Sara Shepard - Heartless

“What up, ho?” Hanna said in return. It had become their morning routine.

Even though they’d stayed up almost all night, writing love letters to Mike and Oliver, Iris’s boyfriend from home, and picking apart stars’ bodies in the pages of People, neither of them looked too much the worse for wear. As usual, Iris’s pale blond hair hung in flawless waves down her back. Hanna’s eyelashes looked extra long thanks to the Dior mascara she’d borrowed from Iris’s bottomless makeup stash. Just because it was Group Therapy Friday didn’t mean they had to look like pathetic slobs.

As they exited their room, Tara, Ruby, and Alexis followed, obviously spying. “Hey, Hanna, can I talk to you for a sec?” Tara simpered.

Iris whipped around. “She doesn’t want to talk to you.”

“Can’t Hanna speak for herself?” Tara demanded. “Or have you brainwashed her, too?”

They had reached the window seats that looked out onto the gardens behind the facility. A few pink-patterned boxes of Kleenex sat next to the window seats; apparently, this was a prime spot for girls to sit and cry. Hanna sneered at Tara, who was obviously seething with jealousy and rejection and was trying to pit Hanna and Iris against each other. Not that Hanna believed a word of it. Puh-lease. “We’re trying to have a private conversation,” Hanna snapped. “No freaks allowed.”

“You can’t get rid of us that easily,” Tara spat. “We have GT today too.”

The GT room was just ahead through a large oak door. Hanna rolled her eyes and whirled around. Unfortunately, Tara was right—all the girls on the floor had GT this morning.

Hanna didn’t understand GT at all. Private, one-on-one therapy she could handle—she’d met with her therapist, Dr. Foster, again yesterday, but all they’d talked about were the facials the Preserve offered, how she’d started dating Mike Montgomery just before she checked in, and the benefits of her insta-friendship with Iris. She hadn’t mentioned Mona or A once, and there was no way she was going to spill any of her secrets to Tara and her gang of trolls.

Iris looked over, noticing Hanna’s sullen expression. “GT is okay,” she assured her. “Just sit there and shrug. Or say you have your period and don’t feel like talking.”

Dr. Roderick—or “Dr. Felicia,” as she liked everyone to call her—was the polished, chirpy, whirlwind of a woman in charge of GT. Now she poked her head out into the hall and grinned broadly. “Come in, come in!” she singsonged.

The girls filed in. Cushy leather chairs and ottomans were arranged in a circle in the center of the room. A small fountain burbled away in the corner, and there was a large line of bottled waters and sodas on a mahogany sideboard. There were more boxes of Kleenex on the tables, and a big, mesh bin near the door held those foam fun noodles Hanna, Ali, and the others used to play with in Spencer’s pool. A bunch of bongo drums, wooden flutes, and tambourines were stacked on shelves in the corner. Were they going to start a band ?

After all the girls sat down, Dr. Felicia shut the door and sat too. “So,” she said, cracking open an enormous leather-bound day planner. “Today, after we talk about how our weeks have gone, we’re going to play Minefield.”

Everyone made varying grunts and groans. Hanna looked at Iris. “What’s that?”

“It’s a trust exercise,” Iris explained, rolling her eyes. “She scatters this stuff around the room, and it’s supposed to represent bombs and landmines. One person is blindfolded, and her partner leads her around the mines so she doesn’t get hurt.”

Hanna made a face. This was what her dad was paying a thousand dollars a day for?

Dr. Felicia clapped her hands to get everyone’s attention. “Okay, let’s talk about how we’re doing. Who wants to start?”

No one spoke. Hanna scratched her leg, her mind on whether she would get a French manicure today or a hot oil hair treatment. A slender, dark-haired girl across the room named Paige chewed her fingernails.

Dr. Felicia cupped her hands around her knees, sighing wearily. Then her gaze locked on Hanna. “Hanna!” she chirped. “Welcome to the group. Everyone, this is Hanna’s first time here. Let’s all make her feel safe and accepted.”

Hanna curled her toes inside her black Proenza Schouler ankle boots. “Thanks,” she mumbled into her chest. The burbling fountain roared in her ears. It kind of made her have to pee.

“Do you like it here?” Dr. Felicia’s voice swooped up and down. She was one of those people who never blinked but always smiled. It made her seem like a deranged cheerleader on Ritalin.

“It’s great,” Hanna said. “Really, um, fun so far.”

The doctor frowned. “Well, fun is good, but is there anything you’d like to discuss with the group?”

“Not really,” Hanna snapped.

Dr. Felicia pursed her lips, looking disappointed.

“Hanna’s my roommate, and she seems fine,” Iris jumped in. “She and I talk tons—I think this place is doing wonders for her. I mean, at least she doesn’t pull out her hair like Ruby.”

At that, everyone turned to Ruby, who indeed was grasping her hair in mid-yank. Hanna shot Iris a grateful smile, appreciative that she’d diverted Felicia’s attention elsewhere.

But after Dr. Felicia asked Ruby a few questions, she turned back to Hanna. “So, Hanna, would you like to tell us why you’re here? You’d be amazed at how much talking helps.”

Hanna jiggled her foot. Maybe if she sat here silent for long enough, Felicia would move on to someone else. Then she heard someone across the room take a breath.

“Hanna has normal, run-of-the-mill problems,” Tara said in a high-pitched, scathing voice. “She has eating issues, like every perfect girl does. Her daddy doesn’t love her anymore, but she’s trying not to think about it. And oh, she had a bitchy ex-best friend. Blah, blah, blah, nothing worth talking about.”

Satisfied, Tara leaned back, crossed her arms over her chest, and shot Hanna a look that said, You asked for it.

Iris sniffed. “Wow, Tara, good for you. You spied on us. You have ears. And what ugly little rat ears they are.”

“Now,” Dr. Felicia warned.

Hanna didn’t want to give Tara the satisfaction either, but as she reviewed Tara’s words, the blood drained from her face. Something Tara had just said was very, very wrong.

“H-how did you know about my best friend?” she stammered. Mona’s face swam into her mind, her eyes fiery with rage as she gunned the engine of her SUV.

Tara blinked, caught off guard.

“It’s obvious,” Iris jumped in acidly. “She had her ear pressed to our door all night.”

Hanna’s heart beat faster and faster. A salt truck roared by outside. The sound of its plow blade scraping against the pavement made her wince. She looked at Iris. “But I never said anything about my bitch ex-best friend. Do you remember me saying anything about her?”

Iris scratched her chin. “Well, no. But I was tired, so maybe I’d fallen asleep by then.”

Hanna ran her hand over her forehead. What the hell was happening? She’d taken an extra dose of Valium last night to help her sleep; had it made her blurt out stuff about Mona? Her mind felt like a dark, endless tunnel.

“Maybe you didn’t want to talk about this friend, Hanna,” Dr. Felicia rushed in. She rose to her feet and walked to the windows. “But sometimes our minds and bodies have a way of pushing our problems out nevertheless.”

Hanna glared at her. “I don’t just blurt shit out. I don’t have Tourette’s. I’m not a moron. ”

“You don’t need to get worked up,” Dr. Felicia said gently.