple of times last week while Mum was here with you. He came and picked
me up and took me to his place in town. He’s got a new car that doesn’t even have a back seat so I got to sit in the front next to him.’

Mum had told me Toby was staying with friends. There was another fanfare. Toby still hadn’t even looked at me. It was time to produce my secret weapon. ‘Look,’ I said, rustling
the wrapper of the chocolate bar I’d bought from the vending machine in the corridor.

Toby’s eyes lifted, just a little. ‘Is it
real
chocolate?’ he asked suspiciously. ‘Or carob soy?’

‘Oh this is real, my friend,’ I said, removing the bar from its wrapper and breaking it in half. ‘Double-dipped.’ Caramel oozed over my fingers. ‘Here,’ I
said, holding out half.

Toby put the game down and took the chocolate. I saw him glance at the door.

‘Don’t worry,’ I said. ‘I have an orange for afterwards.’

We ate in silence, like we always did when we shared banned food. When the chocolate was gone, I peeled the orange.

Toby took a segment and played with it between two fingers. ‘Will Ami come back?’ he asked suddenly. ‘When you’re home?’