I don’t nudge him. I don’t even look in his direction.

He doesn’t look at me.

One of the staff members says something to him. I don’t catch what it is.

“Yes, sir,” he answers, his voice flat and toneless. I think he’s here about as much as I’m here. Maybe that means we’ll both make it out.

Maybe it doesn’t. I don’t know.

I focus on putting food in my mouth. The roll is stale, and I have to wash it down with half of my water. There’s some kind of vegetable. Green beans, maybe, but they’re shiny with oil or something. It’s not butter. I try not to pay attention to that, either.

I eat fast enough to avoid getting punished for eating slowly, and slowly enough to avoid getting punished for eating too fast.

When my food is gone, I fold my hands in my lap and stare at the table. That’s the safest place to look. Can’t meet anyone’s eyes with my head down.

I sit up straight.

I think about the girl.

I think about her face in the room with no cameras, and I think about her face on the other side of that glass.

I’m not paying much attention at all to the lunchroom, which is why I almost miss it when the riot starts.

It starts because of Mr. Jay.

One minute, I’m sitting still, waiting to be dismissed.

The next minute, there’s a sound.

It’s the sound of a hand hitting skin. More specifically, the sound of a palm slapping someone’s face. Hard.

I don’t look up because of the slap. People get hit all the time here, and rule number one is that we’re never supposed to look at anyone else.

But then there’s another sound.

Normally, the only sound after somebody gets hit is an involuntary grunt or a cry or a gasp if the person is new.

The second sound is a growl.

That’s the sound of somebody snapping. Of somebody deciding that they’ve had enough.

That hasn’t happened in a while and I wonder if it’s someone new here. Someone who doesn’t know any better.

I pick my head up and look before I can think about the rules.

I see the kid immediately. He’s one of the guys from my dorm. I usually don’t hear a single word out of him. I can’t remember the last time I heard him talk, if I ever heard him talk. The growl he let out might be the first time I’ve ever heard his voice.

I do know his name, though. I’ve seen him respond to it a time or two.

But never anything like this.

He puts both hands on the table with a hard slap in front of him and gets to his feet.