Fifteen
“What happened?” I asked.
“If you go in her old room at home and look at the walls closely you can see what happened.”
“I don’t understand.”
“No, no, of course not. For three months she was the old Joan. She was happy, upbeat. She started back at regular school—her first year of high school—and was really excited about life. But I began to notice things I didn’t like, things that worried me.”
“Like?”
“Like sometimes she’d be talking at a mile a minute, but not really making sense,” Anna explained. “She’d be irritable and touchy, getting angry and upset over nothing. She started having trouble sleeping—I’d hear her pacing up and down the hallway late at night. I asked her one morning about it, she said she was just trying to get tired enough to go to sleep. What worried
