I lean away from him. “I’ve changed my mind. If I’m going to trade,” even discussing this makes me feel ill, but I press on. “If I’m going to trade, I want my mama out of plan B.”

He leans down. His body nearly on top of mine. I feel his hand on my thigh above the blanket. “No can do, sweat thang. Nobody comes out of plan B. But I can get you out. You’d like that, right? Out to see your boyfriend?”

He puts his weight on me now. His heaving chest presses into mine until I can’t breathe. The smell of raw desire and cheap cologne is suffocating. One rough hand’s running down my thigh and pulling up the fabric of my gown. The other hand grips my neck like a vice. His mustache brushes the skin of my neck as he runs his tongue along my jaw.

If he can’t get my mama out, I want him off me. Now.

I slam my palms against his polyester uniform and shove and kick until he tumbles off and onto the floor. He pulls up on the side of my bed, the greasy smile sliding off his face.

“What gives?” He swipes one hand over his mess of red hair.

I scrunch back farther into the bed, as if the pillows could hide me. “Get out! You aren’t touching me!”

He gives me a shocked look. “Tish said you wanted a trade.” He says trade like he’s already undressed me.

“She was wrong.”

Rusty frowns. “You’re slotted for insemination tomorrow. Don’t you want to get out before they put a bun in that oven?” He points towards my stomach.

“Not bad enough to let you touch me,” I hiss.

He tucks his shirt back into his pants and stalks to the door. He turns back angrily. “You’ll regret this, sweetheart.”

“No, I don’t think I will.”

Rusty and his proposition are out.

Forty-two hours.

* * *

When dinner arrives, Rayburn lets me eat in the cafeteria as long as I’m under guard. When I walk through the doors, a slap of cooked fish smell welcomes me. My guard leads me to a table with Tish and Sammy. I don’t want to hang with these two, especially since Tish will ask about Rusty, but the guard won’t leave until I sit. Tish and Sammy stop their talk, glance at me, and then continue complaining about the food. I pick at the clumpy fish that’s already cold on my plate.

When the guard’s out of earshot, Tish leans into me. “Heard you screaming at Rusty this morning.” The smirk on Tish’s caramel-colored face is unmistakable. She loves other people’s misery. It gives her something to do. “Thought you wanted out so bad you’d do anything.”