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As she drove the library van toward the main gate of the complex, Mairin forced herself to proceed slowly, the way the regular

driver would. She glanced at the sign of the saint with the Latin phrase. She had seen it on the day she’d arrived here. She

hoped to never see it again.

“I never figured out what that sign means,” she said, her heart racing.

“‘ Salus animarum suprema lex ’ is Latin for ‘the salvation of souls is the supreme law,’” Helen said.

“Yeah, fuck that,” said Denise. “Step on it, Mairin.”

Pulling out onto Best Street, Mairin felt dizzy with fear... and elation. Everything had fallen into place. She’d slipped

into the chapel, her heart pounding and her palms sweaty, as Bernadette and Rotrude entered the confessional booths. With

the organ music booming from the loft, Mairin had darted forward, shoving the processional staff through the handles of the

confessional doors. Take that. See how YOU like being trapped .

Next, the girls made their way to the bookmobile. Mairin had glanced back one last time at Odessa, who lifted her hand in

solidarity as they exited the building.

With a synchronized burst of courage, they rushed over to the van.

Helen carried a laundry sack stuffed with street clothes and a church envelope with the money.

Mairin slid into the driver’s seat, turned the key, and the engine churned to life.

The bookmobile felt different from the Nash Rambler Mairin had learned to drive in.

She sat up high in the driver’s seat, trying to get accustomed to the feel of the van swaying along, top-heavy, the steering wheel almost too wide.

One of the side-view mirrors was broken off, making it hard to see behind her.

“Get down, you guys,” Mairin said. “And hang on!”

She hadn’t driven in a long time, and now she was responsible for these girls. Their safety was literally in her hands, and

she trembled with nerves. She reminded herself of the lessons Liam had taught her—eyes ahead, easy on the pedals. The steering

wheel felt loose in her hands, the van lumbering from side to side as she drove forward.

Once they cleared the gate, pure euphoria had broken over the group like rays of sunshine.

“We’re out,” Denise said in a giddy whisper. “Everybody—change into your street clothes.”

At a traffic light, someone tossed Mairin a shirt to put on. As they rumbled along the streets of the city, the fresh air

of freedom filled their lungs, and for a few moments, the girls were quiet, paralyzed by the enormity of the world beyond

their prison.

The intricate grid of Buffalo’s streets surrounded them, a landscape of both hope and unknown hurdles. Then Angela reached

forward and turned on the radio. “Ain’t No Mountain High Enough” was playing. They all joined in, belting out the song at

the top of their lungs as they left Best Street behind.

“You guys!” Denise grabbed a pack of Kools that had been tucked under the windshield visor. “Oh yeah,” she said, tipping one

out. “Who wants a smoke?” She pushed in the dashboard lighter.

“You shouldn’t smoke,” Janice said.

Denise pulled out the lighter and clumsily tried to touch the hot red center to the end of the cigarette, wobbling with the

motion of the van. “Who says?”

“Well, the... I guess, nobody. Oh, heck, let me try one,” said Janice. She managed to light one up, staring cross-eyed

at the burning tip as she sucked in a drag, then erupted in a fit of coughing.

“Put that thing out,” Angela said, grabbing the cigarette from her and tossing it out the window. “You don’t know how to smoke.”

Mairin glanced over at Janice, who looked relieved. The next song started to play—“She’s So Fine”—and they all joined in again,

practically yelling the chorus. If Odessa had been there, she would have cringed at the shout-singing.

“Look at us,” Angela crowed, seeming happier than she’d been in months. “We are so fine, all of us!”

“So fucking fine,” Denise said with a laugh.

“And so wayward,” Helen chimed in.

A commercial aired, and Helen twiddled the dial, pausing when a familiar song came on on a Gospel music station—“Oh Happy

Day.”

“Odessa’s favorite,” Mairin said. “That’s her signature song.” She wondered how Odessa was doing, left behind to serve out

her sentence. She hoped suspicion didn’t fall on her friend. It would be a disaster if the nuns made Odessa spend more time

in the hellhole that was the Good Shepherd.

Mairin joined in the chorus when it came around— Oh happy day . They all belted out the words as the big, boxy vehicle rattled and swayed, and books lurched back and forth on the racks.

In the middle of the next chorus, Mairin took a corner too sharply, and the van felt like it might heave over.

Books flew everywhere, hitting the floor, one of them bonking Kay on the head and eliciting a yelp.

“You’re okay,” Janice said in a soothing voice. “You’re fine.”

“No, I ain’t.” Kay let out a squawk of fright. “I’m skeerd. Skeerd. We got to go back!”

“Don’t be stupid,” said Denise. “We are not going back.”

Setting her jaw, Mairin slowed down, then took a right on a street she didn’t recognize, hoping it would lead to a spot where

they could abandon the van—not too close to the Greyhound station, but close enough to reach the terminal on foot. The idea

was to trick people into thinking they had taken the bridge across to Canada. In the summer, teenagers crossed the Peace Bridge

freely, heading for the amusement park at Crystal Beach.

“Hey,” said Helen, looking around. “Is this the right way?”

“I don’t really know how to get there,” Mairin finally admitted. “Is there a map somewhere? See if there’s one in the glove

box.”

“Maybe there’s an atlas,” Angela said, scanning the racks of books and magazines.

“Are we lost?” Janice asked.

“Lost? We’re lost?” Kay screeched hysterically, her panic escalating. She lunged for the window and cranked it down. “Help!

Somebody! We’re lost!”

A few pedestrians seemed to pause and look at the van.

From the very start, Mairin had worried about Kay. She was very sweet and only wanted to please people, but she couldn’t always

think straight.

“Shut up, you dumbass.” Denise rolled the window back up. “You’re going to attract attention.”

“Too late,” said Helen. “Those people on the corner are pointing and waving.”

“Are not,” Angela said. “You’re just imagining things.”

“We better get rid of the van quick. It’s the first thing they’ll be looking for,” said Denise.

Mairin glanced in the rearview mirror. She caught a glimpse of something through the dirty rear windows. A flicker of something.

Flashing lights?

Everything inside her erupted in panic. “The cops,” she said through gritted teeth. “Is that the cops behind us?”

Denise peered out the back window. “Shit, I think they spotted us.”

Mairin’s stomach sank. They’d counted on having more time to get away.

“Shit shit shit,” Denise repeated.

“You said a swear.” Kay eyed her reproachfully.

“We have to ditch this thing right now,” said Mairin.

“That wasn’t the plan,” Angela said. “We are not far enough away. We’ll be caught for sure.”

Janice glanced from side to side. “It’s not supposed to happen like this. You said—”

“I know what I said,” Mairin snapped, trying to focus on her driving.

“Dammit!” said Denise. “More cops! I think they found us!”

At the end of the block, another black-and-white squad car turned and started coming toward them.

“What’re we gonna do? What what what?” blurted Kay. “What what what?”

“Run like hell, that’s what,” said Denise.

Mairin took a hard right onto a busy commercial street. With a surge of courage, she hit the gas and drove until she spotted

a parking lot near a busy intersection. Kay shrieked in terror. Mairin pulled into the lot and threw the van into park. She

heard a whistle and then gruff orders bellowed through a megaphone, but she ignored them.

“Go!” she yelled, wrenching open her door and jumping down to the pavement.

The rest of the girls bolted out the back door. She saw Denise duck into a shadowy alleyway. Helen made a leap for a rusty

fire escape attached to an old building. The whistle sounded closer, and the rest of them scattered in all directions like

frightened mice.

Mairin ran. In all her life, she had never run so fast. She ran as if she were on fire. As if the devil himself nipped at

her heels. She ran as if her life depended on it. She ran without looking back. She ran for longer than she ever thought she

could.

The escape plan had imploded into utter chaos, and now the only option was to disappear into thin air.

Her breath escaped in ragged gasps as she darted down alleyways and through backyards, between warehouses and old graffiti-stained

buildings by the port. She charged down a brick street, running blindly, losing herself in an unfamiliar sector of the city.

The shouts and whistles and footfalls of her pursuers grew faint, but she didn’t dare slow down. The whoop and wail of sirens

meant that the search was still on.

She came to a busy street and wove through the surging traffic.

A clamor of honking horns and groaning brakes filled the air as she darted between moving cars and trucks.

She ran until she could no longer hear the sirens.

When a sharp whistle split the air, she darted down an alley between two buildings, her thin-soled shoes pounding the broken and buckled pavement.

At the other end of the alley, she found herself in a maze of loading docks and steel truss bridges.

She didn’t recognize any of her surroundings, but a heaviness in the air told her she was near the lakefront.

Keeping to the shadows, she raced as fast as she could, seeking a place to hide.

She ran until she couldn’t run anymore on her shaky, exhausted legs.

Finally, she slowed to a walk, trying not to double over from the stitch in her side.

In a narrow passageway between two buildings, she ducked into a recessed doorway that was littered with old, dry papers and

empty beer cans. Leaning against a stained brick wall, gasping for breath, she used the tail of her stolen shirt to mop her

brow. It was some guy’s bowling shirt, a two-toned button-down with Alley Cats embroidered on the pocket. The shirt—purloined from the laundry—was many sizes too big, draping down almost to her knees.

As she tried to quiet the clamor in her chest, Mairin pushed her panic aside and tried to think straight. She wondered what

had become of the others. Nothing had gone according to plan. They were all supposed to stick together, but when everything

fell apart, they had scattered to the four winds.

Now the sun was going down, and a chill wind rolled off the lake, and Mairin found herself alone.

She had envisioned an emotional farewell with her friends. A last embrace before they split into the sprawling city. She thought

there would be time for hugs all around and promises to meet every July Fourth at the Falls. In her pocket, she still had

the photo booth strips they had taken at Niagara Falls. She’d planned to hand them out so everyone got one.

A terrible thought struck her. The money. The money. They were supposed to divvy it up so each girl would have an equal share—for bus fare, train fare, a place to sleep, something

to eat... She’d taken such a risk to get the cash. Had someone grabbed the envelope from the laundry bag as they’d all

spilled from the van? Oh, she hoped so. Maybe it would help at least one of them find a better life.

She had no idea where she was, and no idea where to go. She had nothing. No money, only the clothes on her back and her cheap,

dusty canvas shoes. Darkness was falling fast. Shadows flickered in the alleyways and unfamiliar streets. A neon sign that

read McGavin’s Bakery cast a pinkish glow on the street corner, deserted except for a trash can, a newspaper vending box, and a phone booth.

Mairin shivered. She was hungry and thirsty and tired to the bone. A terrible sense of defeat washed over her. After everything

she’d gone through to free herself from the Good Shepherd, she had failed. She’d failed herself and worse, she’d failed her

friends. They were supposed to be a team. What an idiot to think she could get away with this—just a kid, leading other kids—and

now she had no idea where any of them had ended up.

Maybe she was exactly what the nuns had called her and all the others, over and over again—a wayward girl. A girl with no

prospects for the future, a girl who would ultimately have to surrender and serve out her time, washing away her sins as she

labored over other people’s laundry.

Everything inside her recoiled at the prospect of giving up. She kicked at a weed growing through a crack in the sidewalk.

Be a dandelion, not an artichoke, her dad would tell her. She gave the weed another kick, then froze in mid-motion. Slipping

off her shoe, she tipped out her last remaining hope.

It was the Mercury dime Flynn Gallagher had given her.