“That’s the second day in a row.” Jake’s words are firm, but kindness coats them. The tone throws me. “It’s odd for you to be late. See me after?”
Hope nods and pulls her long sweater sleeves down to cover half her hands. “It won’t happen again.”
“Good.” Jake taps something out on her tablet. “Now then, pass these around.” She retrieves a stack of red paper hearts from her tote along with a pencil case. “Take a heart and a pencil each.”
Everyone obeys but I’m a statue, staring at Hope where she sits cross-legged on the trellis rug. She’s different than she was this morning. The easygoing girl who insisted this place is special now forces a smile. Her crisscrossed legs turn into butterfly wings when she takes a heart and pencil and sets them in her lap. She could fly away. Does she have someone on the outside who would notice if she went missing?
Why do I care?
I take my things without looking, keeping my focus on Hope instead. We are not friends and we’re never going to be. I don’t have time or even the hint of a desire for attachments that won’t last. But the piece of me that used to be, the part once whole and unbroken, makes eye contact with the girl I assumed was too young to understand.
You okay? I mouth when she meets my gaze.
Fine, she mouths back, though she’s obviously not.
I narrow my eyes. The all-knowing empath in me that surfaces when I’m not numb can sense when someone’s lying. My heart screams offense, but my head says we’re not as different as I first believed.
Hiding behind practiced expressions and cookie-cutter answers. Never allowing anyone inside because we’ve done so too many times to count and we’re tired. Washed up. Finished.
I bite my tongue and stare at the heart in my hands. A rip in the paper’s edge begs me to make the tear deeper, longer. Until the stupid symbol is torn in two and nothing can be done to save it. Tape and glue will never take it back to perfect.
“I want you each to close your eyes and think of some negative words or even phrases you’ve allowed to define you.” Jake closes her own eyes.
Classic fail, lady. Treating us like children isn’t going to get us to trust you.
On principle, I keep my eyes wide open. I’m the only one, though. Even Hope obeys despite the edge about her now.
“Maybe these are words you’ve used for yourself,” Jake says. “Ones you’ve voiced until you’ve come to believe them so deeply, they’re ingrained as truth.” Hand to her heart, our leader rolls her shoulders, inhales, and releases the breath. “Or they could be terms or phrases someone else has tagged you with. Unwanted. Ugly. Unworthy. Waste of time. Whatever they are, let them appear before your mind’s eye.”
I have half a mind’s eye to slip out of the room, leave my paper heart behind with the rest of this nonsense. But a twitch in Hope’s expression catches the corner of my vision. Her chin crinkles and quivers, eyebrows the shade of her freckles and hair pinching the space above her nose.
And something within me cracks, Hope’s pain pouring in, becoming my own.
I seal the hole quickly, finally closing my eyes if only to keep from letting her in.
“Do you have your words? Can you picture them?” Jake clears her throat, and I almost get the sense she’s choked up.
She’s a fine actress. Too bad I don’t believe in fiction.
Some girls “mmm-hmm” in response to her question. Hope is the only one who voices a clear “yes.”
I peek through my lids.
Jake’s satisfaction goes viral across her face. “You can open your eyes,” she says, placing a long, carefully chosen pause before continuing. “Now, I want you to take your pencils and write those words and phrases on your paper heart. Take care not to rush. Use flourishes or embellishments. Etch those beliefs into that heart until there’s no denying they’re there.”
I’m almost boiling now, my nerves rattling muscle and bone. “What’s the point of this?” I hiss under my breath.
Jake faces me, pouring all her attention and energy into her considering stare. “Brooke.” She leans forward slightly. “I was going to save introductions for after our exercise, but maybe you’d prefer to do that now?”
The friendly tactic won’t work. I’m on to her methods and this is only day one. “No, thanks.”
I expect her to insist. To use her power to force the soul out of me. Never mind the brownie I ate to appease her. I’m not going to let her win this one.
But she only shrugs. “Okay. Where were we?” Fingers combing her short hair, Jake almost appears flustered, absentmindedly regular like anyone else when interrupted.
Another trick? Or a flaw in her façade?
“Right. Words, ladies. I’ll give you ten minutes.”
The rest of the group begins the assignment. Some scribble feverishly, filling their hearts within a few minutes. I look to Jake, surprised to find her also filling out a paper heart.
What game is she playing?
Hope catches my attention again. She stares at her heart, glancing from it to her hands and back again. Our time’s almost up before she writes a single word at the heart’s center, then folds it in half, creasing the edge, precision in her gaze.
Ah, a perfectionist. Should have pegged it sooner.
“Great.” Jake crosses one leg over the other, taking time to make eye contact with each of us in turn. “We’ll divide into pairs now.” She turns her heart to face us so we can read the words she wrote. Underqualified and doesn’t fit the mold are two of several definitions displayed on the paper surface.
My invisible wall lowers an inch.
Most of the other girls grab their desired partner, leaving me and Hope the only ones without a match.
Great. New girl and newest girl are stuck with each other. Can I get a rain check, please?
“You may find any spot on the grounds you wish. Go for a walk through the gardens,” Jake says. “Take a stroll through the stables. Head up the hill, bask in the ocean view.”
My ears perk at the word ocean.
How long has it been? Months? A year? I can’t remember anymore.
“It doesn’t matter where you go, so long as you are willing to trust your partner with your heart,” Jake goes on. “It’s your job to release it. And it’s your partner’s job to speak truth into you until those words no longer matter. Until you can erase them with full confidence they mean nothing at all.” She takes a breath, letting her instructions sink in. “Some words may be erased today. Others may take much longer to remove. Maybe even after you leave here and go home, at which point you would find a new life-giver. A trustworthy friend or family member, a teacher, or even a counselor who can continue to hold you to those truths.”
This is all way too touchy-feely for my taste. Can we get to the “dish” or whatever it is already?
“We’ll convene back here at the top of the hour. Trust each other, ladies. I can’t wait to hear about your journeys whence you return.”
Did she say “whence”? Seriously, this woman is too much.
Everyone’s on their feet before I can grasp what’s happening. When they’ve all left and Hope stands before me, she offers her heart. The gesture is innocent. Childlike.
I snatch the shape from her hand in a harsh move I regret almost immediately. “Let’s get this over with.”