"Stevie," she says again. "Let me assure you that you do, in fact, need to be here. You are incredibly malnourished. If you don't get intensive treatment right now, you are going to die. My guess is that you may even want to die." Finally, we understand each other. "So for now, I'll want you to live enough for the both of us. Maybe you could want that too, eventually." What I want is to get back on schedule. Ticktock. "So . . . signing myself out?" She clasps her hands together in her lap. "Since you're seventeen, you won't be able to check yourself out. Dad would have to do that. And he's made it clear that he wants you to be here for the full sixty days. Longer, if necessary." My body caves like she's just knocked the wind out of me. She's saying something else now, something about "recovery with a capital R." She's probably telling me that this could be the first day of the rest of my life. That's what Dad told me on the way to the airport. Sixty days. Her schedule is . . . inconvenient. Doesn't she know that the Anniversary is only twenty-seven days away? I've planned this day with exquisite attention to detail. Choreographed my every move-with more than a few missteps, I know-for nearly a year. I will find a way out of here, I tell myself. I'll call Eden, get her to buy me a ticket. Hitch a ride to the airport. Whatever I have to do to make it home in time to die. I will not betray Josh again. I will not take a single breath on the one-year anniversary of the night I killed my brother. Excerpted from Paperweight by Meg Haston All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.