I pull the dress on and look at myself for the first time in days or weeks. Days or weeks I’ve been in here, and in that time my breasts and hips have returned, fuller than they were before, as if I’ve gone through some postfever puberty. My face is framed by red bangs; the rest of my hair reaches below my ears, fading white at the tips. Freckles cover my cheeks as if I’d been sun-kissed. Will they recognize me from the photo in the newspapers? I look nothing like the fake, smiling girl in the Mount Doug yearbook. Do I look like the girl people envision when they read the newspaper articles and hear me described as troubled and naive?

I’m not worried. ’Cause I look like I’m falling in love for the first time. I’m pretty positive no one will recognize me.

I hope you don’t hate me for what I’m about to do. That’s your problem, I guess.

I trick myself: I’m going somewhere I belong, like Chinatown in New York, a place where there’s veering streets and crowds of people rushing around their exciting, thrilling lives.

Pull the sweatpants over my dress, stick the new notebook in my waistband. Too bad about the flip-flops, but Amber says shoes aren’t necessary.

In my cell, I draw a heart in pencil. It’s corny, but who cares? It’s the best I can do.

The guy in the kitchen has a crush on Houdini. Plus, she’s nonchalant. “Hey, buddy, your hot dogs are awesome. Got any cucumbers? I wanna do this mask thing ’cause I read that it gets rid of the bags under your eyes. Yeah, yeah, I got permission. Just one cucumber, please pretty please.”

Last night, she unlocked the door.

I slip toward the door, pretending I’m thin as Justine.

Sometimes it comes in handy to be ignored. And today is one of those days.

As the doors open, Amber and the kitchen guy have their backs to me. She’s got him searching through the freezer.

Then, I’m jumping off a ledge—pretending I’m Nicholas, knees to my chest as I perfectly execute my little three-quarter revolution.

Oh God, thank you; thank you, Everly.

Garbage bags of teenage criminals’ waste, that’s what cushions my fall.

She gave me a map, but I don’t need to check it ’cause I’ve memorized the lines.

There’s no guard dogs or search tower outside of the hick town juvie in this pretty town.

There’s just a parking lot shared by employees of the Capital Health Region District.

Through the Toyota Corollas and Subarus, over the yellow lines, and by the Reserved for the Handicapped signs.

Onto a street, past a corner grocery store with a handmade sign saying: LOTTO JACKPOT TICKETS ARE NOW HERE!!!! GET READY TO WIN!