The Girls of No Return by Erin Saldin Page B

in.”
    â€œWhere are the others?” I asked. I hated to keep talking like this, but I hadn’t seen Gwen or Karen yet.
    â€œThey’re in another session,” said Jules. “Bev likes to keep the different years mixed up in Circle Share.” She lowered her voice. “Oh, I think we’re about to start.”
    We edged ourselves into the lodge after Boone. The room was filled with about fifteen girls from all four years. Some of them were still milling about, but a few had taken their seats already on the folding chairs that were spaced evenly in a half-moon around the fireplace. Friends sat with friends in tight little strings, scooting their chairs closer together and giggling. I slowed down so that I wasn’t walking with Jules, and tried to find a seat next to no one. That was impossible. I settled for sitting down next to a girl with a red scar across her neck, who didn’t even glance at me. Across the circle from me, Jules and Boone sat next to each other, not talking. Jules raised a hand to try to catch my attention, but I looked away quickly.
    â€œWelcome, ladies.” A matronly woman who looked vaguely familiar seated herself next to the fireplace. She was short and round and had an inviting air about her, kind of like a beanbag chair. “Make sure you get a drink if you want before we get started.” She gestured across the room to a makeshift coffee station where a small tower of Styrofoam cups perched next to a couple of industrial thermoses. I could’ve sworn I’d never seen it there before. The woman glanced over at me and smiled. “Welcome, Lida.”
    She already knew my name. This wasn’t a promising start.
    â€œI’m Amanda,” she said. “I mediate these sessions. I think you’ll find that there’s great potential for healing in Circle Share.” She nodded at everyone in the circle. “Great potential.”
    Why did every adult at this place sound like a motivational Book on Tape? Just when I thought it couldn’t get any more ridiculous, the whole group started speaking in unison.
    â€œWe are kind to others; we are kind to ourselves. We honor the Circle of Truth.”
    I closed my eyes for a moment so that no one could see me rolling them.
    After the incantation or whatever was finished, Amanda went on. “Today I thought we’d have an open discussion,” she said, her voice almost hypnotic. “Last week, it seemed as though many of you were ready to share, and I was disappointed that we ran out of time. So today, we’re going to open the circle. Anything goes.” She smiled beatifically.
    I wasn’t about to share anything with this transcendental nun, but I guess I was alone in that. Almost immediately, girls started talking over one another, and Amanda had to finally insist that we take turns. Take turns, indeed. I was happy to wait them all out.
    And oddly, as the hour dragged on, the whole thing started to feel slightly professional, like the chairs should have been leather and I should have carried a nice pen. A handful of the girls talked about their Things, the rest of us listening like a compassionate interview committee, and I was lulled and comforted, in a strange way, by the familiarity of what they said. While I knew the girls (aside from Jules) could be sarcastic and snide in other classes, they kept it to a minimum in Circle Share. Maybe it was the way Amanda listened. I will give her this: She was the only counselor I’ve ever seen who could pay attention without getting that smug “I’m just waiting for you to finish so that I can tell you what you’re really thinking” look on her face.
    Whatever it was, it worked. The girls brought their baggage into the Rec Lodge, unzipped it, and dumped every kind of drama onto the floor. There were the usual cases: drugs, mother-punching, small fires in the school library, suicide threats and sometimes an earnest