He’s the only one showing any emotion. The other boys wear matching blank expressions as if they can’t hear his cries.

The door in that room bursts open, and three men stream in. They head for the crying boy, but not to help.

To restrain him.

They pin his arms behind his back and force him into a curled position that has to be excruciating.

I get to my feet and only realize it when the desk scrapes against the floor. None of the boys look at me.

“Sit down.” The woman’s hand digs into my shoulder.

“They’re hurting him!” I scream as she shoves me down. Every inch of my body runs hot with fear and anger.

On the other side of the mirror, the boy’s eyes flick towards me. One of the men has a taser.

He’s going to use it on the boy who’s being restrained.

It takes everything I have to stay upright and only watch. This isn’t right. This just isn’t right.

When the woman pushes on my shoulder again, I break away and run.

Neither of the doors is locked. I run into the room with the boys just as the guard leans over the restrained boy and tases him.

“Stop!” I shout over his screams, still cuffed, still naked. “You’re killing him! Stop, stop!”

The boys move out of the way as I pushed through them, scrambling to do something. I grab the man’s arm and try to pull him off, he turns the taser on me.

The electric pain crushes all the air out of my lungs. I crumple over the boy, my muscles seizing with more pain. It feels like it’ll go on forever.

But then the door swings open and another man enters. I can’t see, my vision blurry. But his footsteps are heavy. He walks a certain way. It’s odd. Uneven.

The room falls silent.

I’m on the floor, my shoulder, trapped underneath me. I can barely focus my eyes to see the man when he crouches in front of me.

“You can call me Mr. Jay,” he says. “What is rule number one?”

I can’t answer. My teeth are locked together.

He sniffs, as if he’s not surprised but I don’t know the answer.

“You cannot look at another student,” he tells me. That must’ve been one of the rules on the wall. “What did you do?”

I wrench my teeth apart.

“I don’t know,” I say. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Let me go home.”

“There is no going home.”

“But my parents⁠—”

“Your parents know. They want this for you.”

“They don’t,” I sob.

He shifts on his feet. “That’s two more punishments. There is to be no mention of your parents and no backtalk.”