Impulse by Ellen Hopkins Page A

granddaughter. 305
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    However, we cannot make
    real progress unless we put
    everything out in the open, so we know exactly what
    we ' re dealing with.
    So now I will start a new regimen of treatment. Lithium, here I come, weight gain, runs, and all. But hey, I didn't break down and confess. Grandma turned traitor, not me. God love her. 306
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    And Through It All
    No one noticed how I kept my arm bent tight. Good thing, too. A thin, red line stains my pretty blue blouse, right at the crease in the elbow. Guess I cut a little deeper than I meant to. Better be careful. I'd hate for my arm to drop off at dinner or something. Ha.
    A cold-water rinse is called for, but I'd better wait until later tonight, when everyone's back in their rooms and the bathroom offers more privacy. 307
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    Meanwhile, I change back into my sweats, Saturday red, same as all the other Aspen Springs residents. Identity isn't something they encourage here.
    My shirt is barely over my head, pants still on the bed, when the door opens suddenly. It's Paul, with goodies.
    His eyes immediately fall to the V between my legs.
    Sorry for barging in, but
    Dr Starr wants you to start on the lithium right away.
    Take this, then finish getting
    dressed. 308
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    nothing's Different
    Level Three. Awesome, movies, mall trips, maybe a barbecue in the park-- small perks for facing up to Mom. Holy crap. I'd almost forgotten just what a bitch that woman can be, a rotten example of humanity. Wonder if she has any, stashed inside. And Dad? He was only civil to free himself of the nagging thought that he might somehow be responsible for the things I've done. Quite likely, Dad.
    His parting remark as I
    closed the door was so
    Dad-like. Be sure to keep an eye on your GPA. 309
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    Still carping about my grades, hoping I'll land a scholarship so he won't have to worry about coping with an Ivy League tuition. A state university won't do for dear old Dad. No, that's a fate worse than death.
    Wonder how he would have
    felt if I'd done the deed correctly. I wonder if he or Mom would even have cried. 310
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    Another Level Three Perk
    Is holidays at home, but I don't care about going home for Easter or Fourth of July. It was a rare
    occasion for us to celebrate holidays together, and certainly not without debate over stupid things like turkey or ham; fireworks in Reno, Tahoe, or Virginia City. Damn if I'll miss any of that.
    July. Will I still be in this place then? Would I rather be home, biding time in a state of total disgrace?
    Would they leave me alone long enough to call Emily? Would she take my call? Could I be strong if she didn't? 311
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    Would she even be home? Or maybe she's moved away from her husband, her students, the hound dog press. And me.
    How much does everyone at school know? Stupid question.
    The best-rehearsed denials can't fool inquiring minds.
    My first day back will be hell-- the debris of my many failures. I wonder how a GED affects GPA. 312
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    None of It
    Has much affected my appetite. Dinner, I hear, is served, and I plan to eat
    every carb and fat-laden bite.
    Why worry about calories, spare tires, lethargy? Living
    medicated allows me not to care. Anyway,
    Level Three also affords
    me the chance to exercise.
    Lifting until I ache or jogging myself into a trance are the best ways I can think of to forget about the big picture. Straddling the brink of exhaustion, blood thumping in my ears.
    Clawing air, the only thing
    worth worrying about, drawing another breath.
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    The very idea makes me high.
    God, I sound like a bipolar
    lunatic. Pack 'em on, pound
    'em off. I could cry, because either way, it doesn't matter.
    Dinner table, here I come, salivating at the spaghetti and meatball perfume.
    Tony waves me over. Hell, why not? We can trade tales.
    Hope his are as juicy as the ones I've got. Downright
    messy.
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    Spaghetti and Meat Blobs
    Not even sure about the "meat" part, although they kind of taste like dog food. Okay, like dog food