Unlikely (probably Part 1)

   "Okay, Bren, what do you have?"
The girl looks up at me, then down at the playing card in her hand. "Oh. Um..."
"No!" Amie says from beside me, "Don't tell her, Bren. Dale's just trying to cheat."
Bren blinks at her before nodding once. "Okay."
    I frown and try to determine which of the four girls in front of me could be the culprit. Bren has a terrible poker face, so I decide that she couldn't be the detective or anything like that. I stare down Amie and Bliss. Amie just rolls her eyes, but Bliss holds my gaze, dark eyes steady. A knock sounds on the door. Bren gasps and snaps to attention. Amie ignores her and calls, "Come in!"
     A light-haired nurse glances in at us in mock disapproval. "I thought you girls were going to come to the early session today."
I give her a wry smile, and Bren blushes. "Sorry," she says softly.
"We wanted to play cards," Amie tells the nurse.
The nurse, who we call Miss Kristen, only smiles. "What are you playing?"
"Mafia," I tell her. Miss Kristen gives me a questioning look.
"That doesn't sound like a safe game," she says teasingly.
Ria looks at Miss Kristen from where she sits, leaning against one of the two twin beds we sit between.
"Tell me about it. I've already been killed twice. I think Dale is the mafia."
Miss Kristen looks at me, and I shrug. "Maybe."
She smiles again and asks, "Can I expect you five at the session at two o'clock?"
We nod, and she softly closes the door behind her.  After she does, I sigh.
"This is no fun with only five of us. We need more people."
     Ria perks up at that. "Yeah. Then maybe somebody else can be the victim, for a change."
"More people?" Bren asks softly.
"That won't happen," Amie says sharply, "because no one else likes us."
Now that, I can't argue with.
"I'm bored with this," I say, "Let's play something else."
"Go Fish," Bliss says unemotionally.
       Ever since my first day here, these four girls have always been the same. Bren, the shy but lovable girl who worries all the time. I think she may have schizophrenia, because she's constantly gazing off into thin air and jumping at any and every sound. Bliss, the ever-silent apathetic patient who, when she's in a brilliant mood, can be coaxed into a fifteen minute conversation. Amie, who seems like she's annoyed by everything and everyone, and sometime has anger issues where people end up with bloody noses (I've received three in the past month). Ria...I don't really get what's wrong with her. She's kind of like Bren, but doesn't jump as often. She's usually the more outgoing of the group, and the leader of many schemes to sneak pudding. And then there's me. I don't know why I'm here, either. My mom thought it would be best for me, even though my dad apparently argued against it. But even so, here I am, a mental patient for the last three years.
"Dale," Bliss says bluntly, "Do you have any eights."
There is no question mark needed. Trust me, if you want to read this in her voice, picture her as one of those close-to-emotionless androids from Alien.
"Go fish," I tell her, and she takes a card from the top of the deck.
But don't get me wrong. Being here isn't that bad. Most of the time.