Page 45

The fear consumes every thought and feeling. Is my heart even beating anymore?

I stare at the open door of the room with no cameras, both hoping I’ll see him and hoping I won’t.

If he made it out, then I never want to see him in this place again. If he’s free, then he should stay free. I know that’s what he’d tell me to do. If I got away, he wouldn’t want me to come back for him.

Keep running. Don’t look back for anything. Never let them see your face again.

My eyes sting with tears, but I don’t let them fall. I’m just so scared, and I’m not even scared for me. I’m scared for him.

He could be dead for all I know.

I’ve seen what they do to him. The people in charge of this place would do it. They would kill, and brush the murder under the rug. That’s how they get away with everything. If they really screw up and hurt somebody too badly, they just blame it on the kid.

It makes my hands shake with rage. They can blame it on us because our parents already think we’re lost causes. The teachers could tell my parents anything, and they’d eat it up. They want to be reassured that we need help beyond anything they can handle. We have to be the worst of the worst or else it’s our parents who failed.

My mother is the one who sent me here in the first place because she thought I was evil. She probably still thinks I’m evil. I have no way to tell her I’m not. I don’t know what she hears from the school or if they hear anything at all. They’re probably just living their normal lives, hoping these kind people can get me back on the right track.

I reach down and curl my hands around the seat of the chair to keep myself from standing up and screaming.

If he was in front of me now, I’d have no problem staying still and silent for as long as it took.

I’d do anything for him. Even just to see him for a fraction of a second.

But he’s not here, and I’m alone. The desire to fight is almost overwhelming.

I close my eyes for a few seconds and take deep breaths.

“Be good,” I whisper to myself beneath my breath. “Play nice. Let them think you’re broken.”

I repeat it a few more times until I’m sure my fear is hidden. A broken person doesn’t let people know who they care about because a broken person doesn’t care about anyone.

“I don’t care,” I whisper. It’s them I don’t care about. I can’t even lie to myself about him. I will only say that if that’s what it takes to buy myself some time. Nothing I say to them means anything.

It’s all fake. I’m just faking it so I can get out of here. I’m just playing the part that will lead to me getting free.

Thunk, thunk.Footsteps ricochet in the hall. I let go of the chair and fold my hands in my lap and sit up straight.

Mr. Jay comes into the room with no cameras. He doesn’t try to hide how much he likes it in here. He sneers at me, his eyes roaming over my body.

I bite my tongue to stop any words from coming out of my mouth. He’s a creep and a monster. If he decides to touch me, then he’ll do it, and nothing I say will stop him.

He plants his feet a short distance away from my chair. If he leaned forward, he could reach me. I don’t move.

Don’t move a muscle, I remind myself.

Mr. Jay stares at me until my breath gets shorter. I hate waiting to find out what they’ll do. It’s always bad, always humiliating, and somehow I never guess right.

“Have you reflected on your actions?” he asks.

“Yes, sir.” What he’s really asking is whether I feel sorry for the riot. I didn’t start it. While we were running, someone said something about the lunchroom. I just got swept up in it, and there was no way I was going to fight to come back to the school.

“And?” he prompts.

“And I’m sorry I broke the rules.”

“You did more than break the rules. You put our school at risk.”

“I’m sorry.” I’m not actually sorry. I don’t know how I could be. The riot felt like a dream. I was almost outside my body, going along with everybody else.