Tish taps her fork on her straight, white teeth. “Why you asking, newb? You got an itch?” She pushes even closer. “Wanna bust out?” That wicked smile is back.

I drop back, quickly shaking my head. “Nope. Just saying it would be exciting to see someone try. Pretty tough to get out of here, I figure. Must’ve been one hell of an escape plan.”

Tish is watching me carefully. She sets down her fork, glances around and leans in. “I know what you thinking, newb.” Her voice pulses hot against my ear. “Don’t know why you’d want to get out of here. Out there you’ll be dead or somebody’s love slave in the outside of a week. But, you ain’t the first to itch. There are ways, but you gotta pay.”

Betsy moans and rocks back on the bench. I find myself rubbing her back lightly. She swats my hand away.

I turn back to Tish. “I don’t have anything to trade, but I could get something.”

Tish smirks and skewers her fish fillet. “You ain’t paying me and you ain’t trading goods. You trading services.” She hisses the services like a dirty word. Her plump upper lip curls nastily.

I furrow my brow. “What’re you hinting at?”

She glances sideways. “See that guard over there?”

I turn. She grabs my hand and yanks. “Don’t look. Just glance.”

I reach around and pat Betsy on the back. A tall guard with curly orange hair and a thick red mustache like a fuzzy carrot stands with his back to the cafeteria door. I’m trying to be stealthy, but he catches me looking and winks at me. I whip back around, my cheeks burning.

“Rusty’s such a perv,” Tish mutters. Then she leans in and lowers her voice to a pale whisper. “Here’s how it works. You give Rusty what he wants and if he can, he gets your ass out. Simple as that.”

I blink for a moment. Then the full force of her words rolls over me like a boulder. The thought of Rusty coming anywhere near me makes me want to throw up. And if that’s the only way out, what does this mean about my mama? I squint my eyes and try to push that thought out of my head. I try to forget the look on Rusty’s face, his little disgusting mustache.

Betsy moans beside me and then rocks hard, making the table quake and forks rattle to the floor. I look up to see her trying to rise. She’s clutching her belly. Her face has gone white with two large pink circles on her cheeks. Her mouth is a shocked O. The bottom of her gown darkens, liquid tinkles to the floor beneath her and splashes on my ankles.

Sam shakes her head. “Betsy Wetsy.”

I stand up and take Betsy’s arm. “Doctor!” I call. “Help!”