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Moving slowly with a weariness that made her feel as old as her Gran, Angela finished cleaning and rinsed the mop, still gulping

air and trying to stave off more heaves of sickness. Losing the battle, she lunged for the toilet and spewed a trickle of

fluid, amazed that there was anything left. She’d never puked so much in her life. Maybe she was dying. Maybe she was—

“Hey,” said a soft voice behind her. “Hey, Angela.”

It was Mairin, the new girl. She held out a wad of brown paper towels, the kind that were so rough they had flecks of wood

in them.

Angela shuddered and wiped her mouth, then threw away the paper towels and washed up again.

“Come sit,” said Mairin, leading her over to a bench in the locker area. “You want a drink of water?”

Angela nodded. Mairin gave her a Dixie cup and she took a couple of tiny sips. She stared at the floor, feeling the tingle of a tear trying to squeeze out.

Mairin reached out and tentatively stroked Angela’s hair. “I love your hair,” she said.

“Yeah?” Angela tried to smile.

“It’s silky soft. Blond as corn silk, my mom would say. It reminds me of those ads for Breck shampoo, you know the ones I

mean?”

Angela felt a nudge of surprise. A long time ago, she’d started collecting the Breck Girl ads from the library’s discarded

copies of Ladies’ Home Journal . Angela used to tear them out and keep them in a tattered old school binder, and sometimes she’d sit for hours, paging through

the softly drawn pictures, wondering who the girls were, if they were real, or if they just came from an artist’s imagination.

When she was younger, Angela hadn’t understood why she had gotten such a warm, squishy feeling from looking at the pastel-toned,

flawless faces and flowing hair.

“Yeah, I always liked those ads.” She let a bit more water trickle down her throat and turned to study Mairin. She had the

looks to go with her big personality—curly red hair and freckles, green eyes that crinkled at the edges when she smiled. An

Irish sprite in one of Gran’s folktales.

Mairin tilted her head and frowned a little. “What?”

“What do you mean, what?”

“You’re looking at me in a funny way.”

“I don’t mean to stare. I’m not trying to be rude,” Angela said.

“Oh no, I didn’t mean you were being rude, but... I don’t know. I guess, just... it’s been a long time since I’ve made

a new friend.”

“We’re not supposed to make friends in this place,” Angela said. “But in the middle of the night, who’ll know, right? They

do bed checks every once in a while, but you can hear when they open the gate at the top of the stairs, because it squeaks.”

She already knew she and Mairin didn’t like each other in that way, but in the way of regular friends. “Where’re you from? Someplace around here?”

“Fruit Belt neighborhood,” Mairin said. “Before this, I never went to any school except St. Wilda’s.”

“You’re a Fruit Belt girl. A St. Wilda’s girl. What’s that like?”

Mairin described a neighborhood that sounded a lot like the street where Angela had grown up in South Buffalo. Row houses with peeling paint and too many kids, women in kerchiefs and housedresses sitting on the stoop, smoking Lark cigarettes and gossiping.

“None of the girls here come from the rich neighborhoods,” Angela said. “You know the area around Millionaires’ Row?”

“Delaware Avenue? I used to take walks there with my dad. And when my brother was teaching me to drive, we would go there

and check out how the fancy folks live.”

Angela did the same thing on her bike rides. A neighbor had given her a hand-me-down Schwinn Panther that she rode everywhere.

The bike had a boy’s crossbar and a back fender that rattled when she pedaled over the brick streets, but it took her on brilliant

rides all over the city. In school, she’d learned that Buffalo once had more millionaires per capita than any city in America,

back in the 1800s. Some of the gorgeous stone mansions still stood like monuments surrounded by grand gardens and wrought

iron fences.

“You know how to drive?” Angela asked. “How old are you?”

“Not quite sixteen yet, but Liam wanted to teach me before he left. He’s... My brother got drafted. He’s going through

basic training now. You have a brother?”

Angela shook her head. “It’s just me and my gran. My mom went to California years ago. She keeps saying she’s going to send

for me, but she never has.” Gran had nothing good to say about Angela’s mother. Angela had sent letter after letter to California,

but the address kept changing. So did the phone number. There had been a phone call last Christmas, but since then... nothing.

“I hate it here,” Mairin said. “I’m going to run away, and I’ll make it this time. Just you watch.”

“Sure, I’ll watch. Lots of us try to run. It never works. The family always brings them back, or social services gets an order

from the juvie court, or they come back on their own because, believe it or not, there are worse places than this.”

“Then we just... what? Wait here until they let us go? I can’t. I absolutely can’t.” Mairin’s chin trembled and her voice broke. She drew her knees up to her chest and dropped her head as her whole body shook with sobs.

“Mairin, shh,” said Angela, placing her hand on the other girl’s back. It rattled her to see Mairin like this. She was usually

the strong one.

Mairin drew in a breath with a shudder and lifted her head. “I can’t take it here. I can’t. I don’t even know where Liam is

right now, but pretty soon he’ll be in Vietnam. I’m so scared for him, Angela. He’s the best brother in the world. What if

he gets hurt over there? Or killed?”

“It would be the worst thing ever,” Angela said, picturing the lanky young men she used to see in the papers every day, weary-looking

guys with peace signs drawn on their helmets and guns slung across their bodies. “I’m sorry he had to go.”

“I don’t even know what’s going on. Another awful thing about this place. They cut us off from the world. We can’t even watch

Walter Cronkite.”

“We’re allowed to write letters on Sunday afternoon. Can you write a letter to your brother?”

Mairin wadded up the hem of her nightgown and dried her cheeks. “I suppose it’s something. I’ll give it a try.”

Angela ached for her new friend, but something urgent was happening. She shot to her feet as a fresh surge of nausea erupted

like a volcano. She made it to the toilet and sank to her knees, then heaved until the spewing stopped. Mairin gently lifted

her hair and held it back.

“Hey, did you eat something bad?” Mairin asked.

“Same as what everyone else ate,” Angela said.

Mairin gently touched her forehead. “You don’t feel hot. Why do you reckon you’re puking?”

Angela shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know. I had the flu last year, but this doesn’t feel like the flu.”

They sat quietly for a few minutes. “My best friend’s name is Fiona,” Mairin said. “I miss her like crazy. You got a best

friend?”

Angela wiped her mouth and climbed wearily to her feet. “Name’s Tanya. I miss her like crazy.”

“Fiona had to go away,” Mairin said. “She’s staying with her aunt in Pennsylvania. For a bit.”

Something in Mairin’s tone caught at Angela. A dull thud of dread started throbbing in her chest. “Had to go away” was code for a situation everyone understood. “Oh,” she said. “That’s too bad.”

“Let’s go sit down again,” said Mairin, gesturing at the shower bench. “You look really green around the gills.” She studied

Angela’s face with those soft, probing eyes. “Um, when, uh, when was the last time you had your period?”

Angela flinched as if something sharp had poked her. Nine weeks ago. Clocks and calendars were forbidden here, but Angela had etched the date on her soul.

“Sorry, I’m not trying to be nosy,” Mairin said.

“You’re not being nosy,” Angela said. “It’s... I skipped a period.”

Mairin pressed her lips together. Her gaze shifted back and forth, then settled on Angela’s hands, which were pressed against

her stomach. “Could you be... I mean, I’m thinking about my friend Fiona. She and her boyfriend went all the way, you know?

They did it a lot. She got really sick and then... I’m just wondering... maybe you’re pregnant? Maybe you and your boyfriend—”

“I don’t have a boyfriend,” Angela blurted out.

Mairin’s eyes widened, and she studied Angela’s face. “You’re so pretty. I figured someone as pretty as you would have all

kinds of boys to choose from.”

“I’ve not touched a boy,” Angela said. Not on purpose, anyway. “I’ve never really been into boys.” Her face felt as if it

were melting under streams of tears. “But...”

“But you missed a period,” Mairin whispered, taking her hand.

Angela nodded, unable to speak.

“So if you weren’t with your boyfriend, maybe there’s some other explanation. And I’m not talking about the immaculate conception.”

Angela didn’t want to explain. She had spent weeks trying not to think about what was happening to her.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” said Mairin, “and I sure as heck won’t snitch on you. But... Okay, I

haven’t said anything about the reason my mom made me come here. It’s because of her husband—my stepfather, Colm. He–he tried

to grab me—not in a nice way, you know.”

Angela did know what not in a nice way meant. She flinched, nodding her head.

“I was alone in my room, getting changed,” said Mairin. “I hate to think about what might have happened if Liam hadn’t shown

up and run him off. All I’m saying is that even though you don’t like a guy doesn’t mean he’ll leave you alone.” Mairin swallowed

audibly. “I know that now. Did some guy... um... make you do something, even though you didn’t want him to?”

Angela said nothing for a few seconds. She could hear her pulse hammering in her ears, as loud as fear. “It wasn’t a boy.”

Mairin’s eyes flashed with comprehension, and maybe anger. “A man, then? Like, a grown man? You really don’t have to tell

me, but—”

Angela stared at the tile pattern on the shower floor. “Wh-when you got here, did you have to go to the clinic?”

She saw comprehension dawn on Mairin’s face. “Oh, jeez. Yeah. That big nun—Rotrude—told me it was for my own good. In case

I have a disease or something. The doctor said he’s supposed to do a checkup to make sure I’m healthy, but he was weird, and

I wouldn’t let him touch me.”

Angela stifled a soft gasp. “What do you mean, you wouldn’t let him?”

“Just that. I shoved him away from me and beat it out of there. I tried to tell Rotrude that he was weird, but... I don’t

know. She seemed to think it was just normal, and she refused to listen when I tried to tell her. She whacked me across the

face for even bringing it up. So did they make you go to the clinic, too?”

Angela flinched as if something had stabbed her, and turned her head away. “They make everybody go.”

“Well, I’ll never set foot in that place again, that’s for sure,” said Mairin. Then she laid her hand over Angela’s. “So.

The doctor.”

“Yes.” Angela’s lips barely moved. The word was an exhalation of horror.

Mairin’s hand tightened around Angela’s. “The one here, at the Good Shepherd?” she asked. “Dr. Gilroy?”

Angela didn’t answer. She didn’t have to. Mairin’s expressive eyes darted back and forth with worry.

“That creep,” said Mairin. “That horrible, vile creep.”

Angela had been told that she needed special help with her situation, and they kept making her go back to the clinic.

And she would obey, slinking in shame. Gilroy said he could cure her of her problem.

Her mouth felt dry. She took another tiny sip from the little paper cup, which was getting soggy.

“Did he try to make you do stuff?” she asked Mairin.

The other girl’s expression went hard, and her eyes squinted with contempt. “‘Do stuff’? I didn’t stick around long enough

to find out. He told me to get up on the table. He was going to try something. I could just tell. I told him to leave me alone.

He grabbed me, and... well, I’m not exactly sure what he was going to do. I fought him off and got the hell out of there.

No way I’m going back.”

When Angela was at the clinic, she was always too terrified to move. Even to breathe. She just squeezed her eyes shut and

clenched her teeth and prayed for it to be over. “You fought him?”

“I did. My brother Liam taught me how to fight.” Her gaze went soft again as she studied Angela. “I think that doctor must

have... He did something to you.”

Angela closed her eyes. Nodded her head. “He keeps making me come back. Says he’s helping me with... He said I have a problem,

you know, down there.”

“Oh, Angela.” Mairin’s arms went around her, folding her into a gentle hug.

The sweetness of the hug was searing, almost more unbearable than a slap.

Then Mairin said, “Angela. Did he do... I mean, what did he do to you?”

She kept her eyes shut tight, the way she did in the clinic. “He, um, he said he had to do an examination, and he put something

up inside me, like an instrument, I guess. And then his—his fingers. And then... his thing .”

Mairin gasped and squeezed her hand. “No doctor would do that. Did you tell someone?”

Angela opened her eyes. “Of course I did. Told Rotrude and Sister Gerard. They gave me extra penance and told me I should

be grateful that he’s helping me.”

“Well, now you have to tell them you might be pregnant. Because I really think... that might be the case.”

Angela’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Oh, dear God, no,” she said. “I can’t... no.”

But she could feel the truth welling up through her entire body, spilling out through her eyes. There was not a no powerful enough to make it not be so.