But actually, space-age-y entrance aside, it’s really just like a nice hospital. After going to the enormous circular front desk and talking to a super cute receptionist with an amazing ’fro and a cool name that I’m now forgetting (Maggie? something? why do pretty girls make my brain dumb?), I was led into a windowless room. Okay, that sounds really bad, but there was a little water feature in the corner and a cushy couch and soft lighting. It was kinda like being in a spa, tbqh.

And then that whole vibe was broken when a bespectacled sentient beanpole walked into the room.

“Hello, Ms. Atkinson. I’m Agent Green,” he said, closing the door behind him and coming to stand in front of me. I stood up, partly so I could actually see his face—he was tall-tall—and partly because it seemed like the thing to do. He smiled down at me, the expression creating friendly wrinkles in his face, even if it didn’t feel like the smile completely reached his eyes.

“Yes, I think we spoke on the phone, hello,” I said, sounding like a complete ninny. There was something about his stiff suit and practiced smile that made me feel like I had to be the most formal version of myself. He wasn’t at all what I had expected. The guy I’d given my preliminary interview to over the phone this morning—my mom hovering over my shoulder the whole time—sounded like he was trying to be the cool camp counselor. The guy who sat in front of me in that weird little spa room looked like he’d gotten his suit in the early 2000s and his haircut in the ’80s.

“Do you need anything, Ms. Atkinson?” he asked, his eyebrows scrunching down into what I think he thought was a compassionate expression, but just really came across as confused. “Water?” He gestured to a cooler on the other side of the room, half stepping in that direction like he was ready to get me a glass the moment I said yes.

“No, I’m fine,” I said through a dry mouth. It was starting to dawn on me that I was in a totally unknown place, with a totally unknown person, for a somewhat unknown period of time, and no way to contact the outside world. Cute reception girl had taken my phone, “protocol,” she said, and I hadn’t seen any landlines as I was walked through the halls. I’m just glad I was able to text Emily and tell her I was dealing with some family drama before going off the grid. GOD, I hope she’ll go out with me again once I’m out.

“And you can call me Rose,” I added.