The water stung her skin, especially her breasts, where it hit her hard as rocks. She struggled to stay upright, her body bending under the pressure. But she’d heard that was the important part: if you could stay upright during a cleansing, the punishment was less severe. The water sprayed in her eyes, her nose, her mouth—it felt like it was being driven up into her brain. She coughed, bending at the waist, and almost toppled when the spray hit her face. There was no more hair to hide beneath; it was plastered like fat leeches to her back and arms. She heard the school bell and thought about screaming.

Why didn’t anyone think this was wrong?

And then it was over. She’d stayed on her feet, but as soon as the water stopped, her knees gave out. Marshall threw a blanket over her shoulders and Dawn pulled her to her feet as she trembled. Taured was gone. But if he was punishing her, he wasn’t punishing her mother.

They took her to isolation.

When Taured spoke about the isolation rooms to Kids’ Camp, he framed it as a wonderful, sacred time. She’d once asked what the rooms had been used for when it was a prison, and they’d told her they were the cells used for pregnant, incarcerated mothers. Inside, they’d been painted cream, the floors concrete. The only light came from a single bulb that was operated by a switch outside the cell. Once you were inside, you had no control over the light, and were only allowed brief periods of illumination through the day. This, he claimed, was a test of trust and a time to reflect on your bad and grow into your good.

“Will one of us ever have to go in there?” a kid named Ginger had asked. He was a couple years younger than Summer, and he’d moved to the compound from New England with his family the year before. He’d brought some weird habits with him, like some strange taste in junk food. He was always complaining about the contents of the Snack Shack. She’d noticed the older boys enjoyed picking on him, while most everyone else ignored him. The kid seemed to latch on to strange ideas and not stop talking about them.

“Are you scared, Ginger?” yelled someone from the back of the room. Summer knew the voice belonged to Skye.

“Of course he is—he’s scared of everything,” another voice called out.

Ginger, who had light strawberry blond hair (Sara said his mother had been ambitious with his name), turned around to give the speaker a dirty look. “What do you know, you big meatball?”

Summer liked his spunk, but he was probably going to pay for that later; Skye was a bully.

“I’m not afraid,” Ginger said, turning back to address Taured. “I would go in there voluntarily. I would.”