don’t even know what a solvent is.’
‘Glue, paint thinner, lighter fluid, aerosol sprays, nail varnish—’
‘Be serious.’
‘Magic markers?’ Her eyebrows hike knowingly.
‘That definitely doesn’t count! We were just kids, we liked the smell.’
‘Mmm-hmm.’ She lifts her pen to her mouth and chews on the cap. I’m hungry, tired and so so thirsty. ‘Tell me, Justine, why do you use drugs? Do you know?’
‘I don’t use drugs.’
‘Alcohol, then.’
‘It was one time.’
‘Last night you mean?’
‘Yes.’
‘OK, assuming last night was the only time you’ve used alcohol—’
‘There’s no assuming, last night was the only time.’
‘Fine, assuming it was the only time, why don’t you tell me why you drank last night?’
‘I don’t know.’ I shrug my shoulders, cross and recross my arms and then my legs. My chair couldn’t be less comfortable. ‘I was upset, it was there, it was no big deal.’
‘No big deal?’
‘No.’
‘Do you feel guilty when you use?’
‘I don’t use. Would you stop saying use that way? It’s not like that.’
‘Do you feel guilty about last night?’
I address our parents now, beseechingly. ‘Yes, yes I do. I feel very guilty. I wish it had never happened. It wasn’t worth it. It wasn’t even any fun.’
‘Interesting,’ she nods. ‘You were expecting it to be fun.’
Dad seizes on Hilary’s implication. ‘Is that what you wanted, Justine?’ he demands. ‘A little fun?’
Can’t they hear anything I’m saying? Don’t they understand? I feel like I’m speaking a different language. ‘I wasn’t expecting anything. I hadn’t thought about it enough to expect anything. I’m sorry. Mom, are you listening? I’m sorry.’
Mom slides her eyes away from me, and Hilary lets my apology hang there for a moment, unanswered. Our father shifts in his chair, the green plastic legs creaking beneath him; Hilary wrests back control. ‘How much money do you spend to support your habit?’
‘I don’t have a habit.’
‘How much money do you spend on drugs?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Alcohol included?’
‘Alcohol included.’
‘Have you ever been to a party?’
‘What’s wrong with parties?’
‘Nothing’s wrong with parties per se,’ she concedes. ‘Do you go to them?’
‘Not counting my parents’ dinner parties or country club socials?’
‘Not counting them.’
‘No, I’m a complete and utter social outcast. I never get invited anywhere.’
She doesn’t appreciate the sarcasm, and neither does Dad, whose eyes are boring into me like I’m one big, blackened cavity. ‘Please answer the question.’
‘Yes, I’ve been to parties.’
‘Is there drinking and drug-taking at these parties you go to?’
‘Don’t know about drugs.’
‘But drinking?’
‘Yeah, I guess so.’
‘What radio station do you listen to, Justine?’
‘Q105.’
‘The rock station?’
‘Yeah.’
There goes the eyebrow again, arching in Dad’s direction as she scribbles. ‘Have you ever been to a rock concert?’
‘Yes, I have, with Josh. And, before you ask, we had our parents’ permission, too.’
‘What was the last book you read?’
‘I suppose you want me to say On the Road or Naked Lunch or something.’
‘Just the truth, thank you.’
‘Great Expectations.’
‘For pleasure or for class?’
‘Class.’
‘What’s the last book you read for pleasure?’
‘That would be On the Road.’
She smirks.
‘Are you going to ask me about movies now?’
‘No. Thank you, Justine. That’s fine.’ Hilary flips to another page on the clipboard. ‘Now, if you could answer yes or no to the following questions. Do you ever have difficulty waking up in the morning?’
‘Doesn’t everyone?’
‘Yes or no, please.’
‘Yes.’
‘Do you often feel that something dreadful is going to happen?’
‘Well, I didn’t see this coming if that’s what you mean.’ Mom roots around in her purse with fierce concentration.
‘Yes or no,’ says Hilary.
‘No.’
‘Do you ever fear being enclosed in a small place?’
My eyes roam the walls. Where have the spiders gone? Did they escape or did they die and shrivel, plummet to the carpet, their carcasses vacuumed away in a twice-monthly tidy up? ‘Someti—Yes.’
‘Have your friends ever been in trouble with the law?’
‘No.’
‘You sure about that?’
‘Yes.’
Returning to the pile of papers, Hilary pulls out a wodge of pages
