The older woman walks into one of the shorter buildings. It has big glass windows and doors—no bars. I start to feel a tinge of relief, but then I notice that the taller buildings have big metal doors. The knot in my stomach comes back instantly when I see that the walls are lined with small symmetrical windows—barredwindows.
I don’t realize I’m zoned out until Ms. Bree’s voice gets loud. “Your name?” she asks, her eyes on her clipboard.
“Oh, umm, Jas… mine. I mean Jasmine, like one word,” I say.
She looks up, her lips twisted into another smirk. We make eye contact for the first time. Her eyes are kinder than her tone was, and the deepest brown, like mine. I look away.
“Relax, Jas-mine,” she says softly.
I try to do just that as she makes her way down the line to the other girls. They all seem a lot less nervous than me.
The van pulls off and Ms. Lydia walks over to us with less enthusiasm than before. “Bree, ’bout ready to head in and get the ball rolling?” she asks.
“Yep,” Ms. Bree says. “Keep the line straight, ladies.” She gestures for us to follow Ms. Lydia up the path.
I pause under the gate’s archway and realize it’ll be a while before I see it again. Any relaxing I’d attempted goes out the window as I try to catch my breath, or my balance. I feel a hand on my shoulder push me along.
“Keep walking,” Ms. Bree warns. The gate creaks behind me.
Ms. Lydia pulls open one of the big metal doors and motions for us to walk straight in. The older woman is there, holding a folder in front of a large desk with an Intake sign above it. Ms. Bree takes a seat at the desk. There are three large metaldoors behind her with small windows at the top of each one. A girl’s face presses up against the middle window.
“I’m ready to go back to my unit, Claaaaire Brewster,” she yells.
The older woman’s frown deepens and she turns sharply to the girl. “At this rate, you’re going to sleep in there, Samantha. Be quiet.” The girl’s face disappears from the window.
The woman returns her focus to us. “Hello, ladies,” she says with the same stern tone. “Step in further, put your bags in the bin to the right, and gather in front of me quickly. We have a lot to go over.”
As the girls drop their bags into the bin, I make my way around to the small group. I’m close enough to the older woman to see that she looks a lot like Ms. Lydia, short blond hair and tired eyes included.
“I’m Claire Brewster. Director Brewster to you. Welcome to Guiding Hearts,” she says when all the girls have gathered. She sounds anything but welcoming.
“I’m sure you’ve been told that this is a secure facility. That means you reside here and also attend school here until the completion of your programs.” She pauses like there might be room for questions but doesn’t ask for any. “Those of you who exhibit appropriate behaviors will be granted home visits after your ninety-day settling period ends. The rest of you will not. From here on out, you get out of your program exactly what you put into it.”
She glances down at the tiny watch on her wrist before continuing. “You’ll get a full run-through of the rules on your units, but here are some of the basics: Remain in your assigned lines silently; no touching; no communicating between units; no talking back; and absolutely no relationships.” Someone behind me giggles. “I’m glad that’s funny, young lady. The consequences usually aren’t. Remember, I’ve got eyes everywhere. If you think no one’s watching, you’re wrong. Now, once Ms. Bree and Ms. Lydia call your name, line up in front of them and prepare to head to your unit.” She walks to the metal door on her left and opens it.
Ms. Bree steps in and calls the first name. “Jasmine—you’re on North. Start the line here, please.” She points in front of her.
I take a deep breath as I walk through the door. I stop right in front of her feet and look up only enough to see a lanyard now dangling from her neck.Bree Brown, Resident Counselor: North Unit. I have my eyes trained on the ground as the counselors continue to call names and girls move to their assigned lines. Another set of feet shows up next to Ms. Bree’s.
“I’m not going to the back,” the girl says. She’s the one who yelled earlier.
“Get in the front then, Sam,” Ms. Bree says. “Step back a little, Jasmine.”
I lift my head to see the girl, whose green eyes and round face make her look too young to be here.
“Later, Southies!” Samantha yells before slapping her hand across her mouth. She has a letter tattooed on every finger but moves her hand before I can make them out. “Whoops, my bad, Ms. B,” she mumbles.
Ms. Bree rolls her eyes.
Here we go, I think as we move away from the intake area. There are some whispers in the back of the line and Ms. Bree stops us. “Remember the rules, ladies, in line and silent,” she says, staring at someone behind me.
“Remember, this isjail, ladies,” Samantha mocks quietly. She turns to me with a tattooed finger to her lips, the letterM. I freeze as she turns back.It really is.
6
After a few weeks at Tinsley Day School, the bell for lunch is a daily reminder that I don’t fit in. I’m still spending my lunch period by myself, in the library or in any open classroom where no one can witness my loneliness.
It feels too early for that kind of reputation.
