I cock my head to the side as I regard him. “You knew they were crazy?”

“You didn’t?” He shakes his head at me, and then a sad smile transforms his face. “I learned a lot about you over the summer, Livie. Between the wild-goose chases and our talks. That’s what this summer was about. Information gathering.” He pauses to scratch his cheek. “You are one of the kindest souls I’ve ever met, Livie. You respond to human heartache so acutely. It’s like you absorb others’ pain. Despite your extreme shyness, you will do just about anything not to fail. You don’t like to fail tests and you most certainly don’t like to fail people. Especially those you care about and respect.” His hand goes to his heart and he bows his head. “I’m touched, truly.”

I dip my head as I blush.

“I also learned that while you are accepting and open-minded of others and their faults, you are exceptionally hard on yourself. I think doing something wrong would make you physically ill.” Dr. Stayner steeples his fingers in front of his face for a moment. “But my biggest discovery? The reason that I wanted to talk to you in person today . . .” He sighs. “You seem to be governed by a life plan. It’s ingrained in your daily routines; it’s almost like a religion for you. It has dictated the choices you have made so far and those you plan to make in the future. You don’t question it, you don’t test it. You just do it.” Running his finger along the rim of his cup, he goes on to say with an even, slow voice, “I think your parents helped create that plan and you are holding on to it for dear life as a way of holding on to them.” He pauses, and then his voice grows soft. “And I think it’s stifling your growth as your own person.”

I blink repeatedly, trying to process how this conversation turned so quickly from talk of mechanical bulls to my stifled growth. “What are you saying?” I ask, my voice a touch strained. Is this a diagnosis? Is Dr. Stayner diagnosing me?

“I’m saying, Livie . . .” He pauses, his mouth open to say something, a pensive expression on his face. “I’m saying that it’s time for you to find out who you really are.”

I can do nothing but stare at the man in front of me. Who I am? What is he talking about? I know who I am! I’m Livie Cleary, daughter of Miles and Jane Cleary. Mature and responsible daughter, driven student, loving sister, future doctor, kind and considerate human. “But, I . . .” I struggle to find the words. “I know who I am and what I want, Dr. Stayner. That’s never been in question.”

“And don’t you think that’s a little strange, Livie? That you decided at the age of nine that you wanted to go into pediatrics, specializing in oncology, and you have never even considered another life? Do you know what I wanted to be when I was nine?” He pauses for only a second. “Spider-Man!”

“So, I had more realistic goals. There’s nothing wrong with that,” I snap.

“And did you ever wonder why you avoided boys like the plague up until now?”

“I know exactly why. Because I’m shy and because—”

“Boys suck the brains out of girls . . .”

“And make them crazy.” I finish my father’s warning with a sad smile. Dad started warning me of that around the time that Kacey’s hormones started raging. He said my grades would suffer if I fell into the same trap.

“I think your reaction to the opposite sex is less about your shyness and more a subconscious mindset to avoid straying from this life plan you believe you must follow.” Subconscious mindset? Unease slips through my stomach like a snake, sending shivers up my spine. Is he saying that Kacey is right? That I’m . . . sexually repressed?

I lean forward and let my chin rest in the palms of my hand, my elbows set against my knees, as I think. How could Dr. Stayner find fault in who I’ve become? If anything, he should be pleased. He said it himself! I turned out so well. I know my parents would be proud. No, there’s nothing wrong with who I am.

“I think you’re wrong,” I say quietly, staring at the ground. “I think you’re looking for things to diagnose me with. There’s nothing wrong with me or what I’m doing.” Sitting up straight, I take in the campus surrounding us—this beautiful Princeton campus that I’ve worked hard to make sure I attend—and I feel anger surge. “I’m a straight-A student going to Princeton, for Christ’s sake!” I’m borderline yelling now and I don’t care. “Why the hell would you show up at seven a.m. on a Saturday after I just started college to tell me my entire life is . . . what . . .” I swallow the sudden lump in my throat.

Dr. Stayner takes his glasses off and rubs his eyes yet again. He remains completely calm, as if he expected this reaction. He told me once that he’s used to being yelled at, so not to ever feel guilty about it. I sure as hell don’t think I’ll be feeling guilty after the bomb he just dropped on me. “Because I wanted you to be aware, Livie. Fully conscious and aware. This doesn’t mean you should stop doing what you’re doing.” He shifts slightly so that he’s facing me. “You’re a smart girl, Livie, and you’re an adult now. You’re going to be meeting people and dating. Working hard to achieve your goals. And, I hope, going out and having some fun. I just want to make sure you’re making your choices and setting your goals for you and not to please others.” Sliding back against the bench, he adds, “Who knows? Maybe Princeton and med school are what you really want. Maybe the man who makes you happy for the rest of your life is also the one who your parents would have handpicked for you. But maybe you’ll find out that’s not the right path for you. Either way, I want you to make your choices with your eyes wide open rather than on autopilot.”

I don’t know what to say to all of this so I stay silent, staring at nothing, confusion and doubt settling heavily on my shoulders.

“Life has a funny way of creating its own tests. It throws curve balls that make you do and think and feel things that are in direct conflict with what you had planned and don’t allow you to operate in terms of black and white.” He gives my knee a fatherly pat. “I want you to know that you can call me anytime you want to talk, Livie. Anytime at all. No matter how trivial or silly you think it is. If you want to talk about school, or guys. Complain about your sister”—he says that one with a crooked smile. “Anything at all. And I do hope you call me. Regularly. When you’re ready to talk. Right now I assume you want to pour that coffee over my head.” Standing up with a big stretch, he adds, “And all conversations will be confidential.”

“You mean you won’t be enlisting my sister to do your dirty work anymore?”

Rubbing his chin, he smiles as he murmurs, “What a good little minion she has become.”

“I guess you considered the whole doctor-patient confidentiality thing optional?”

He peers down at me with an arched brow. “You were never my patient, were you?”

“And now I am?”

He smiles, holding out his hand to guide me up. “Let’s just keep it loose. Call me when you want to talk.”

“I can’t pay.”

“I don’t expect a dime from you, Livie.” Almost as an afterthought, he slides in, “Just your firstborn child.”

Normally I’d give him an eye roll at the very least for a joke like that. But not now. I’m not in the mood for any jokes. The weight that I’ve worn on my back for three months as I wondered what Dr. Stayner might discover about me, which lifted just twenty minutes ago, has now crashed back down onto my back, crippling me under its heft.

I’m sure he’s wrong.

But what if he isn’t?

CHAPTER SIX

If versus When

The almost two-hour commute from the Princeton campus to the Children’s Hospital in Manhattan gives me plenty of time to stew over Dr. Stayner’s surprise visit and outrageous diagnosis. By the time I get to the front desk to sign in for my first volunteer session, I’m more rattled than I was to begin with. I’m also convinced that he might be losing his magic touch as the brilliant psychiatrist. Either that or he’s insane and no one has caught on yet. Maybe both.