I spit on the floor and try to shake free. “Tell him thanks.”

Another punch to the stomach sets me straight. Or rather, folded over and dizzy. The world spins and twists around me, like I’m losing my connection to it. Maybe it’s better that way. Maybe I can just get lost.

My assailant tightens his grip on me. “You’re smart. That gets you nowhere. He wants to talk to you tonight, after lights-out. He’ll be in the recreation room.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

I lick my lips and immediately wince. My bottom lip is swelling, and it’s split open. “Why does he want to talk to me?”

The boy grins. I try to remember his name. Seth? Red? Reid? That’s it. “Consider it the welcoming committee.”

“Won’t the recreation room be closed?” And more to the point, won’t I get in trouble for walking the halls after bedtime?

Reid shakes my head none too gently. “Figure it out. So you’ll be there?”

“Yeah.” My bravado doesn’t extend to challenging the only guy in the Hope Center with his own followers. Everyone warned me to expect a visit from one of them, one of these days. Like Reid said, those are the rules too. Unwritten, perhaps, but no less real.

“Good!” Reid lets go of my hair, and the sudden release causes me to stumble. I expect him to walk away, but before I can brace myself, another fist connects with my side, and then his leg sweeps my feet from under me. I crash to the ground, and the impact hurts. It reverberates through my arms and knees, and my skull feels like a tympan, the pain ringing in my ears.

I know I should get up. I shouldn’t make a target of myself. But I lie with my face against the concrete until Reid’s footsteps retreat. I have to find the courage to put myself back together again too.

If I could stay here, in this position, and not get up again, I would.

I don’t belong here.

“Guess it’s time for your initiation.” Another voice rolls over me. A hand appears in my line of sight. When I turn my head, trying not to wince too hard, I can make out a face. Dark-brown hair, light-brown skin, laughing brown eyes. I see no threat in his gaze or in his posture.

“Khalil,” he introduces himself.

I try to introduce myself too, but my throat is dry, and my head is spinning. Instead, I reach out to grasp his hand, and he gently guides me to a sitting position.

He crouches down beside me. “Wow, you’re a mess.”

“Thanks?” I touch the bruise on my cheek and wince. It feels warm underneath my hand, but I don’t think Reid broke skin.

“Don’t worry, no permanent damage.”

Small mercies, I guess. I cough. “So what did you mean by initiation. Like…hazing?” The word feels out of place here, like an uncomfortable reminder of my old-old life, but it’s the only thing I can think of.