I study her face. “Are you okay?”

“Yes. Shut up. I’m nine months pregnant and very uncomfortable. I’ve come to take you down to dinner. Dr. Rayburn okayed it.”

“What’s plan B?” I ask, trying to hide the panic in my voice.

Betsy looks over at me for a moment and then shrugs. “Nobody tells me nothing.”

“Betsy, I know that’s not true. If you’d just …”

“Let’s go.” It’s a three-step process for her to get up out of the chair. “Guard, uncuff her please.”

The guard releases my restraints. I hold my hands up for the handcuffs, but none are offered.

“Doc says you don’t need cuffs as long as you behave.” Betsy shrugs and lumbers to the door.

I follow after the waddling Betsy. She holds her belly with both arms as if she has to support it to keep it attached. I rub my hands together, watching her waddle and gasp for breath. I can’t help but worry. She’s sucking back raspy breaths when we find our cafeteria table with the two girls from before, Latisha and Sammy and another girl I’ve never met. They look up at me from their fish filets, some cooked plant material and brown bread. I can see Betsy eying everyone’s bread roll as she pants.

“Getting ready to pop, huh, Betsy Wetsy,” Latisha says, grinning. Her black eyes flash wickedly.

“She’ll be Betsy Wetsy when her water breaks,” Sammy laughs.

Betsy only moans and accepts her tray from the nanny who brings it over. Mine has two rolls. Betsy has none. Forget calorie restriction. If I can get the rolls into my gown, they’re going to Betsy.

Latisha leans in toward me, a sick smile spreading on her brown face. “What about you, newb? They plant it in you yet?”

“Tish, don’t be gross,” Betsy says between bites.

Tish laughs again and twirls a finger in her kinky splay of hair. “Well, did they? You one of us sorry suckers now?”

I shake my head. Is that plan B? God, I have to get out of here. I glance around. The guards are posted at the doors, and the nannies shuffle about in their shapeless slippers, making sure each girl is eating their allotted portion. The black cameras track around the room, watching our every move, but I don’t think they can hear us—not at this distance. My heart says I can’t trust these girls enough to ask about escape, but I’m running out of options.

I lean toward Tish and Sammy. “Betsy told me some story about a woman busting out of here a few weeks ago.”

The girls look at me warily and then at Betsy. She doesn’t seem to notice. She stares at her weird vegetable and circles her belly with her hands.