This whole thing is her fault, Sergei’s fault. When we started seeing each other he never talked about her — I never knew a thing about her until the day we were at the store getting Popsicles and cigarettes and she was at the cash paying. She looked up and smiled, at him, not me. That’s when the trouble started.

Sergei will do the right thing. Or else, I told him. He made all of this happen. I keep going over and over what happened, because it’s easy to get the story mixed up.

It’s like it’s a comic book. I can see it in my mind whether my eyes are open or shut. It was so confusing at first, trying to remember, because it happened so fast. But then I remembered, piece by piece, picture by picture. I told the police how Sergei just went crazy. He was fanatical when it came to proving his love for me, and he was fixated on getting rid of her. I wanted to help Lulu, but I was scared of doing anything because he was so out of control. I realized he was crazy and maybe it could have been me lying in the lily pond, not her. Just a snap of the fingers and our roles reversed. I wish it was me, I told my father and the police. I wish it was me and not her who had to suffer, I said with my voice cracking. I couldn’t believe how upset I sounded. My father’s eyes filled up with tears and he said in a very kind voice that I wasn’t responsible for Sergei and what he did, and I shouldn’t blame myself.

Being locked up is probably harder on other kids in here than it is on me. I’m used to being on my own, because my father is always working. Except for now, when he’s visiting me, but just sitting there with his hands over his eyes, like he’s sleeping sitting up, or trying to punish me with his silence.

I’m also used to doing what I want, and that’s what’s hard in here. I can’t piss unless they authorize it. When I first realized they were going to charge me, I lost it. I was screaming and crying and this youth worker did what they call “non-violent crisis intervention.” Those words, “youth worker” — what a joke. She’s a guard. They should just be honest about this. I’m a prisoner. It’s a prison. I don’t know why they have to make up all this language to hide the truth. Who do they think they’re fooling?

There is a tiny window with bars embedded in the glass — it’s a state of the art facility. The window faces east and I can see a bit of the sky beyond. The sky is magenta as the sun comes up. They bring me breakfast in here on a tray and I get to look at the wall while I await transport to the courthouse, going over and over what happened, wondering what will be next.