Read Online A Mango-Shaped Space by Wendy Mass - Free Book Online Page B

cat, or the fact that the cat’s name is Twinkles.
    A few minutes later the door opens, and a tall woman who looks like she’s in her late thirties enters. She walks over to me and holds out her hand.
    “You must be Mia,” she says. Her voice is sweet and makes me think of whipped cream, which reminds me that I was too upset to eat lunch today and could use some food.
    I nod.
    “I’m Ms. Finn,” she says, bending over to shake my hand. “Let’s go into my office and get to know each other.”
    “Isn’t it Dr. Finn?” my mother asks.
    Ms. Finn smiles and says, “I’m a psychotherapist, not a psychologist. Many people make that mistake. I assure you the level of care is the same.”
    I’m still stuck in the deep chair and have to use both hands to push myself out. My mother starts to follow us out the door, but Ms. Finn stops her.
    “This is usually best without the mothers,” she says. My mother has no choice but to stay behind. I pause at the doorway and look back pleadingly, but my mother waves me on.
    Feeling alone and unsure, I follow Ms. Finn into a small office that is very similar to the waiting room. Only this room has framed diplomas on the walls and a bowl of jelly beans on a big mahogany desk. A box of tissues is conveniently placed next to the plush couch where Ms. Finn instructs me to “sit, relax, make yourself at home.” The tissues are a bad sign. Either she expects me to cry or to sneeze a lot. At least I don’t sink in quite as deep this time when I sit down. My toes just reach the rug. I can only gaze longingly at the jelly beans, which are about a foot too far away to reach. My stomach growls.
    “Now, Mia,” Ms. Finn begins in a firm voice. All traces of the whipped cream have disappeared. “Dr. Randolph has filled me in on your situation. Maybe together, you and I can figure out what is causing you to see these colors.”
    I nod cautiously.
    She continues. “I’m a very straightforward person. Another therapist might be the ‘silent type,’ but I call it like I see it, all right?”
    “Okay.”
    “Do you see the colors when you’re mad at your parents?”
    “I don’t usually get mad at my parents,” I tell her honestly, my eyes drifting back to the bowl of jelly beans. “That’s my older sister’s job.”
    “Remember, Mia, anything you say in here is confidential.”
    I nod. Unfortunately, my only secret is already out.
    “I need to ask if you’ve ever taken drugs,” Ms. Finn says, looking me straight in the eye, daring me to lie. “Anything that might have caused these colors as a side effect.”
    Taken aback, I tell her no, I’ve never taken drugs. I don’t even like to take medicine when I’m sick.
    She jots something down on her notepad.
    “Now, Mia, what is your place in the birth order of your family?”
    “I have one older sister and a younger brother. But they don’t see things like I do.”
    She taps her pen rapidly on her desk and asks, “Are you familiar with middle child syndrome?”
    I shake my head. I don’t like the sound of anything that ends with the word
syndrome.
    “Let me see if I can explain,” she says, her voice suddenly soothing again. “Middle children are in an unfortunate position. They get neither the privileges reserved for the first born nor the special attention specific to the baby of the family. Do you follow me?”
    “I understand what you’re saying,” I tell her, trying not to sound defensive. “But I don’t think it’s like that in my family. My parents don’t treat us any differently.”
    “Who has the largest bedroom?” Ms. Finn asks bluntly.
    “Beth does,” I admit. “But that’s only because she was here first, you know; she was already in there when I was born.”
    “And who does your mother spend the most time with?”
    “Zack, I guess,” I say, feeling slightly defeated. “But that’s because she has to do things with him that Beth and I can do on our own. He’s only eleven.”
    “So you see