Without any care for consequences anymore, I get dressed. I pull my hair into a messy braid. And I walk out of my room.

Four

Emerson

The irony is, for most of my life, I was a good Catholic girl. I never broke rules. I loved going to Mass every Sunday. I would dutifully go to Confession too. Sometimes I miss it. I miss the Emerson I thought I was. Maybe things would be easier if I could have gone on pretending to be that girl. In another life, maybe. A parallel universe.

But in this universe, I’m sneaking through the darkened hallways of a juvenile jail to meet the residential bully, because apparently, I have no sense of self-preservation whatsoever, and I don’t have anyone to pray to.

But I guess this is a rule too, isn’t it? And if this is the only way to fit in, if this is the only way to find a glimmer of belonging here, I’ll do it. Hunter is waiting for me. So I go.

Since my room is at the very end of the east wing, it’s terrifying to sneak toward the common areas. My footsteps on the stained linoleum floor are never entirely silent and neither is the hallway around me. In one of the rooms to my right, someone is talking in their sleep. A little ways farther down, I can hear someone crying.

The only thing missing is the pounding of the guards’ boots and the loud middle-of-the-night conversations.

My steps echo, almost like someone is following me. If I’m caught outside of my room at this time of night, I’ll be in so much trouble.

I follow the hallway until it gets to the cross section with the three other wings. The light is brighter here, the shadows darker. I duck down—like that makes me less visible—and am crossing the large open space toward the common areas and the administrative wing when it happens.

“Weird.”

I nearly jump out of my skin. The soft voice comes from close by, but it rings like a bell. I can’t figure out who spoke. I can jump back and push myself against the wall. My heart hammers up a storm, and my knees shake.

Someone laughs coldly. “Chill, new kid. I’m not here to turn you in.”

A girl steps out of the shadows on the other side of the room. It’s the same girl who corrected the guards when they misgendered me. She’s wearing a faded shirt and pajama bottoms and somehow still looks more at ease than I do in my dark shirt and uniform pants. She has her mousy hair pulled back in a braid, but despite her confident words, her eyes look haunted.

“Who are you?” What do you want? almost slips out too. My voice only shakes a little.

“Grace. South wing.” She takes a step toward me, offering me a wry smile. “Nice to officially meet you, I guess.”

We probably shouldn’t be having this conversation here, in the middle of an open area, but I’m not sure what’ll happen if I walk away.