As soon as I see her, I have this sudden urge to talk. Because I haven’t talked to anyone here. You can’t trust anyone, my lawyer said, don’t even talk about the weather. So I’ve been keeping to myself, and faking sleep as much as I can. When the TV news comes on, the other kids say is it true they don’t know what happened they’ve got no case what really happened with that dude bet he tried to rape you Justine’s supposed to be crazy she’s cool I met her once they call her the tiny terror what happened man and I just shrug my shoulders and say I don’t remember. When that doesn’t work, I say I was drunk. The only answer that shuts them up though is just saying in a low, dead voice: I don’t give a fuck.

Amber! I almost started dancing a jig. I’d been so lonely. I pretty much had forgotten how to speak.

We hang out in the laundry room, blowing our smoke into the dryer.

The rinse cycle sounds like a tornado. Still, we whisper. We keep it low.

I earn cash for folding uniforms and I like the clean laundry smell. I feel a bit bad about blowing smoke onto the navy blue sweatshirts, but I don’t want Amber to think I’m ungrateful for the Player’s Light.

Amber says she came in here on purpose. She has something very important to tell me….

But for now, we’re in the laundry room, our voices hidden by the sound of washing machines.

She’s still proud of her skill at entering wherever she wants to go.

“Sara, it was so easy to get into juvie. I just crossed the street in front of a cop car. Boom. ‘Amber, you know you’re not supposed to be in the Red Zone.’ Oh really? I acted all surprised. White Oaks is full, guys. Too bad, guess you’ll have to take me to juvie ’cause I’m not gonna apologize. And so I got an escort here to see you! I didn’t even have to pay bus fare!”

“I really fucked up this time,” I say, surprised by how nervous I sound.

I’m so confused. They keep telling me not to say anything and they say tell everything and they say the less you say the better and they say the more you say the more you dig your own grave. Shut up. Confess.

“You didn’t fuck up, Sara. They fucked up. Besides, you don’t need to worry anymore. I got something really important to give you, Sara.”

“What?”

But the guard knocks on the door. “Hey, Carrie,” he says. He’s a big-necked buffalo who used to be a bouncer at Charmers, but he says he quit ’cause he couldn’t stand the clientele.