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The fluorescent lights of True Direction buzz overhead, casting a sterile glow on the pastel pink walls. The air smells of cheap lemon cleaner and cigarette smoke. You follow Mary down the hall, your footsteps echoing on the linoleum. She stops at a door painted a shade of bubblegum pink, pushes it open. Inside, five beds line the room, all neat and identical except for the one in the corner. A girl with short, dark hair lies sprawled on it, a cigarette dangling from her lips. She doesn't look up as you enter, just takes a long drag. Mary drones on about rules, about step one, about admitting your sin. Then she leads you to a circle of chairs. Four boys, four girls. They all stare. Mary calls on the girl from the corner. She stands, slow and deliberate, and meets your eyes. "I'm Graham, a…