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“I don’t think you are.”

I don’t answer him. I’m playing nice. Faking it. If he expects me to argue, he’ll be disappointed. I’m not going to. I just look up at him, my hands demurely in my lap.

The corner of his lip curls. He wanted me to put up a fight. The man doesn’t need an excuse to hurt me, but he likes to have one, and I’m not giving it to him.

With a disgusted sigh, he jerks his head toward the door. “Get up. Follow me.”

I do.

The whole school is silent except for the voices of some of the teachers. It was so loud when we were escaping. It really felt like we were about to be free. The energy was electrifying. It’s the same feeling I had during those playground games when I would reach the slide that meant safety, my heart pounding and my body flooded with relief.

I’ll feel that again someday. I will. I don’t know how or when, or what I’ll have to do to guarantee I have that feeling, but I’ll get it.

No matter what.

Now, I have just have to fake it.

Mr. Jay stops at another room and gestures me inside.

I stop myself from letting out a gasp at the last second.

The room is a nightmare. Blood and dirt cover the floor, some of the mess in wide streaks, like they dragged someone who was bleeding into the room and used them to mop the concrete.

“This is your punishment.”

I blink, not wanting to look at Jay. “This?”

“Clean it up.”

I lift my hands in front of me. “I don’t have?—”

“With this.”

He holds a toothbrush. Whose is this? It’s been used—I can tell that from how the bristles are sticking out. It’s not mine. I thought I was used to the horrible things they did here, but my stomach clenches.

I take the toothbrush.

It’s dry, not wet, so he didn’t pull this out of someone’s mouth.

“Get down on your knees.”

I get down on my knees at the edge of the mess. “I don’t have anything to?—”

“Start scrubbing.”

The dry toothbrush can’t clean the blood and dirt off concrete but I do as I’m told. “Spit,” he orders and I do. It doesn’t take long for my knees to ache from my position on the floor. When I try to balance on my heels, Mr. Jay barks at me to get back on my knees.

He tells me how worthless I am. But I already knew he would say things like that. It means nothing now. His opinion is shit.

Even through my pants, my knees hurt like the skin is being cut.

Both my knees will be bruised and raw by the time he lets me out of here. That’s what always happens. That’s probably why there are concrete floors and no rugs anywhere. Students spend too much time on their knees. Rugs would only make that easier, and we’re not here for things to be easy.

My knuckles get scraped, too. My hand is cramped around the toothbrush when a bucket thuds down next to me.

“Keep going. And this time, use the soap.”

I answer diligently, “Yes, sir.”