Like, when to wake up, when to take a shower – every morning between 6 and 7AM. When to do your laundry – there’s a laundry room located in the basement of the dorm building and you go wash your clothes on a schedule so it doesn’t get overcrowded. When to do your homework or eat dinner or relax. And finally, when to go to bed: lights out at 9:30 every night.
They even tell you when you can or can’t leave campus.
You need a special little pink permission slip signed by a teacher – sometimes they can be white, but I always cheer up when I get the pink ones.
Oh, and in order to receive those signed permission slips, you need to have enough good girl points, more commonly referred to – by teachers – as privileges.
And who keeps track of your privileges? The guidance counselor assigned to you, whom you meet with every week and who has a thick file of all your sins and occasional good deeds.
There’s a girl here who hasn’t gotten a permission slip to go out in a year now, not even for Thanksgiving or Christmas. Because she keeps showing up late to her classes and rumor has it that she’s failing math and chemistry, hence her privileges have been revoked.
See? How wonderfully strict and suffocating.
On top of that, I absolutelyadorethe stern-faced teachers who hardly ever smile. But that’s okay because they only want good things for you.
I adore the cinderblock buildings and cement pathways and iron bars on the windows.
Oh, and the big tall gates in the front that are made of iron and are painted black? They are to die for.
Not only are they architecturally sound and capable of keeping all of us inside, they also boast the motto of St. Mary’s School at the top in large, wrought iron letters: Tradition. Education. Discipline. Rehabilitation.
Such a prison-like feel.
Who wouldn’t love that?
Who wouldn’t love the bench that I’m sitting on, all hard and of course made of concrete, out in the courtyard, which is also made of concrete I might add.
From here I can see the whole school: the buildings, the pathways and the iron gates keeping us caged and safe. The soccer fields. The woods in the back, just beyond the brick fence.
It’s a perfect spot to sit in, on a dreary, gray fall afternoon, to remind me this is my life now.
My life that I love.
Love.
Love, love, love.
So. Much. Love.
This is not working, Callie.
This is so totally not working.
Okay, no. Wait. This can work. This can totally work.
Um, what else do I love about this place? What else, what else?
What…
“Oh my God, are you listening?”
A high voice pierces my fog and I blink.
A face comes into focus. It’s pale and pretty with blue eyes and thick bangs. And glasses.
Poe Austen Blyton, or just Poe, my friend. One of my best friends at St. Mary’s, who makes living here, at this stupid reform school, bearable.
See?
