They’re talking about me as if I’m not in the same room, and I hate it. I want to scream out that I’m here, but I think I’ve done enough screaming, and besides, it’s not like they’d listen to me anyway. Now I’m just a label. Schizophrenia. I used to tell people that I was an individualist, and refused to be labeled. Well, there goes that!

Gracie is still next to me, holding my hand. “I don’t know why they can’t see you,” I say to her, but for once she doesn’t answer. Now I’m scared.

“They’re going to try to take me away from you,” she says softly. “You know we need each other, Bronwyn. You can’t let that happen!”

In that moment, I see that Gracie needs me just as much as I need her. “Of course not,” I tell her.

My foster mother is leading me out now, and Gracie has gone. “No! Gracie!” I cry out. “No!” I’m kicking against my foster mom now, but she holds on tight. “Let me go!” I scream.

I see on her face that she doesn’t know what to do with me. Well, good! Maybe then they’ll let me and Gracie be.