That’s not exactly the truth, but I’m afraid she’s going to ask to see what I write, if I tell her I do. I practically wrote a novel about hating Darius after we broke up, but I don’t think I can get into college with stories of my broken heart.
Ms. Taylor looks at me curiously, flipping through my zine. “I think you should start—you’re a natural. If you need someone to read your work, that’s what I’m here for,” she says reassuringly.
I glance out of the doorway and notice that Deanna and Alice are gone.
“You really think my writing is good enough for college? Like, as a major?” I ask.
Ms. Taylor nods her head with so much enthusiasm it makes me chuckle. No one’s talked to me about college yet. I assumed it’s because no one at the center thought I would stay out of trouble long enough, and my mom’s just trying to get me through my discharge plan. I thank Ms. Taylor for her vote of confidence and promise to go to her with any questions that come up as I start researching. She writes me a late pass, and I thank her again before running to my next class.
I check my phone and see a text from Deanna.I hope that wasn’t a bad talk! See you at lunchI send a kiss back and notice the nerves aren’t there anymore. Becausethisis what matters, I tell myself, holding the pamphlet close. I can’t wait to tell Deanna it wasn’t a bad talk at all.
Ms. Taylor thinks I could be a writer one day.
Then
I’ve never felt more like a prisoner.
Somehow the staff found out that I knew Samantha had been planning to run away. They probably made her tell them everything. She got moved to South Unit, so I can’t ask her. All I know is that I’m being watched all the time and life these days feels bleaker than ever.
The door to the science room opens and Mrs. Jenkins pokes her head out. “I was just about to write you up, Ms. Cooper,” she says. “Come inside.”
The class goes quiet when I walk in, and I’m annoyed by the attention. Everyone is always gossiping here, and of course the main topic of conversation now is Samantha’s attempt to run. Tanya, always the pot stirrer, said that girls never get caught while leaving so someone must have told on her, but I know she wants nothing more than to place blame and amp up the drama. Quite a few theories about what happened are going around, and I’m glad Samantha isn’t on the unit to hear them.
“Sit in that corner,” Mrs. Jenkins says, pointing to a lone chair all the way in the back.
“Why am I sitting alone?” I ask, eyeing the rest of the girls, who are arranged in pairs.
“You’re on watch,” Tanya says.
The class snickers.
“Quiet,” Mrs. Jenkins commands. “And you just sit, thank you.”
I throw myself into the chair, feeling like I want to cry. Mrs. Jenkins moves on with the lesson and I close my eyes to ward off any chance of tears. I cannot be caught crying in class, especially not one that Tanya is in.
When the bell rings, I’m happy to have successfully drowned out today’s boring lesson by replaying last week like the nightmare it was. Mrs. Jenkins reminds me that I can’t leave by myself, so I don’t get up when everyone else does. Tanya smirks at me on her way out and I consider cursing at her since I’m already in trouble. Then I remember that I still haven’t made it back to Director Brewster, so maybe I shouldn’t push it that far.
Ms. Kim motions from the door. When I get closer, she smells like she just had a long smoke break, and I grimace. “I come back from vacation and you’re back to zero points? I thought you were gonna be one of the good ones,” she says, shaking her head.
“I am. I’ve been trying to show that,” I say.
She starts walking down the hall and I follow. “Maybe you should try harder.”
I’m annoyed at myself for even saying anything. Of course it doesn’t matter. They probably come to work excited to take our points and make us pay for being “bad” kids. What difference does trying make if they don’t even notice it?
Ms. Kim stops to talk to a staff member from another unit who looks at me suspiciously before referring to me as the “AWOL roommate.” Ms. Kim nods her head, and they make a plan to catch up during dinner.
“Send her over, Kim!” Ms. Bree calls from down the hall where she’s shuttling the other girls into the gym.
“You can’t participate in the activity so just find a seat on the side and keep quiet,” Ms. Kim says.
I only manage to sigh before I drag myself to where Ms. Bree is waiting. She looks at me with what I assume is pity. “We won’t be here for long,” she says, patting my shoulder.
I walk slowly into the gym as the girls split up into teams for kickball. Amari gives me a little wave and I nod back. I choose the corner farthest from everyone and take a seat, pulling my knees close to my chest and resting my chin on them. Who knows, maybe someone will kick the ball hard enough that I can spend the rest of the night in the infirmary.
The game starts and just a few minutes in, the ball rolls to my feet. Amari runs up, grabs it, and throws it back to the others before sliding down the wall to sit next to me. I look around the gym for staff and make eye contact with Ms. Bree, who gives me a thumbs-up.
“I think she feels bad for you,” Amari says.
