“Get your shoes,” Reagan said. “I’m showing you where the dining hall is.”
“No.” Cath could already feel the anxiety starting to tear her stomach into nervous little pieces. “It’s not just that.… I don’t like new places. New situations. There’ll be all those people, and I won’t know where to sit—I don’t want to go.”
Reagan sat at the end of her own bed, folding her arms. “Have you been going to class?”
“Of course.”
“How?”
“Class is different,” Cath said. “There’s something to focus on. It’s still bad, but it’s tolerable.”
“Are you on drugs?”
“No.”
“Maybe you should be.…”