Rose lay on the floor of that room for two days, crying. There was a bucket and a pallet there and nothing else. The floor smelled of chemical cleaners and urine. Twice people came in with food for her. An older girl crouched down and whispered, “Just go along with it. You can’t win against these people. And please, eat. If you don’t eat, they’ll keep giving you the same plate over and over until you do eat the food, even if it’s rotting.”

Rose was furious. Where were Aunt Julie and Aunt Marge? Where was Uncle Lestan? What if Uncle Lestan knew what had happened and he was angry and disgusted with her? She couldn’t believe it. She couldn’t believe he’d turn his back on her like that, not without talking to her. But she was consumed with shame for what she’d done. And she was ashamed of herself now in the shapeless clothes, her body unwashed, her hair unwashed, her skin itching and feverish.

She felt feverish all over and her system had locked up. In the bathroom, before the watchful eyes of her guardians, she could not move her bowels. Her body ached and her head ached. In fact, she was feeling the worst pain she’d ever known in her stomach and in her head.

Rose was surely running a temperature by the time she was taken to the first group session. Without a shower or bath, she felt filthy.

They put a paper sign on her that said I AM A SLUT and told her to admit that she had used drugs, that she’d listened to satanic music, that she’d slept with boys.

Over and over Rose said that she had not slept with anyone, that she had not done drugs.

Again and again, other girls stood before her screaming at her: “Admit, admit.”

“Say it: ‘I am a slut.’ ”

“Say it: ‘I am an addict.’ ”

Rose refused. She started screaming. She’d never done drugs in her life. No one at the Willmont School did drugs. She’d never been with a boy except to kiss at a dance.

She found herself down on the floor with other girls sitting on her legs and her arms. She couldn’t stop screaming until her mouth filled with vomit. She almost choked on it. With all her soul, she struggled, screaming louder and louder, spitting vomit everywhere.

When Rose awoke, she was alone in a room and she knew she was more than just a little sick. She was hot all over and the pain in her stomach was unbearable. Her head was on fire. Over and over when she heard another person passing she asked for water.

The answer came back, “Faker.”