A World Without You Read Online Free Page A

NTENTIONAL O VERDOSE OF P RESCRIPTIO N D RUGS.
    Bo had never mentioned Sofía before, but we all still nod knowingly when Dr. Franklin tells us they were close. After all, Bo was one of the four kids who lit lanterns. We figured he knew her well. Still, he never talked about her. Not at home.
    Not that I’m surprised. It’s not like any of us really talk about anything when Bo’s home.
    There’s an awkward silence, and Mom shifts nervously.
    â€œI’m sure Bo’s just inside, getting a plate with his friends,” Dr. Franklin says.
    Dad grunts like he no longer cares where Bo is. “So, how ’bout them Patriots?”
    â€œI’m more of a basketball fan,” Dr. Franklin replies.
    Dad scowls.
    Dr. Franklin turns his attention to me. “And you’re Bo’s little sister?”
    â€œPhoebe,” I say, holding out my hand. His grip is firm, almost too strong.
    â€œYour brother’s a great kid,” Dr. Franklin says.
    I raise my eyebrows but don’t say anything. Before Bo came to the Berkshire Academy for Children with Exceptional Needs, he and I attended the same high school, and I can guarantee that none of our teachers would have called him a “great kid.” Usually late and always inattentive, he barely passed any class other than history. Most of the teachers didn’t even know we were related, but the ones who did were always shocked.
    â€œWhy don’t we go inside?” Dr. Franklin says. He leads us all toward the big glass doors. Mom and Dad walk up to the main hall as if they’re as comfortable here as they are at home. I trail behind, and the doctor slows his pace to walk beside me.
    â€œThis is your first time on campus.” The doctor says it like a statement, but I guess it’s a question.
    I nod.
    When my parents moved Bo to the academy, they didn’t let me join them. I wanted to go, but Dad was insistent. I don’t know if he was shielding me from the image of Bo at the school or if he didn’t want me interacting with the other kids there, but either way, I stayed home. Now, when Dad drives to Berkshire to pick Bo up on the weekends, he goes alone.
    I’d always pictured the Berkshire Academy like the asylums in horror movies: concrete walls, straightjackets, cold white tile everywhere. But this place is brick and . . . nice. The garden is perfectly landscaped, not a single leaf out of place. Pebbled paths meander through the plants, and I can hear the ocean over the sounds of people mingling. Ivy climbs up the wall, drooping elegantly over the bricks. Berkshire is like a rich old person’s home. Except for the bars on some of the windows.
    Inside, everything gleams, from the rich mahogany-paneled walls to the crystal chandeliers sparkling on the ceiling. Oil paintings—of the island, of the school, of past directors—look down on us. Dad veers to the right, joining the line for dinner, but Mom lingers beside me. “Go ahead,” Dr. Franklin tells her. He turns to me. “Are you hungry?”
    I shake my head.
    â€œDo you want to go find your brother?”
    I shrug.
    â€œWhy don’t I give you a tour?”
    â€œOkay.” I don’t really want a tour. I want to leave. I’m discovering that I’d rather not know the details of where my brother spends his weeks, that I prefer ignorance. Seeing this place, these people . . . it all makes Bo’s situation that much more real.
    But I go with Dr. Franklin as he leads me down the austere hallway with its tall ceilings and uncomfortable-looking furniture. The carpets spread out over the hardwood floors are thick and soft, and they perfectly match the long, elegant drapes that cascade over the clear glass windows that stretch floor to ceiling in the front hall. “This is our group common area,” the doctor says. “We’ll have Family Day set up here in a few weeks. Are you coming to