Chapter 2

"I'm not cutting it."

"Come here."

I didn't move. So she came to me.

I shoved her. I really did shove her, and she stumbled back a couple of steps. Then she got a fistful of my hair and pushed my head down over her knee.

The shears went across my scalp.

I fought her the whole time. I had my nails dug into her calf and it made no difference. She was fifty-one. I was seventeen and I'd just won the state 1600, and I still couldn't get her off me.

My hair came off in handfuls and landed on the concrete.

When she was done, she pressed the shears into my hand.

"Hold these."

My head was still spinning, and my fingers closed around them before I knew what I was doing.

She backed up to the stairs and raised her phone.

I thought she was photographing the hair on the floor.

"There." She put the phone away. "Wear a hat to school tomorrow. Don't give people a reason to ask."

I didn't sleep that night. Three words kept going around in my head.

Cedar Ridge Academy.

The next morning I got to school forty minutes early and went straight to the library.

The website was beautiful. Green lawns, white fences, a few kids in polo shirts laughing under a tree. The homepage said a structured living environment for teens with behavioral challenges. Under that, in smaller print: direct enrollment accepted from parents and guardians.

It looked completely normal.

Then I searched the name plus the word "news." One article came up, three years old. Parents complaining that the school cut their kids off from everyone on the outside.

Ethan ran on the team with me. His cousin had gotten out of Cedar Ridge last year.

I caught him outside the cafeteria.

"What is Cedar Ridge?"

Ethan stopped. "Why are you asking?"

"I think my sister's in there."

He set his tray down.

"My cousin was in eight months," he said. "No phone. Couldn't write letters. When he called home, somebody stood right there and listened to the whole thing. He's been out half a year and he still can't be alone in a room."

"How do you get somebody out?"

"A parent signs, and you're in." Ethan shrugged. "To get out, a parent has to sign too."

Zoe hadn't called me once in two years. My mother said it was because they didn't allow phones on her ward.

I skipped first period. I took my hat off and knocked on Mr. Hansen's door.

"God, Nora. What happened to your hair?"

I sat down and told him. The hair first, then the basement, then the bank statements.

I didn't cry. I was scared that if I cried, he'd decide I was unstable.

"They're still in my basement. Third box in the corner," I said. "If somebody goes now, they'll still be there."

Mr. Hansen heard me out. Then he picked up the phone.

For the first time in ten years, somebody actually dialed.

He made two calls. The second one was to my mother.

"It's school policy," he said, with his hand over the receiver. "Anything involving a minor, we have to notify the guardian."

I got out one word. Don't.

It was already ringing.

At noon a woman from Child Protective Services came to the school. Parker. Mid-forties, a folder under her arm.

My mother beat her there by fifteen minutes. Red eyes, tissue balled up in her fist.

"Ms. Parker, thank you for getting here so fast. I've been waiting for someone to ask me about this."

She pulled a document out of her bag.

"This is Nora's evaluation. Dr. Reid did it, over at Cedar Ridge Academy."

I leaned in and checked the date. Three months ago.

Three months ago there was nothing wrong with me.

"Oppositional defiant disorder. A history of self-harm." My mother's voice stayed soft the whole time. "She's seventeen. It's the hardest age. Last month she threw a vase at me."

"I did not."

"Then can you explain what you did last night?"

She handed over her phone.

In the video the basement light was on full. I was sitting on the floor with the garden shears in my hand and half my hair gone.

She wasn't in the frame.

"Vivian," Ms. Parker said, "I'd like a few minutes with Nora alone."

My mother stood up right away and pulled the door closed behind her.

The door was glass. She stayed out in the hallway and watched me through it.

"Nora, do you have anything that proves it?"

"Yes. Bank statements. Every payment goes to Cedar Ridge Academy. They're in my basement, third box in the corner."

"We'll set up a home visit." Ms. Parker wrote a line down. "Usually within a week."

"A week?"

"There's a waiting list."

I looked through the glass at my mother again. She was looking right back at me, and her face gave away nothing.

That box would be gone by tonight.

On my way out, Ms. Parker put a hand on my shoulder and told me to call the number on the card if I needed anything.

My mother reached over, took the card, and tucked it into her purse for me.

That evening my dad was in the living room with the game on.

"Greg." I stood in front of him and pointed at my head. "This happened last night, in the basement. You were upstairs. You heard the bolt."

He leaned sideways so he could keep watching the screen. "Nora, your mother is worn out taking care of your sister."

"I asked if you heard it."

"Kids your age always mistake discipline for abuse."

I turned the TV off.

"Zoe isn't in Switzerland. She's at Cedar Ridge. I saw the payments."

He looked up at me. Two seconds, maybe.

Then he took the remote back out of my hand and turned the TV on again.

"Don't say things like that."

My mother brought a cup of warm milk upstairs.

"Drink this and get some sleep." She was smiling. "Tomorrow I'm taking you somewhere."

"Where?"

"Somewhere you can calm down."

"Cedar Ridge."

Her smile stopped for a second.

"You were on a computer at school today."

"Everybody at school knows about that place."

"Then you should also know that the kids who end up there brought it on themselves." She pushed the cup into my hands. "Drink."

I raised it to my mouth and waited until she turned around before I set it down again.

The door locked from the outside.

A while later I heard her talking downstairs. The vent carried it up clear as anything.

"Yes. Ten tomorrow morning."

"I've signed everything. Same arrangement as her sister."

I poured the milk into the plant on the windowsill, left a little in the bottom of the cup, and put it back on the nightstand.

Then I went to the door and put my mouth up to the gap.

"Mom."

Nobody answered.

"Lock it good tonight."

The key turned twice on the other side.