Page 162 of Outspoken

“Okay, sit down,” I say once we’re in the room.

I close the door as she falls into her office chair, looking like fragile glass. She’s pale and fidgety and miles from her bubbly, warm self.

I sink into her lavender beanbag since that’s the only place I can sit. “Please, talk to me,” I plead. “I need you to tell me what’s wrong. Are you okay? Did something happen between you and Brody? I haven’t seen you two snuggly and affectionate lately and I’m really worried. I’m also confused and hurt. Do you no longer trust me? Have I done something? Please, tell me so I can apologize and so I’m not walking around clueless. Please.”

She grabs a chunk of her loose hair and starts chewing.

My heart drops.What in the world happened?“So then you don’t trust me. I don’t feel like besties anymore and I don’t know what I did to upset you.”

She shakes her head. She shrinks in the chair, dipping her chin.

“What? That’s not true. I’malwaysgoing to be your friend. That’s what trust is. You trust me to stick with you no matter what.”

Her eyes become misty.

“Hate you?” My chest squeezes and I touch my heart. “That’s impossible. I won’t. I guarantee I’ll never hate you.”

She shakes her head again, almost swallowing her hair. Then she starts rocking, which makes me tense. She only rocks when she’s close to a meltdown.

Her fingers are clumsy as she taps her phone.

Dropping her phone in her lap, she sobs, rocking harder and clawing her hair. Her fingers dig into her scalp, squeezing chunks of hair in her fists and pulling. Her sobs become louder and her breath rapid, like she’s struggling to take in air.

I slide off of the beanbag to kneel in front of her. She told me before how much she hates meltdowns and always tries to avoid them, so I go into prevention mode. “Hey,” I say. “Let’s not think about it right now, okay? You gotta try to take deeper breaths and relax. What will help? Music?”

She nods, so I hunt around her desk for earbuds. I find a pair in a drawer. “Can I borrow your phone?”

She nods again, so I connect the earbuds and hunt through her playlists until I find one calledMeltdowns 3. She created a few lists to help her come back from the edge, so I hope number three is a good pick.

She stuffs the earbuds in her ears and hits play, rocking and squeezing Bamsy while I sit on the floor cross-legged. I wait, trying to ignore the knot in my stomach and counting carpet threads for several songs.What could she possibly think I’d hate her for?

Waiting to find out is killing me, so I practice my noting technique in my head while taking deep, calming breaths.

Her rocking and sobs finally ease and she slumps in her chair, staring blankly at a wall.

“Should I go for now?” I ask.

She shakes her head, wiping her cheeks.

I wait another ten minutes while she gets her body and mind into a better state. Then she sets Bamsy on her desk, walks quickly to a shelf, and slips a manila envelope from between some comics. Returning to her chair, she squeezes the envelope, wrinkling the edges.

My mouth is like a desert as I review what I know about the past few months. Paige has been to a lot of doctor’s appointments lately and manila envelopes are rarely good. Besides the manila envelope I got in the mail with my high school diploma, I don’t think I’ve ever gotten good news from one of those stupid envelopes.

The knot in my stomach tightens. What if Paige is sick?But why would she think I’d hate her for that?

I straighten my spine to prepare myself. “Whatever is in there, I won’t hate you,” I say. “And we’ll get through it together. I promise.”

I swallow the lump in my throat.God, what if it’s cancer?

My hand inches toward her bare foot, but I resist the urge to touch her because her body is probably still recovering from the meltdown. “I know. But we’ll figure it out like we always have. We got you away from your step-dad and figured out how to break that guardianship, and we got through Brody’s injury. We’ll survive whatever this is. I swear. Please, just show me because I can’t help until I know what’s going on.”

Closing her eyes like she can’t bear to see my reaction, she gives me the envelope.

My hands are shaky and my heart is beating into my skull, but I lift the metal prongs to open the envelope’s flap. Holding my breath, I slowly pull the papers out. It takes a moment of blinking for my brain to figure out what I’m staring at.

I laugh-sob.

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