Her First Mistake by Carey Baldwin (books for 10th graders txt) 📕

need me, to act as your guide if you wish. Let your eyes focus on an object.”

Her gaze flew straight to the coffee cup on Dr. Baquero’s desk.

Keep calm and kick ass.

“Let your vision soften.”

The lettering on the coffee cup grew less distinct, then changed into nothing more than a wash of color.

Her breathing slowed.

Her eyelids changed to stone.

This was too easy—she couldn’t be going under so soon.

She squeezed her hand into a fist, fighting her descent into the unknown.

“If you’re not ready, you can slow down. Take your time, Mia.”

She heard the clock ticking in the background, her breathing growing louder.

“Only you decide,” Dr. Baquero called from far away.

You decide. You decide.

The words echoed off the walls.

“When you’re ready your eyes will close. Your body will seem heavy—your arm light, as if a helium balloon is tied to your hand.”

You decide. You decide.

Her chin dropped to her chest. Her arm began rising, then suddenly plummeted to her side.

Words and sounds came from far away, bouncing off the walls of a long tunnel.

“Now then, Mia, you are free to dream, to search and find the things you wish to know. Don’t be afraid. Anytime you want to come back, you don’t need me at all. Just count backwards—or forwards. You can wake up anytime and keep only the memories you choose. You don’t have to bring them all back with you. If something feels unsafe, simply discard it before you wake.”

She pictured herself swaddled in a blanket and felt her own arms wrap her body. How old was she? She had questions, but she didn’t know what they were.

“It’s safe to dream, Mia.”

A whisper of a kiss grazes my cheek.

A sweet, sweet voice is singing softly in my ear.

I love it when Mommy sings.

Mommy brushes my hair.

I like the tug on my scalp, even though it stings, because it means she is here with me. We are together. She drops a kiss on top of my head, and I see her face smiling back at me from the mirror.

I ask: Will we have dinner tonight?

Mommy frowns and says I’m making her lose count of the strokes—now she’ll have to start over again.

One hundred more strokes to make my hair shine.

I’m glad, even though it means more pulling and burning. Glad for more time with Mommy. My stomach rumbles, and I look up at her, wanting to ask again about dinner, but this time I keep silent. Mommy will feed me when she can.

We’re not starving; we’re just hungry. Like Mommy says, it’s not the same thing. We have to be careful, portion our food so we have something for the next day and the day after that. My stomach growls, very loudly this time.

Mommy tells me someday soon we’ll have ice cream. She asks me what kind I want.

I say chocolate because I know that’s her favorite, but I don’t remember what ice cream tastes like.

Mommy finishes brushing my hair and gets up.

Come back!

I want her close to me, caring for me.

But she’s at the hope chest, pulling out my pajamas.

I go to her, and she removes my shift and puts me in my nightclothes and drops my shoes and dress in the chest.

I look down at my feet and think how silly my toes look. I don’t have slippers. The cement floor of the cabin is cold against the soles of my bare feet, but I like that better than the gritty dirt floor of the shed.

I’m crying now, big tears rolling down my cheeks.

Mommy shushes me and tells me to be a good little girl. Not to cry.

I hear drumming on the windows. Rain is coming down hard outside. I crawl onto the bed and draw my knees up and watch Mommy getting ready.

She’s putting on her nightclothes, too. My PJs are an old T-shirt with holes and a pair of flannel pants Mommy got for me at the Salvation Army store. But Mommy’s are pretty and bright.

Mommy’s nightgown is red and lacey, and she pulls a shiny black robe over it. She goes into the bathroom, and when she comes out, the air around her smells sweet. She sees my tears and gives me a hug. She says she has a surprise for me and shows me a pretty glass bottle with a gold cap and sprays me with the most wonderful smell.

Her smell.

I tell her I love her and put my head on her shoulder.

I’m drifting off to sleep, and then I hear the grinding noise I’ve learned means there’s a car coming up the dirt road.

Mommy jumps up.

She yanks me by the elbow.

She says he’s early, and now we have to hurry.

Hurry!

He’s coming!

Twenty. Nineteen. Eighteen.

I hear the tires grinding.

Seventeen. Sixteen. Fifteen.

No, Mommy, please. I don’t want to go out in the rain.

Hurry, Mia! He’s coming.

Fourteen. Thirteen. Twelve.

She says his name—I’m covering my ears now.

Eleven. Ten. Nine.

I don’t want to go in the shed.

I don’t want to remember the shed.

You decide. You decide what to bring back with you when you wake up.

Eight. Seven. Six.

Mommy shakes my shoulders. Tells me not to make a peep.

Five. Four.

She lifts her hand and brushes the hair from my eyes and tells me she loves me, always.

Three. Two. One.

Mia opened her eyes.

Twenty-Five

Friday

Her hypnosis session with Dr. Baquero had left Mia drained, like she’d been lifting mental weights, with each set becoming progressively more difficult until at last, she’d reached the point where she could no longer bear up. Then last night, she’d fallen into bed, exhausted, and slept through the night for the first time in a long while. There had been no major breakthrough—nothing that would get Detective Samuels to reopen her mother’s case, but at least she’d remembered something from that night.

In her heart, she knew it was the night—the last time she’d seen her mother.

She wished she’d been brave enough to go all the way—to face the shed, but Dr. Baquero said not to push, that moment would only come when Mia was ready.

Now, she