So I learned to bite my lip when Hunter and his friends find ways to “help” us. I learned to accept it when they treat me like a porcelain doll that might break.

I like being human better, but when I spy Emerson huddled up in a corner and Grace’s empty seat at her table, I know no one is quite human here.

Two

Emerson

“Hey, new kid.” A voice cuts across the open area. I recognize that tone from the streets—mild curiosity with a threatening undercurrent. I push myself farther into the corner of the concrete yard. Bits of gravel crunch underneath my feet.

I’ve been waiting for this moment since the guards drew everyone’s attention to me. I pluck at my ill-fitting blazer and swallow the nausea. The Hope Juvenile Treatment Center is no St. Agnes Academy, but some rules are universal. Every school has its predators.

Maybe I can pretend that I belong here—leaning against the wall, looking at the clouds, trying to figure out my place in the world. No threat to anyone.

A shrill whistle, from much closer. “Hey!”

I flinch and look up. A white boy with a fuzzy red buzz cut saunters in my direction. He holds his hands loosely behind his back. He’s coming at me from an angle, cutting off my escape routes.

“New kid,” he says again. “Why didn’t you listen to me?”

I sigh. I want to keep my head down, sit here in the pale morning sun until I have to get to therapy, and make it through another day. I don’t want any more trouble, not again. Still, I can’t stop myself from muttering, “Emerson.”

“New Emerson,” he says.

“What?” I snap.

“What what?”

“What do you want?” I demand.

He laughs, but it sends shivers down my spine. “To warn you that your shirt is untucked. The rule is you have to look presentable, and you’ve got to follow the rules, right? I don’t want you to get in trouble when you get to class.”

He knows full well I learned that the hard way already. But, “Thanks.”

I reach for my shirt, but a large hand clamps around my shoulder. “Hey! Wh—”

A fist connects with my stomach, and the air rushes out of me. “A reminder of these rules too.”

I double over, and immediately his right fist cuts across my jaw. Pain blossoms across the left side of my face. I stumble and reach out to find my balance. The metallic taste of blood floods my mouth.

A hand grasps my hair, forcing me to look up. The boy has the long, slender fingers of a pianist. His mocking smile and blue eyes swim in and out of focus. “Hunter’s in charge here. He gave you time to settle in.”

I glance around to find help, but no one is close. The few teens on the far side of the yard steadfastly look the other way. The guard at the doorway is preoccupied with one of the other teens. That’s probably on purpose.