The Lost Causes Read online

  Z heaved a long sigh. “Isn’t it obvious?”

  “I don’t know,” Sabrina responded, her earlier irritation with Z flaring. “Do you think she wants to discuss your warped jealousy issues about your twin brother with all of us?”

  “I doubt you could string enough words together to articulate an opinion on that,” Z snapped.

  “What is your problem with me?” Sabrina asked. “You don’t even know me.”

  “Forget it,” Z muttered.

  Andrew cleared his throat. “Wait, what’s obvious?” he asked Z.

  “That Dr. Pearl has expanded her limited skill set from conducting rudimentary, inaccurate individual assessments to conducting one in a group setting. Maybe she thinks it will save her time.”

  Sabrina exhaled. Z was probably right about this being a group-therapy session. Sabrina didn’t know about Andrew or Gabby, but Z seemed to have an array of psychological problems, and Justin, well … she’d known him since elementary school. Everyone knew about his temper. The room remained quiet until Andrew began to cough.

  “Are you okay?” Sabrina asked when he didn’t stop.

  Andrew took a swig of water and nodded.

  “This room is dusty,” he mumbled. “Maybe it’s from the furnace. I bet they haven’t turned it on in months and sometimes dust particles —”

  “Dude, who cares?” said Justin, and Andrew scooted his chair back a few inches.

  Z sighed. “Maybe if we all shut up, Dr. Pearl will finally show up and tell us what the hell we’re doing here.”

  * * *

  Ryan Nash sat in a nondescript white van, staring at a small television screen. He was absorbing every detail of the five students’ interactions in real time, thanks to a tiny camera he’d embedded in the wall of the classroom.

  He focused on Sabrina on the monitor, trying to ignore his nagging annoyance at being placed on this assignment. He observed the way Sabrina pretended not to see Z rolling her eyes at her, noting the underlying friction between them. He hadn’t seen anything like that recorded in their files, but there were always nuances and quirks that emerged in person.

  Patricia opened the side door of the van, slipping into the backseat. She wore a navy pantsuit that seemed too large for her narrow shoulders, though Nash couldn’t tell if the jacket was the wrong size or if Patricia was simply the type of woman who didn’t look right in a suit. He had yet to see one she appeared comfortable in.

  “Everything is ready,” she told him as she quickly scanned the screen. “Shall we?” Though she phrased it like a question, it wasn’t. At fifty-five, she was over three decades older than Nash. She was the one with seniority, the one calling the shots. Despite her enthusiasm, Nash had a hard time believing this was going to work.

  He nodded, but as he stepped outside the van, he couldn’t help asking again. “You honestly think this is the best way?”

  She paused, then said with absolute conviction, “I do. I know you’re not a believer yet, but by the end of this, you will be.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Sabrina looked up when the door to room 113 opened, but two strangers greeted her instead of Dr. Pearl. The first was a thin woman with long, brown frizzy hair who immediately gave everyone a toothy smile. The second was a much younger guy, who remained near the door.

  “Where’s Dr. Pearl?” Andrew asked, echoing Sabrina’s thoughts.

  “I’m afraid she got detained, Andrew,” the woman replied apologetically. Sabrina was about to ask how she even knew their names until she remembered the cards on the desks.

  “Let’s back up. Let me introduce myself. I’m Dr. Patricia Nichols, but no need for formalities. Please call me Patricia. And that’s Nash over there by the door. We’re clinical therapists. I’m actually an old colleague of Dr. Pearl’s, and she recently called on me to begin a program here at Cedar Springs.”

  Sabrina sighed. Z was right.

  “Dr. Pearl had planned to do a whole introduction, but a small student emergency popped up. I told her we could proceed without her until she’s available.” Patricia paused, as if expecting an interjection, and Andrew immediately shot his hand up. “Yes, Andrew?”

  “Can we turn the heat down?” he asked.

  Patricia nodded. “We’ve been trying. There seems to be something wrong with the system. I know it’s an old building …”

  “But I might have a pulmonary embolism. And I definitely have asthma that could require serious attention at any time —”

  “We’re aware of that, Andrew,” Nash cut in curtly.

  Sabrina turned toward Nash, really seeing his face for the first time since he’d entered the room. Recognition flashed through her entire body. It was him.

  It had been a Monday, almost two weeks ago, when he’d walked into the Sonic Burger where she worked after school. She heard the door open but didn’t look over because she was in the middle of grabbing an order of fries for a customer who’d complained that his first batch was soggy.

  When she finished getting the fries out and punching in the voiding codes, she finally looked up at the guy waiting at the register, his green eyes, five-day stubble and jet-black lashes causing an unfamiliar tsunami-size wave of attraction to crash over her.

  “Can I help you?” she’d squeaked, her heart beating quickly.

  And when he’d glanced up at her, about to speak, he paused, a look of surprise in his eyes. As if he was seeing some part of Sabrina that she didn’t even know existed. They stood like that, in silence, for what was probably five seconds but felt like five hours, before Nash cleared his throat.

  “I’ll just take a number-four combo.”

  “Okay, coming right up.” She tried to think of something more to say — she just wanted to be in his presence a little longer — but he turned and sat at a table, tugging his gray beanie down and gazing out the window.

  When his order came up, Sabrina picked up the tray and walked toward his table. Usually she was supposed to just call out the number, but she wanted one more chance to talk to him. She checked out her reflection in the small mirror by the takeout window, cringing at the sight of the dumb hat she was forced to wear.

  “Here you go,” she said as she reached his table, her heartbeat again intensifying. She couldn’t remember ever feeling like this before. It was like a chemical reaction — for once without the actual chemicals. But it was more than that. It was a feeling like this person was inevitable.

  “Do you live around here?” she asked. It was a lame question, but she couldn’t let him get away.

  “What?” he answered, his look instantly guarded.

  “I just … haven’t seen you before,” Sabrina sputtered. “Not that I know every single person who walks through. I mean …” What did she mean? “Anyway, the point is, if you’re new to Cedar Springs, I could show you around a little bit.” She quickly scribbled her phone number on the receipt before she lost her nerve.

  “Oh. I’ll keep that in mind,” he replied, the intensity of his deep voice almost making her knees buckle.

  She’d waited several days for him to call or text. But by the weekend, she’d realized it was hopeless and retreated into a two-day drug-fueled bender.

  Now, she couldn’t tear her eyes away from him. What is he doing here? He was in a deep blue V-neck, his dark hair more apparent without the gray beanie from before. That was probably why she hadn’t recognized him straightaway.

  Nash turned to her, caught her eye and raised a single eyebrow. She looked away, her cheeks hot. She’d somehow deluded herself into thinking they’d had a real connection, and now here she was, sitting like a child at a desk, and it turned out he was some kind of therapist?

  Maybe his visit to Sonic hadn’t even been an accident. Maybe he’d been scoping her out for this therapy session ahead of time. Or maybe that was paranoid thinking. There were just three
fast-food joints in Cedar Springs, so he was bound to go into at least one of them. It was probably just a coincidence.

  She looked back to see he was still watching her. But this time Sabrina knew it was clinical observation, nothing more.

  “Why don’t we begin?” Patricia said. “What is this meeting about, exactly? To put it simply, we’re beginning a weekly group-therapy program designed to help you overcome your issues and move forward in life.” Z raised an eyebrow at the group — she’d guessed correctly. “We’ve found peer support to be incredibly effective. Through role play, memory games, trust-building exercises and other therapeutic activities, you’ll see that this is a safe place for you all to share whatever is holding you back.”

  Sabrina wished she’d opted to take that Spanish quiz.

  “I’ve had success with programs like this at several other schools in the county. When I contacted Dr. Pearl about implementing one here, she suggested the five of you as terrific candidates.” Though she tried to couch it as a compliment, Sabrina wasn’t fooled. Being the first person the school shrink thought needed heavy-duty therapy was nothing to be proud of.

  “What the hell issues do I have?” Justin blurted, his forehead dotted with tiny beads of sweat. “It’s not like I’m like her.” He pointed at Gabby, who ducked her head lower as a result of the attention, though her feet continued their rhythmic tapping.

  “Did you not just get in a physical altercation with a student last week?” Nash asked. He meant the cafeteria brawl Justin had instigated last Tuesday, where he threw an entire table and half a dozen metal chairs at the captain of the soccer team.

  “Lots of guys fight.” Justin narrowed his eyes at him. “And why should I listen to you? How old are you? My age?”

  Sabrina leaned forward. She was curious to hear how old Nash was. He didn’t look much older than she was, so maybe he was a grad student or something. Off-limits, she reminded herself. Never going to happen.

  “Justin, the fact that you have what could be categorized as a sociopathic proclivity toward violence should come as no surprise to you,” Nash responded coolly. “Now, does anyone else feel the need to interrupt or can we move on?” Sabrina stayed silent. She knew what the others in the room probably already thought of her. She didn’t need Nash to open it up for a group discussion.

  Patricia took a deep breath. “There is one thing that qualified the five of you for this program. As different as you are, you all have one underlying similarity.”

  The room went quiet.

  “You’ve all been dismissed,” Patricia said, her tone incredulous, as if to express her exasperation with those who had judged them that way. “Your school files indicate that you’ve been deemed lost causes by everyone around you. People have given up trying to help. Your teachers, your fellow students, even your parents.” This wasn’t new information to Sabrina, but it still stung to hear someone say the words aloud.

  “That’s not true,” Andrew managed to say before a hacking cough overtook him again.

  Z shrugged and took a gulp of water. “Sounds accurate to me.”

  “What do you mean, our parents gave up on us?” Gabby asked softly, the first words she’d uttered since entering the room, her blue eyes wide and innocent. She reminded Sabrina of the American Girl doll she used to play with when she was little.

  Nash spoke, a new note of empathy in his voice. “We sent them all letters about this program a week ago. Actually, we sent them to a dozen or so students’ parents. We explained the program and why we thought you might benefit from it. The success stories we’ve had. Some parents called us right away, desperate to get their children into the program. Others called and chewed us out, claiming their kids didn’t need help. Do you want to know what your parents had in common?”

  No one responded.

  “They were the only ones who didn’t reply at all.”

  Sabrina looked up, finally making eye contact with the others. For one brief second, they were all united in their anger and shame.

  “That’s how we chose you all.”

  Patricia jumped in quickly. “But we don’t happen to agree with your parents or anyone else. That’s why we’re doing this. We want to prove them wrong. Nash and I refuse to give up on you. We can help you — we’ve done it before. All you need is a little extra support from us and from each other. We believe in you.” Patricia tapped her hand on the desk for emphasis. “And we want you to believe in each other.”

  For a split second, Sabrina allowed herself to wonder if this program could actually work. She guessed by the way Gabby was leaning forward in her chair that she was wondering the same thing. It wasn’t as if Sabrina enjoyed that every thought she had was blurry and she could barely remember what she’d done the day before. It hadn’t always been like this for her. Caught in the endless cycle of chasing the next high. But how was doing trust falls with a bunch of fellow losers going to fix her?

  “You’ll notice a contact list with all of your phone numbers on your desks in case you want to connect with each other before we meet again,” Patricia continued. “I have a feeling that in the next few days you’ll need one another. Truly, this program could give you all a new purpose in life.”

  Need each other how? Sabrina now felt validated in her skepticism. The vague platitudes Patricia was spewing didn’t sound any different from the run-of-the-mill group-therapy programs that Dr. Pearl had emailed Sabrina about a few years ago.

  “Well, I for one don’t give a crap,” Justin announced, getting up from his desk and striding toward the door.

  “Justin, please sit down,” Patricia said in that firm but calm tone that therapists were famous for.

  Justin didn’t break stride. “I’d rather sit through algebra than talk to you freaks. And that’s saying a lot.”

  With that, he slammed the door, the sound reverberating in the room.

  When neither Nash nor Patricia went after him, Sabrina said, “Wait, we can just leave?”

  “I’d rather you didn’t,” Patricia said evenly. “But we are seeking willing participants. I can’t hold you here and force you to talk to us.”

  Sabrina hopped up just as the others scrambled to stand as well. No one wanted to be the last one left.

  Z slithered out first, with Gabby shortly behind her, painstakingly plotting each step to the door.

  “I’m sorry,” Andrew muttered, limping. “But I really don’t have any psychological issues, anyway. If you were medical doctors, I might be interested.”

  Sabrina shot Nash one last look, hoping it came across as composed, though her hands were already shaking as she fumbled for the last Vicodin in her jacket pocket. It didn’t surprise her that her mother hadn’t replied to Patricia’s letter. But she thought her dad would’ve cared enough to mention it, at least. She pressed her lips together, forcing herself not to think about it until after the fuzzy numbing agent could work its magic on her again.

  * * *

  Ten minutes later, Nash surveyed the circle of vacant desks, the empty glasses of water all that remained as proof they were ever there. “You think that worked?” he asked Patricia skeptically.

  “It worked,” she replied, collecting the name cards and handing them to Nash.

  “Because we’re losing time every day that we could be using more efficiently to —”

  “Have faith,” Patricia interrupted, before she walked out of the room as well.

  Nash would rather have answers than faith, but he kept that thought to himself as he silently began shredding the name cards one by one.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Gabby Dahl had pushed the failed therapy meeting out of her head by the time she entered the locker room for last-period PE. When there were so many more pressing issues, it was easy to squeeze everything nonessential out of her brain.

  As it was, she had just begun washing her hands
when the sixth-period warning bell rang. She only had five minutes or she’d be marked late yet again. She was already in danger of receiving a failing grade, which boggled her parents’ minds. “How do you fail a class like PE?” Gabby had overheard her father grumble to her mother with a resigned sigh. He couldn’t conceal his disappointment anymore.

  She let the water run for exactly fifteen more seconds before turning it off and grabbing three paper towels, wiping each finger with precision.

  Satisfied, she began counting the twenty-seven steps to her locker, taking care to avoid the cracks in the aging cement floor, her eyes catching sight of her reflection in the full-length mirror that lined the wall. She was smaller than most girls her age, with so much blond hair that it was easy to hide behind it.

  She reached her gym locker, tapped on it three times and twirled in the combination, opening the dilapidated metal door, then shutting it quickly. She’d have to do this five more times, assuming of course that nothing went wrong, before she could leave her locker open and begin to change.

  A few feet away, a group of girls were clustered at the end of the wooden bench.

  “My parents have been so freaked out. They didn’t even want to let me go to the football game last weekend,” Hannah Phelps said, pulling on her socks. As Gabby slammed her locker shut for the second time, she wondered if Hannah remembered that she’d ever been friends with Gabby. It all felt so long ago.

  “I know,” Emily Price agreed. “Mine want to drive me everywhere. I mean, I get it. I don’t want to end up like poor Lily. I’m scared to go anywhere by myself right now. But I wish they’d catch this guy already so my curfew could go back to midnight.”

  Gabby shivered at the mention of Lily Carpenter’s recent murder in her cabin on the edge of the Arapahoe Woods. Gabby had been stunned when she’d initially heard that the sweet woman known around town for her handmade cedar-scented candles had been shot point-blank. She’d visited Lily’s stall at the farmers’ market more than a few times and always noticed how calm and patient Lily was, even when Gabby had to count her dollar bills eight times before handing her the money. Who would murder someone like that, and for seemingly no reason?