Unraveling Isobel (19 page)

“Eww. Whose panties are those?” Sam wiped her hand on her sweater.

“No idea.”

“I should warn you, Nicole's a bit ticked,” Sam said, shifting her books to her other hip.

“She's ticked at me?”

“Even though you're an alternate, you were still supposed to go down to the ferry terminal to see the team off.”

I slammed my locker door and looked at Sam. “Are you kidding me? Did she honestly expect me to be standing down there like nothing happened?”

Sam shrugged like the whole conversation was entirely too complicated for her. It was a really good thing Sam was pretty, because she did not have “college bound” written all over her.

“I'm quitting cheerleading,” I said.

Sam's mouth dropped open like I had confessed to sleeping with Principal Hoffman. “You can't quit.”

“I already did.” I'd dropped off my uniform, or at least the few parts of it I was provided, at Ms. Lancaster's room that morning. “Let's be honest, Sam, cheering was never really my thing.”

“Nicole's going to freak.”

“Why? What does it matter to her?” I started walking toward class. Sam followed behind me.

“She's sort of used to people doing what she wants.”

“Well, it's a brand-new day.”

Sam grabbed my arm to make me slow down. “Nicole isn't the kind of person you want to have ticked at you.”

“What are you trying to say? Should I watch my back?”

Sam chewed her bottom lip. “I'm not trying to sound dramatic. It's just that Nicole can be kinda harsh. Like once, there was a girl that used to go to school here who kissed Nicole's ex-boyfriend. Only, Nicole was really mad because she and this guy had only broken up a few days before, and Nicole thought she was being a total bitch for moving in so fast.”

“So what happened? Did Nicole do away with her and bury her under the football field by the light of the full moon?”

“I'm not joking. Nicole made her life miserable. Debra couldn't take it. Then, because people wanted to get on Nicole's good side, they all joined in. Debra was crying all the time, and then her parents decided to homeschool her.” Sam whispered the last part like we were CIA spies exchanging information in hostile territory.

“If there is anyone who has a right to be mad, it's me. Nicole left me up there shaking what my mother gave me in a pair of polka-dot underwear. She can say it was a joke, but I'm smart enough to know when the joke is on me. If I can forgive, forget,
and move on, then so can she. I'm dropping cheering. If that means Nicole doesn't want to be my friend anymore, then that's fine. If I'm really honest, I'm not even sure it would be any big loss. She might be the biggest thing going on this island, but there is life off this island. I'm not scared of her.”

I started walking again. I didn't want to be late for class. I'd sounded confident when I talked to Sam, but when I saw Nicole leaning outside the doorway of my first class, I stopped suddenly. Sam ran into me, nearly knocking me to the floor. Nicole was smiling, but it didn't reach her eyes. Her eyes had more of that Charles Manson look to them. Sam took one look at her and mumbled something about being late and took off in the other direction.

“I stopped by Ms. Lancaster's room this morning and she said you quit the squad.” Nicole's voice had the “I'm very disappointed in your behavior” parent tone to it.

“Yep.” I held my books in front of my chest like a shield.

“You're not going to quit over a silly joke, are you?”

“No.”

Nicole's smile grew wider.

“I'm quitting because I never should have let you talk me into joining.”

Nicole's smile froze in place. “I put myself out to get you on the squad. Do you know how many girls in this school would kill for a chance to be a part of the team?”

“Great. Then you won't have a problem filling the spot.” I
moved past Nicole and into the room. I plunked down in my desk and let myself take a deep breath.

“Hey, Izzy,” Nicole called out from the hallway. “We'll finish this conversation later, okay?” She didn't wait for me to say anything before walking away.

Chapter 26

T
here was no escaping going to the psychologist/shrink/skull jockey. My mom insisted on driving me to the appointment. I kept telling myself that, other than wasting my time, there was no reason not to see a shrink, but I couldn't shake the feeling he would take one look at me and declare me officially crazy.

“Dr. Mike comes very highly recommended.” This was at least the one billionth time my mom had pointed this out. I think she wanted to assure me that even though she was forcing me to see a shrink, at least she'd picked a good one. Neither of us mentioned that Dr. Mike was the only one on the island.

“Why does he call himself Dr. Mike? Who does he think he is? Cher? Madonna? Dr. Phil?”

“I think he prefers the approachability of having patients call him by his first name.”

“Maybe he doesn't want us to have his last name in case we start stalking him.”

Mom pulled up to a house. It was a Victorian house painted a light purple. The gables and arches were painted yellow and red. Clearly, Dr. Mike was not afraid of color.

“Is this his
house
?”

“His office is there on the side,” my mom said, pointing to a small sign outside.

“His business can't be doing very good if he has to work out of his home. Plus this totally blows his first-name-only antistalking plan.”

“Don't start, Isobel.” My mom unbuckled her seat belt and opened her door. I grabbed her arm before she could get out.

“I don't need you to come in with me. I can do this by myself.” It seemed to be a bad plan to have her there talking about my family history and recent tendency to have nightmares. I preferred to pace the rate of information Dr. Mike was going to get.

“All right. Call me if you want a ride home.”

“It's okay, I'm going to the library after this.” I opened my door and climbed out. I was just about to shut the door when my mom called out again.

“I'm sorry this move has been so hard for you.” Her hands were clenched on the steering wheel, and she wouldn't look me in the face.

I shrugged. “It's okay. I'm getting used to things.”

“Things with Richard just happened out of the blue, and then he wanted to marry right away. He wouldn't even imagine living anywhere else. I was afraid …” Her voice trailed off. “It sounds pathetic, doesn't it? I was afraid if I didn't say yes right there and then that he might just disappear. I would have missed my chance.”

I felt myself flush in embarrassment for her. “Nah. He was the one who was lucky to get a chance with you.”

She gave me a small smile. “Maybe. I hope you know, I never would have done anything if I thought it would make you sick.” She picked at her thumbnail.

If she hadn't been in the car, I would have hugged her. “I know, Mom. It's okay. I'm okay.”

She took a deep breath and seemed to pull herself together. “I want you to know I'm proud of you for coming. We can't tackle what we won't face.”

I shut the door. She and Dick hadn't even been married two months and she was already starting to sound like him. I watched her drive away before slowly climbing the steps to the office. I'd convinced her I was okay. Now I just had to convince a professional.

Dr. Mike opened the door and smiled, offering me his hand to shake. “You must be Isobel.”

“That's one of my personalities,” I said amiably. “You can meet the other twelve once we get started.” He got credit for not
freaking out at my lame attempt at humor. His lips sort of tensed a bit, but that was it. He stepped aside so I could walk into his office.

His office had once been a porch. He had added walls and winterized it, but you could still tell. The office ran the length of the house, with one wall being floor-to-ceiling bookcases. There were a couple of comfortable-looking chairs and his desk.

“Where's the couch?” I asked, looking around.

“No couch.”

“Where am I supposed to lie down and tell you all about my childhood?”

“This isn't psychotherapy.”

“Oh.” I wandered along the bookshelves. You can tell a lot about a person by what kinds of books and things he keeps around. There was a whole shelf of signed baseballs imprisoned in clear Lucite boxes. I picked one up and looked inside. I couldn't make out whose signature it was. “You must like baseball, huh?”

“I do. How about you? Mariners fan?”

“Not really. All that running around in circles. Seems sort of pointless.” I looked over, hoping I hadn't offended him. This was the guy who could get me locked up. “Not that there's anything wrong with baseball. National pastime and all.”

My finger ran down the shelf. Then I saw it. I picked up the picture frame and held it close to my face so I could be sure. No doubt about it. I turned around to face him and held out the frame.

“You must know Nicole. You look about her age. She's my daughter,” he said.

Oh no. What were the odds that my new shrink would have spawned Nicole? Add this to the list of reasons why I hate living in a small town. If I had to see a shrink in Seattle, there would have been buckets to choose from, and none of them would be related to anyone I knew.

“Let me assure you, everything you say here is confidential.”

“Yeah. I'm sure.” I moved closer to the door. I could picture the entire Percy family sitting down to a wholesome meal of meatloaf and mashed potatoes with a bowl of lumpy gravy and Dr. Mike saying, “
You'll never guess who was in the office today.
” The last thing I needed was for Nicole to have a big, juicy secret of mine.

“I'm afraid there isn't another counselor on the island. If you don't feel comfortable, I can make a referral for someone on the mainland.”

Shit. I was stuck. I suspected Dick would skip the hassle of having to ferry me back and forth to talk to someone and instead convince my mom to toss me into a mental ward where I could stay out of his hair and he'd have her all to himself. I imagined myself wearing institutional pajamas and having to eat everything with a spoon because no one would trust me with a fork or knife. Most likely my roommate would be some freakish, giant-size woman who didn't speak because she'd chewed off her own tongue.

“We might be able to make this work as long as you mean it about keeping things just between us.” I stuffed my hands in my pockets. “So what do we do?”

“Let's start by sitting down.” Mike motioned to the chairs.

I plunked down next to him and pulled my sleeves over my hands. “I was joking about the multiple personality thing. You knew that, right?”

“I was pretty sure. Why don't you tell me about what brings you here?”

“I'm guessing my mom already told you the whole story.”

“She mentioned a few things, but I'd rather hear it from you.”

I took a deep breath. “I guess it starts with my dad.”

I told Dr. Mike everything. How my dad had been the very model of a fine outstanding citizen until he started having all these paranoid thoughts. His whole world exploded, and my mom and I got left behind. I told him that my mom blamed my dad for how her life turned out and how I suspected she thought my dad did it on purpose somehow. I told him my mom was worried I was going crazy just like my dad.

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Do you think you're going to inherit the same difficulties as your dad?”

“Of course I worry about it. It's not a difficulty; it's a huge thing.”

“What if you did inherit your father's mental illness?”

“So you think I have it?” My heart seemed to lock in place.

“That's not what I said. I asked you to tell me what you think it would mean if you did. Sometimes it's best to deal with things straight on. Tell me what it would mean if you were diagnosed with a mental illness.”

“It would mean my life is over.”

“Is your father's life over?”

“No.” I slouched down in the seat, feeling grumpy for some reason.

“You told me your dad is reasonably successful as an artist. His condition is well managed and has been”—he looked down at his notes—“for at least thirteen years now. He has friends, I assume? A social life.”

“He's not a hermit or anything.”

Dr. Mike didn't say anything. He just looked at me with this annoying smile on his face. I looked out the window, trying to wait him out, but the guy was a professional. I buckled and broke the silence.

“Okay, my dad is doing all right, but you can't possibly think that being crazy is a good thing.”

“I'm not trying to say that having a mental illness would be preferred, but I'm asking you to explore your statement about it being the end of your life.”