I’m trembling all over, but my hand is surprisingly steady when I push open the door. I walk out and part of me expects to find Rock there, to escort me back to solitary, but the hallway is empty.

I’m alone.

So I keep on walking. One foot in front of the other. And Warden Davis’s words bounce through my head. Teasing me. Haunting me.

Why wasn’t I punished for what happened in the cafeteria? And why did Warden Davis’s dismissal sound like a goodbye?

It’s all I can do to make it to my room. Where the walls are empty but for mold stains and a hint of faded graffiti. Where the bed is uncomfortable, but at least it has no restraints. And where I make it to my tiny bathroom to throw up.

After I’ve rinsed my mouth and cleaned my teeth, I sit down on my bed with its itchy woolen blanket and think.

Something strange is going on here, and I want to know what it is. Because if this place doesn’t make sense anymore either, I don’t know what will. I hate it here, but at least I know what’s expected of me.

I don’t want to make life worse for myself.

It takes me all too long to realize that this trembling inside me is fear, pure and breathtaking. I haven’t felt this afraid in a long time. Not since that first night after I got arrested. And the last night before my court hearing. I’m far more comfortable with anger than I am with fear.

I kick my shoes off and send them flying across the room.

I don’t go see Casey. I sleepwalk through dinner. I don’t reply when people talk to me, only in single syllables when the guards say something. I can’t even taste what I’m eating. All I can do is observe and consider.

One of the guards shouts at Sofia when she accidentally drops a spoon—and he kicks it out of her reach. Another guard purposefully looks the other way when Joshua steals an extra cup of pudding. Halfway through dinner, Warden Davis passes by the cafeteria on his way out. He has a long coat over his suit and a briefcase in his hand. He shakes hands with the guards on duty. In the doorway, he turns back to look at all of us.

When our eyes meet, his mouth thins, and he shakes his head. Then he leaves.

During recreation, several guards do the same thing: they come in, shake hands with those on duty, and leave. With every one of them who passes by, the discomfort inside of me grows—and so does the annoyance at being kept in the dark.

Once I’m back in my room after lights-out, the solitude is too oppressing and the questions in my mind are too many. I want to know what’s going on here. I need to know what’s going on here. We have a right to it, don’t we?