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Be on time to all meals, instructional activities, and all other tasks that require your presence. You will not find food outside of these times if you miss a meal.

Wear the appropriate uniform. Failure to comply with using the correct color will result in losing the privilege of any clothing.

My lips part at this,and I wonder if I’m living in an alternate reality. Each rule is more ridiculous than the last, but I still commit every one to memory. By the end, I’m exhausted, and I clear off my bed so that I can make it. This is yet another rule: beds must be kept tidy and made at all times unless you’re in it.

I’m honestly too tired for food, and I’m grateful the alarm hasn’t sounded. Glancing up at the clock above my bed, I realize it’s already two in the afternoon. I don’t know how the hours have been passing so quickly. Turning out the light, I slide between the sheets, easily passing out even though the doors don’t lock.

Thankfully, I am not a heavy sleeper, so it’s not an issue.

* * *

The blaringsound from the meal alarm system is the single most annoying thing on the planet. Sitting upright with a gasp, it takes me a second to realize where I am. Heart pounding, I throw off the blankets and lurch out of it, searching for a light switch.

Pushing my hair out of my face, I quickly make the bed, find the small mirror on the wall to fix it the best I can. Sleeping with wet hair never does me any favors. I wish I could see exactly how ill-fitting these damn shorts are, but it’s probably for the best that I can’t. Yanking on them one last time, I pretend they do cover my ass.

Slipping out of the room, I follow everyone towards Lunchroom B, which is where my paperwork stated that I would be eating. Thankfully, there are a few high windows in the room, and I wish I had known how much I would miss fresh air and sunlight. It hasn’t been but a few hours since I’ve been here, but the loss is still keenly felt. There are three different colors of uniforms here I notice as I step into line to pick up what is now dinner.

Tan, slate-blue, and red. There are men and women wearing both colors, which doesn’t help me figure out what department I’m in. I immediately eye the length of the shorts that the women are wearing, and most of them have clothes that actually fit them.

Holding back a huff of frustration because it’s cold in the room, I ignore the goosebumps making themselves known, to fill my stomach. Thankfully, the grumbling sounds aren’t too loud yet, but I haven’t eaten in almost two days. The jail wasn’t very keen on offering me much outside of a bathroom.

The food in the line looks decent enough, though I’m rarely picky when I’m starving. I point to grilled chicken and vegetables with a small smile to the kitchen crew working the food line, and they nod as they serve me. The hard part is finding a place to sit as I see the sea of tables.

Is there a wrong place to sit?

“Don’t think about it so hard,” says a guy who stops next to me with his food in a red uniform. “Just come sit with me.”

People are starting to look over at me, so I nod as I weave through the tables to one in the middle. Sitting, I notice interested looks directed at the guy who told me to follow him.

“I was invited,” I murmur softly.

“She was. Play nice, guys. I think she’s new, and we remember our first day,” he chuckles. The shudders around the table agree with him. “I’m Zachary, and I’ve been here for about six months.”

Everyone follows his lead, and introductions are made rapid fire. I lament that I’m going to have a hard time remembering everyone’s names.

“I’m Silla,” I tell them with a small smile. I so rarely do small talk, it feels extra awkward. “This is in fact my first day.”

They all nod, breaking into conversations among themselves, and I eat my dinner while I let the flow of it wash over me. I’m glad I’m in the middle of the room, because being near the walls just reminds me of small spaces. I do better when I can see how wide the room is, though that didn’t help me in the intake room with how high my anxiety was.

My hunger is what drives me to eat, content in knowing my allergies won’t affect me with my choices for dinner.

“See it wasn’t so hard to sit with us,” Zachary teases me. Chuckling, I shake my head as I eat.

“Not at all, thank you,” I tell him.

“The first few days are the worst, and then you get into a routine, which helps,” he reassures me.

I could ask him what the uniform colors mean, or what Section B is, but fear stops me. The intake people’s reactions when I asked questions were full of horror at my lack of information, and right now I’m just a normal girl having dinner, regardless of how odd the situation is.

Soon, the meal is over, and I follow everyone to drop off my tray. The press of people is overwhelming, and it doesn’t take me long until I’m covered in a light sweat, my eyes wide. Zachary glances down at me, grabbing my tray and handing it to his friend next to me.

“Little help?” he says loudly for his friends to look at us.

“Get her some air,” the girl who sat next to me says with a sympathetic smile. “There’s too many damn people here. Go with Zachary.”

Our hands free, his dropping to the middle of my back to help him guide me through the crowd. I keep waiting for him to roam, but he never once does. Shoving his hand against the door, he gets us out. My breath bursts through my lungs, and I realize I’d been holding it. Stupid move. That’s how I end up passing out.

“Walk with me. We don’t have anywhere to be after dinner, and I think you need to get outside for a bit,” Zachary says.