I bite my tongue to stop any words from coming out of my mouth. He’s a creep and a monster. If he decides to touch me, then he’ll do it, and nothing I say will stop him.

He plants his feet a short distance away from my chair. If he leaned forward, he could reach me. I don’t move.

Don’t move a muscle, I remind myself.

Mr. Jay stares at me until my breath gets shorter. I hate waiting to find out what they’ll do. It’s always bad, always humiliating, and somehow I never guess right.

“Have you reflected on your actions?” he asks.

“Yes, sir.” What he’s really asking is whether I feel sorry for the riot. I didn’t start it. While we were running, someone said something about the lunchroom. I just got swept up in it, and there was no way I was going to fight to come back to the school.

“And?” he prompts.

“And I’m sorry I broke the rules.”

“You did more than break the rules. You put our school at risk.”

“I’m sorry.” I’m not actually sorry. I don’t know how I could be. The riot felt like a dream. I was almost outside my body, going along with everybody else.

“I don’t think you are.”

I don’t answer him. I’m playing nice. Faking it. If he expects me to argue, he’ll be disappointed. I’m not going to. I just look up at him, my hands demurely in my lap.

The corner of his lip curls. He wanted me to put up a fight. The man doesn’t need an excuse to hurt me, but he likes to have one, and I’m not giving it to him.

With a disgusted sigh, he jerks his head toward the door. “Get up. Follow me.”

I do.

The whole school is silent except for the voices of some of the teachers. It was so loud when we were escaping. It really felt like we were about to be free. The energy was electrifying. It’s the same feeling I had during those playground games when I would reach the slide that meant safety, my heart pounding and my body flooded with relief.

I’ll feel that again someday. I will. I don’t know how or when, or what I’ll have to do to guarantee I have that feeling, but I’ll get it.

No matter what.

Now, I have just have to fake it.

Mr. Jay stops at another room and gestures me inside.

I stop myself from letting out a gasp at the last second.

The room is a nightmare. Blood and dirt cover the floor, some of the mess in wide streaks, like they dragged someone who was bleeding into the room and used them to mop the concrete.

“This is your punishment.”

I blink, not wanting to look at Jay. “This?”