“Not bad enough to let that slimy bastard touch me.” I push the fish around my plate. I’ve lost my appetite.

Tish nudges Sammy. “It’s not so bad, right, Sammy?”

Sammy doesn’t look up, but stabs angrily at her lettuce.

I raise an eyebrow.

“That little bun in the oven,” Tish says, pointing to Sammy’s stomach, “didn’t come from no Petri dish, if you know what I mean.”

I do, though it makes me sick. Sammy’s cheeks flush bright red. She shoots Tish a searing glare, grabs her tray and tromps over to another table. I catch Rusty’s eyes following Sammy as she goes.

“I’m just saying,” Tish says with a smirk, “might not matter if you’ve turned him down. He might find a way to get what he wants.”

I grip my fork until my knuckles are white. Rusty’s everything that’s wrong with this place. I think of my mama in the dark, a tube snaked down her throat. Hurting Rusty won’t make that right, but it might make me feel better.

I turn to Tish, letting all caution fall to the wayside. “Does anyone ever get out of plan B?”

She turns to me, her eyes wide, her mouth open. “How do you know about—”

“I just do. Tell me. Is there a way out?”

She slowly shakes her head from side to side, her black curls jiggling. “Once you’re in, you’re in. I never seen anybody come out.”

The look on her face makes me believe her. My mama. What can I do? I can’t give up and let her rot in that basement hooked up to monitors. The thought of that would drive me insane. There has to be a way.

Then the cafeteria doors fly open. Betsy barrels in, white hospital gown billowing around her like a sail. She’s sobbing and shaking. She spots me and makes a beeline over. When she reaches us, she wraps her hands around my arm and hangs on for dear life. “Oh, Agatha, they’ve taken her!” The tears darken the fabric under her pudgy neck. “They won’t give her back.”

I take her hands. “What’d you mean? Your baby?”

“Esmeralda. Only those witchy nannies say that name is gaudy. They put Jane on her bassinet card. Jane. What kind of name is Jane? Plain Jane. Jane goes down the drain. Jane insane in the brain.”

Betsy’s eyes roll wildly in her head. Behind her, the guards stride up. I stroke her arm to sooth her. “Betsy, what’re you talking about?”

“They won’t even let me nurse her. They say I’m too hysterical.” Her voice rivals howling coyotes. She wipes her nose on the sleeve of her gown and emits big barking sobs that shake her whole body and me with it.

“There has to be a mistake,” I murmur, patting her arm.