SATURDAY AFTERNOON
Chris finally sees Brooke coming down the stairs and says, "Brooke, next time I say ten minutes have in mind that I actually mean right now."
"Sorry, Courtney was hogging the bathroom so I had to put on make up using a tiny mirror in my purse."
"Yeah, next time you don't have to apply make up, just come."
"Chris leave her alone," Sebastian interrupts. "You look great." He says to Brooke.
"Though I'd love to know what brand of lipgloss and what shade of pink you're wearing, we're here to talk about the poem." Chris says.
"Right, the poem!" Brooke says remembering.
"You do have it don't you?" Chris asks.
"Yeah, it's in my pocket." Brooke takes it out and flattens it. "By the way, when I went in the bathroom, Courtney was crying."
"What about?" Chris asks.
"You think I asked?"
"Point taken."
"Anyways what I don't understand is the her/him part. It's talking about a girl right? So why does it say him? Did they even mention a guy?"
Chris shakes his head. "I don't understand that either but I figured if we all take turns to keep an eye on Courtney, nothing's gonna happen."
"You mean become her friends?" Tom asks.
Chris shrugs. "Why not? Maybe she doesn't have friends 'cause nobody's tried before." He turns to Brooke. "Why don't you try to befriend her and then introduce her to the group?"
"Are you out of your mind? She tried to kill me just because I walked into the bathroom today."
"Oh like you wouldn't get mad if she did the same to you."
"It's different with her Chris, I was afraid for my legs."
"Come on, nobody even proved that story was true."
"You want proof? Just look at her!"
"Have you, any of you, ever seen her hurt anybody?"
"No,"
"Then she probably hasn't. Now are you going to help me or what?"
Brooke nods, "Fine, I'll try, but if I die, you better tell my mother it was your fault."
"I will,"
Mrs. Whitaker enters the room carrying a tray of hot-from-the-over cornbread, "Oh kids thank God, I need your help. Follow me to the kitchen and set the table."
"Damn it!" Tom mutters under his breath. He gets up and follow the others who had already gotten up and gone to the kitchen.
As Tom places spoons and forks on top of each plate Mr. Whitaker comes to the room and sees him. He laughs at Toms awkwardness setting the table
"I don't get it," Tom complains. "I come here for a weekend getaway and instead I'm doing slave labor."
"Then who sets the table at your house er-night?" Mr. Whitaker asks grinning.
"Rosario, the maid." Tom answers, delivers the last spoon and heads to the kitchen for more.
Mr. Whitaker shakes his head at Tom's bad attitude toward work. What a spoiled little brat he is. He takes the forks and spoons and places them next to each plate, then heads to the kitchen to see what's cooking.
SATURDAY NIGHT
"Courtney, have you seen the flowers I put in the bathroom?"
Courtney pulls a bookmark from the middle of a thick book and flops onto bed. "Yeah, I threw them out the window." Courtney answers already lost in her book.
"You did what?!"
"Threw them out the window." Courtney answers patiently.
"I heard you! Why did you do that? They were my flowers."
"Well I didn't like them."
"Who cares what you like, those were expensive perfumed fleurs-faux from Rossies. You had no right!"
"Oh and what're you gonna do about it?"
"Kill you in your sleep!" Brooke mutters plunging her hands into her jeans's pockets and feeling the four-folded poem inside. She takes it out and reads it, then remembering Chris's plan she asks, "Say Courtney, would you like to be my friend."
Courtney looks up from her book. "Will that be before or after you kill me in my sleep?"
"Before…and after…forever."
"Go to hell freako."
"No, no I mean for real," Brooke walks to Courtney's bed and sits on the corner completely forgetting about the flowers by now.
"We could do our nails together, and do our hair and go shopping, yay!" she squeals.
"If you want money I ain't got any so you might as well stop." Courtney doesn't even take her eyes off her book this time.
"No, I don't want money. I just want a girl-friend to hang out with."
"Then get one."
"Does that mean 'yes'"
"No it means wait till we're back in the city and get one."
"Why wait when you're right here?"
"'cause I might choke you to death if you don't shut the fuck up."
"Oh aren't you cute? I mean it, I want to be your friend."
Courtney slams her book shut making Brooke jump a little. "What do you want?!" she half screams.
Brooke's a bit shaken by Courtney's outburst but stands firm on her ground. "I
want you to be my friend."
"Will that shut you up?"
Brooke nods excited, "For the night, Yes."
"Fine! I'm your goddamn friend."
"Yay!"
"Shut up!"
"Sorry."
SUNDAY MORNING -5:30AM
Brooke wakes from a magical-pony style dream to the dark contour of the room she shares with Courtney. The room is dark illuminated only by the faint lights of sunrise as it creeps through the night. The room is cold and Brooke shivers as she picks up a piney scent on the air. She sits up in bed and notices that the window is open.
'Oh crap, I'm gonna have to get up and close it myself' she thinks pushing her feet to the floor. The soft carpet feels fuzzy under her bare feet as she walks to close the glass window. She turns to take a look at Courtney's bed and finds that she's not there.
"Don't panic, she might be in the bathroom." Brooke tells herself but when she
peaks under the door and sees nothing but darkness behind it she knows she's wrong.
"Courtney!" She calls out loud.
"Courtney! Courtney!" Brooke calls switching on the lights and looking around the room hopefully.
Brooke's ear catches a sound coming from out the window and immediately dreads the worst. "A bear!" She says almost loud enough for the guys to hear her, but not quite loud enough.
"No, no it's me. Shut up you bubbling idiot! You're gonna wake up the world." Courtney's voice says in a fierce whisper.
"Courtney? Where are you?"
Courtney peaked through the window and placed a finger over her lips.
"Courtney? What are you doing out there?"
"Chilling."
"On the roof? In the middle of the night?"
"Beats the hell out of laying in a bed motionless for nine hours straight."
"You don't sleep?"
"Not for long enough to look as dead as you do. Did you know you snore?"
"I don't snore,"
Courtney snorts, "Trust me, yeah you do."
"Would you come back inside? You're making me really nervous."
"How?"
"You might fall and die." Brooke says stating what she and her friends are trying to stop.
"Oh, what do you care."
"I'm your friend."
"Yeah why not."
"So are you coming in?"
"No."
"Why?"
"'cause I don't wanna. Go back to bed and get your beauty sleep."
"But…"
"But what? Just Butt out."
"No that's okay, I want to go out there with you too."
"You can't come out here."
"Why not?"
"'cause I don't want you here."
"Why not?"
"'cause you're annoying for Christsake."
"But I can't leave you out there by yourself. What if you fall and break your legs and there's no one there to help you."
"Oh please, that would only happen if your clumsy ass was with me."
"Promise you'll be fine and I'll leave."
"Has anyone ever told you you're a pain, the biggest pain ever."
"Just promise."
"Fine, I promise." Courtney says exasperated.
"Cross you heart…?"
"And hope to die."
SUNDAY MORNING -7:12AM
"Get up!" Courtney screams banging a spoon on a wall.
"Ahhh!" Brooke jumps up and falls from bed. "Why'd you do that? you crazy bitch."
Courtney laughs pleased by Brooke's reaction. "Just for fun."
"Fun, you think it's fun for me to have a heart attack?"
"Naw, I just wanted to scare you, but good thinking, maybe next time."
"Why'd you wake me anyways? It's still early."
"Breakfast's ready, Mrs. Whitaker sent me to get you."
"Hey, you kept your promise." Brooke says remembering last night.
Courtney walks out of the room and mutters almost inaudibly. "I never break a promise."
SUNDAY MORNING -BREAKFAST
"So guys, guess what? I found the way through to Courtney."
"What is it?" Chris asks excitedly as he butters a piece of toast.
"Annoy the hell out of her!"
"Why? Are you two friends now."
Brooke half nods half shakes her head. "More or less, I mean she's not that bad you know? All those rumors about her being a total bitch aren't completely true. She's
nice in a strange way, and strange in a weird way."
"How so?"
"Yesterday night -or today morning- she was 'chilling' up on the roof out the window."
"You think she was about to jump?"
"No, not at all. That's the strange thing, she looked peaceful and happy. I mean, she was acting all tough and mean, but it didn't look like she meant it."
"She's coming." Tom warns as he sees Courtney coming out the kitchen with a plateful of eggos and a glassful of milk.
Chris begins to get up to go talk to Courtney, but Mr. Whitaker beats him to her.
"Hey Courtney, I'd like to have a word with you."
Courtney eyes him nervously and he pats her shoulder. "That's okay, Mrs. Whitaker's waiting for us in my office."
The quaky unsecure look on Courtney's face eases down a bit though she still looks tense. Finally, with a soft sigh, she follows Mr. Whitaker to his office in the center of the house right between the stairs that lead to the dorm rooms.
Mr. Whitaker holds a wad of napkins with one hand, a plateful of pancakes and
eggos in the other and a bundle of papers wedged between his body and arm.
One of the papers falls out and Chris runs to pick it up for him.
"Mr. Whitaker! Your paper."
"Oh, it's just a napkin keep it." Mr. Whitaker yells back, the office's double doors closing behind him.
Chris picks it up anyways and softly says almost to himself. "No it's not, it's a…Oh my God, never mind."
Mr. Whitaker is long gone but Chris scrambles back to his seat nervously anyway. "Guys, look at this." Chris whispers showing the paper to his other friends.
"What is it?" Sebastian asks taking the paper in his buttery hand.
It was a single white sheet with tiny typing and messy red letters.
"Give me that, you're getting butter all over it." Chris rips it out of Sebastian's hands and reads it.
"Department of mental health and psychiatry," He glances up and sees the others. Their eyes are glued to the paper and their ears perked up with expectation.
"Patient number two, one, zero, eight, seven. Age sixteen. God this is her profile, how lucky is that?"
"Keep going,"
"Due to mental status, we do not recommend for patient two, one, eight, seven to be in constant contact with females. Privacy is advised. For two, zero, eight, seven's own safety, secrets shall remain secret until two, zero, eight, seven decides for it to come out.
"If you have any questions or concerns please call Dr. Flint at (336) 092 2234."
"Any of you bring your phone?"
Brooke unhooks hers for her denim shorts and flips it open. "I have a phone, what I don't have is bars."
"Then why do you carry it around?" Sebastian asks.
"'cause it looks cool."
"There has to be a phone in Mr. Whitaker's office," Tom says. "or how would he call 911 if something happens."
"That's it! Brooke go ask for his phone and tell him you need to call your mommy." Chris says clapping his hands.
"But I don't need to call my mommy, I don't even like her that much."
"You're not gonna call her, you're gonna call Dr. Flint."
"Right uh, do you think I should even get involved? The paper says she shouldn't have any contact with females and I'm like the definition of female."
"Chris, why don't you go ask for the phone yourself."
"'cause I'll look like an idiot saying I miss my mommy."
"Oh and I won't?"
"Fine, I'll go. Just as soon as Courtney comes out."
"Well, there she is." Tom says, Courtney comes out of the office with her plate of eggos half empty and the full glass of milk.
Chris gets up and walks to Mr. Whitaker's office. Mr. Whitaker is still carrying the wad of napkins but his plate is empty and it's obvious that he decided to use his chin as napkins. "Mr. W, can I use your phone, I need to call home."
"Now? We're about to go fishing, c'mon call mommy later."
"It's just that I promised I'd call when I arrived."
"We arrived yesterday boy, didn't you notice the fresh air and the trees?"
"Is that what it was?" Chris asks thinking he's lost the arguments.
Mr. Whitaker laughs, "Go ahead, it's on my desk. But hurry, you don't wanna miss the fish."
Chris walks in relieved. The office is small and it has an oaky smell. Papers lay randomly on the floor and desks, piles of books are stacked everywhere and a single light bulb attempts to illuminate the entire room by itself but it is defeated by darkness.
Chris sights the red telephone perched up against a wall of slanted notebooks. He walks to it and dials the number on the paper. The phone on the other side of the line rings and he holds the receiver closer to his ear. Since the ringing is barely audible, Chris punches the volume-up button on the key pad several times. The button just springs out and Chris puts it back in place hoping Mr. W won't notice he broke his phone.
"Dr. Flint's office, how may I help you?"
"Is this Dr. Flint."
"No, I'm her secretary. Would you like to make an appointment?"
"No, no I just want to ask her about one of her patients. Courtney Wright."
"I'm sorry, we can't give away patient's information. You have to have an ID number, every patient has one for confidentiality reasons. Are you the patient?"
Chris's throat closes up and acts out a husky female voice. "Yes, I'm the patient and I need to speak with Dr. Flint, it's urgent." Chris's voice sounds fake and childish instead of feminine, but he hopes the low volume and the hoarseness of the phone reception will make him sound real.
"Okay, I'll pass you to her."
A beeping goes off in the other line and then Chris hears someone pick up a
phone. "Hello, this is Dr. Flint."
"Hi, it's me. Patient two, zero, eight, seven."
"Just a second." Chris hears a faint clippy sound of typing on the other line. "Oh yes dear, how may I help you." Dr. Flint says her voice sounding as if she knows who she's talking to.
Now that Dr. Flint is ready to talk Chris realizes he doesn't know what to say. His mouth moves silently as he tries to make words come out of his mouth.
"Yes dear, are you still there?"
"Yes," Chris says in a high pitched voice.
"What's the matter?"
"I-I," Chris stutters, "I read the paper about me you gave my teacher and it says I'm not supposed to have contact with females. Why would you say that?"
"Oh honey, it's for your and their own safety. I know you're a girl, but they don't that's why I advised privacy as well. So you won't have to deal with so much by yourself."
"You know I'm a girl?" Chris asks wondering what she means by that.
"Well, yes, you told me remember. But don't worry I didn't tell anybody. By the way, your voice sounds strange, are you crying?" Dr. Flint asks warmly, she sounds
like a nice woman.
"No…" Chris thinks and then decides that if Dr. Flint thought he/she was crying, she'd try to console him and maybe give away some valuable information. "Yes, yes I'm crying. I'm depressed, I don't know what to do." He says faking sobs and wondering how cheesy he sounded.
Mr. Whitaker pushes the doors to his office and walks in on Chris, who's fake-crying over the phone. "We're getting ready to leave." Mr. W announces happily, then, hearing Chris's high pitched voice and sobs he asks. "What's wrong fella?"
Chris jumps up surprised. "I have to go." He says to the phone and hangs up before Dr. Flint can answer.
"Were you crying little man?"
"No, God you scared the hell out of me man!, I wasn't crying."
"You sure?"
"As hell."
"Good then let's get outside. A five-mile hike's waiting for us."
Chris pushes Courtney's profile paper into his jean's pocket and walks out the oaky office disappointed. He made Mr. W think he was crying over the phone with his mom for nothing. He knew no more than he had before.