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E . J . S CHW A R T Z. J . S CHW A R T Z

If this is true, and Alyssa really did die, it’s not good news
for any of us. The nurses will crack down on regulations, prob-
ably be more paranoid than ever, and limit our free time to
nothing. They’ll be worrywarts and never believe that we’re
better. We’ll never get out of here.
“Supposedly a new girl is coming today, but maybe it’s

been postponed,” says Donna.
Out of the corner of my eye, Rowan deflates like a pin-
pricked balloon. Her bony shoulders round and her spine
curves, the silhouette of a spoon. She’s been buzzing with
excitement over a new girl joining RR for a good decade; her
first victim in weeks.
Behind all of us, the staff door bursts open and the nurses
file out, filling the hallway with commotion. Voices rise and
fall. Instructions are called. Bic pens click against the nurses’

cat-scratched clipboards.
“Sweeps, ladies,” Nurse Hart orders, her voice climbing
high above the rest. We line up like ducks, prepared to have
our hair tied up, our sleeves rolled, and our nails filed so we
can’t hide anything so much as a crumb under the beds. Once
Donna scraped chocolate under her nails and Kelly, our di-
etitian, gave her an hour long lecture about normalizing the

stigma of chocolate. Kelly is the only RR staff member we call
by first name, probably because she’s fun-sized and looks like
she could be a patient here herself. Kelly says eating disorders
have a sneaky way of holding on to things—even just con-
tinuing to fear chocolate after RR could trigger Donna into her
eating disorder behaviors again. So Donna had to replace the

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