Bethany really felt like she was in the Betty Ford Clinic, only on the beaches of Florida instead of some remote corner of California.  She turned herself over her towel like a turkey on a spit, feeling much like a roasted turkey must feel.

        "So, you're not asleep," Mother noted, at her side as consistently now as she had been since Monday of last week.

        "Not really," Bethany mumbled.

        "Your father and I were thinking about Captain's Cove for dinner tonight. How does that sound?"

        Detox, she thought.  "Sounds fine to me."

        "You know, that guy on the chair a little way down has been looking at you . . ." Mother tried to entice her.  Bethany winced.

        "Please, Mother."  Bethany felt the lump in her throat and the bump on her head.  "We've only been gone three days."

        Mother sighed.  "I'm trying, Bethie."  Bethany watched her mother's face tremor for just an instant.  It brought the lump up from her throat and squeezed it out of her eyes.  She bit her lip, refusing to sob, but she couldn't bite her eyes, too.  A tear fell.  Mother reached over to play with her hair, brushing against the knot on her temple.  Bethany cried out through her bit lip.  "Sorry!" Mother jumped.  "I'm sorry, Bethie.  How could I have forgotten about it?"

        "He's been my pen pal for five years, Brian.  I'm not going to just stop writing him."  Bethany bit her trembling lip.  She was careful to keep her voice low so that he wouldn't get angry at her for drawing attention to them.

        "Does he mean that much to you, Beth?  Is he more important than me?"  His grip on her wrist tightened, urging her to drop the letter she clutched.

        "It's not that, Bri.  You just don't do that to people.  Especially friends."  His hand was fully around her wrist, squeezing from all directions.

        "Then why won't you show me the letter?  What have you got to hide?"

        She took a deep breath, gripping the letter with all she had.  "Bri, people are staring.  Let go, please."

        "They're staring because you've got that damn scared-little-girl face.  Cut it out."

        She pushed her lips together more firmly and struggled to control her eyes.  "I don't read your mail and I deserve the same respect."

        "Why?  You don't respect me if you won't let me read a letter you say is nothing.  I told you from the start--I'm a one-guy-one-girl kind of person.  Don't try to pull shit on me."

        She was afraid that if he squeezed any harder, he'd break a bone.  She was sure that there were already bruises.  "Brian, for God's sake, you're bruising me.  Let go."  The bell rang, clearing the halls for the class period.  "Come on, we're late."

        "Oh, no.  You're not getting out of it that easy."  He twisted her wrist until he held it behind her back.  "Give it up."

        She switched the letter from her right hand to her left, hoping he would release her throbbing wrist.  In an instant, he had her left arm trapped, as well.  His arms seemed long enough to wrap around her twice, and she felt tiny, only coming up to his chest.

        "Dammit, Beth, just let it go.  You're making it harder than it has to be."

        She was crying now from the pain, but she still refused to give it up.  I won't do it, she thought.  Not this time.  She endured.  He changed strategies.  He wrestled her grip for the envelope, gouging her wrists with his fingernails.  When did Brian get fingernails?  She thrashed her torso, vainly trying to escape his grasp.  He swung her entire body around fiercely, reaching with both hands for the letter.

        Contact . . . head . . .something hard, ungiving, metallic.  He dropped her, then tore the envelope in half, threw it at her, and disappeared.  She lay on the cold tile of the floor, her eyes barely opened wide enough to comprehend.  It was a column in the wide hallway, square and very solid.  She prayed that someone would pass by, then prayed that nobody would see her.  Mostly, she prayed for the pain to end.  Her eyes wouldn't focus and the world wouldn't stop to let her catch up.  She closed her eyes.

        "Beth . . . Beth, wake up!  . . . C'mon, Bethie."

        The soft voice stirred Bethany's mind.  Sensations came slowly--pain first, the cold hard floor, nausea.  Whose voice was that?  She tried to move her face toward where she thought the voice was coming from.

        "That's it, Bethie.  Open your eyes and look up at Val."  Valerie.  Thank God.

        "Val . . ." she mumbled.  "Where is he?"

        "Who, Bethie?  Brian?"

        "Yeah . . ."

        "In the office.  Mrs. Fitch watched the whole thing."

        Oh, God.  "What are they . . . doing to him?"

        "Hopefully arresting his ass."  Bethany would have rolled her eyes if she could have been sure which direction they were pointing.  "I'm sorry, Beth, but you know how I feel."

        "Yeah."  Val was a dear, but she never hesitated to repeat her distrust for Brian.  You don't know what I've heard, she'd say.  So she was right.

        "Your mom is on her way to get you and take you up to the hospital.  Mrs. Finch had someone call her while it was all happening."  Bethany's tears fell again.  "Do you want to put your head on something soft?"

        "I don't wanna move."

        "You'd better try or they'll call an ambulance for sure.  Here, lift your head up just a bit."  Val slid a piece of clothing under her skull.  Someone's sweatshirt. Soft.  Val picked up her hand.  "I'm only going to let you lay here a minute, Bethie, then we're going to sit you up.  OK?"

        OK.

        "Answer me, Beth."

        "OK."

        Valerie gave Bethany a perky squeeze at lunchtime.  "I'm glad you're back, Beth.  We missed you!"

        "I'm glad to be back," Bethany smiled.

        "Must be nice to take two weeks off."

        "Must not!  That's a lot of homework to catch up with."

        "Didn't you get it while you were gone?"

        "Well, yeah, but . . ." Bethany hesitated.  "I had other things to think about."

        Val nodded.  "I understand."  She reached into her coat pocket.  "By the way, I picked this up . . . um . . . that day.  Do you still want it?"  She held out two crumpled halves of an envelope, still stuffed.

        "My letter!  I figured it was in the trash somewhere!"  She snatched the papers and hugged Val again.  "You're the best!  I've gotta go read this."

        "OK, Beth.  See you in sixth hour."

        Bethany all but ran to her locker.  There had to be tape somewhere.  She dug through the layers at the bottom of the locker until she felt a plastic roll.  She quickly lined up the halves of the pages on the floor of the hall, then anchored them together.  Three pages!  This letter was definitely worth saving.

        She glanced up to put the tape back into her locker, catching some very unsettling looks from Brian's friends.  Great, thought Bethany.  They probably think I'm some evil 'ho.  They'll probably tell him how excited I looked to read some letter.  Why don't they get it?  Patrick is just an old friend!  She leaned her back against the locker and read Patrick's kind and soothing words.

Dear Patrick,

        I'm sorry for taking a whole month to write you back.  You were right.  You all were right.  You said you were worried about what he'd do to me.  I wish I would've listened.  Brian snapped.  He lost it.  He was trying to take your letter away and I wouldn't give up.  I stayed strong, just like you said.  He made this awful scene, then tried to wrestle it from me, and he smacked my head on a column.  Not really on purpose, but it was his fault.  Gave me a concussion--I blacked out and everything.  I was out of school for 2 weeks.  I spent a couple of days in the hospital, then my parents kept me home, then we all went to my grandparents' condo in Florida for a week.  Therapy, I guess.  Kinda like a rehab clinic.  Funny thing is, if they hadn't kept me away like that, I might've gone back to him.  I started out wanting to pack myself in a box and ship myself home.  I hated them for taking me away from him when he was in trouble.  By the end of the week, I got it.  They arrested him for assault and battery.  I haven't decided yet if I should press charges.  Should I?  There are so many reasons to do it, and so many reasons not to.

        Sorry I threw that all on you to start with.  How have you been, anyway?  How's the weather in California?  How's the world looking over there?

        I miss you, buddy.  When's the next time you can come back East?  Christmas vacation isn't too far away, you know J .  I could sure use your help if you could come.  Write me back a lot faster than I wrote you--I need you.  Take care!

        Luv ya,
            Bethie