Burning Page 10

  Jessica whips her head around. The black has just started to melt from her eyes and I watch in mixed horror and fascination as the oily tendrils crawl back to her pupils, leaving her eyes white again. Normal.

  She stares at me, shocked, for what feels like a full minute. Sounds from the outside world rush in to fill the sudden silence. Sleet and rain rattle the windows. Wind howls. The heat fades from the tiles, and I feel cold all the way to my bones.

  Jessica grabs the soaked and crumbling teddy bear off the floor.

  “Don’t tell,” she whispers.

  Chapter Twelve

  Jessica’s eyes are the first things I see when I wake up the next morning. They peer out from the bunk across from me, half-hidden by the thin blanket bunched around her face. God, she’s small. Her feet don’t even reach the end of the bed.

  “Line up!” Officer Crane raps her knuckles against our door. An alarm buzzes down the hall, telling us the doors have been unlocked. Officer Crane pushes our door open.

  “Out of bed,” she says, knocking on the wall this time. The twisted, red scar pulls at her top lip, making her sneer even more pronounced than usual. “If you’re not in the hall in two minutes, you can kiss your shower good-bye.”

  Cara groans and pulls her blankets up over her head. Issie sits up, sending her bedsprings creaking. Early-morning cold seeps in through the walls, making my fingers feel slow and clumsy. I push my blanket back, reluctantly.

  “Shower time,” Issie says in a singsong voice, swinging her legs over the side of the bunk. There aren’t enough showers in Brunesfield for every girl to bathe every day, so each dorm has an assigned shower time twice a week. Last night’s excursion kept me tossing and turning until morning, and I’m so tired that my eyelids feel like lead. But missing your time slot means an extra three days of smelling like feet, so I crawl out of bed and grab my towel and flip-flops.

  “Rise and shine,” I say, giving Cara’s steel-framed bunk a shake.

  “Ugh. Stop,” Cara says, but she crawls to the ladder, her eyes half-closed. Jessica slips out from under the blanket and huddles next to my leg. I drop my hand to her shoulder. It’s muscle memory left over from years of being an older sister. As soon as I notice what I’m doing I pull my arm back, my fingers tingling.

  “Don’t look so nervous, runt.” Issie loops her towel around her shoulders and cuffs Jessica on the arm. If Jessica looks terrified of anything, it’s Issie. It takes a little while to get used to her massive frame and the colorful tattoos winding up her arms.

  “She’s cool,” I say to Jessica, nodding at Issie. “Don’t be scared.”

  “Damn straight I’m cool.” Issie leans against the door. “I’m ice. I’m the tundra.”

  Cara slams her locker door and Jessica jumps. “Move your asses,” Cara says, slipping a pair of bright orange flip-flops onto her feet. “I don’t want to miss my shower.”

  “Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed,” I say, following Issie into the hall, Jessica trailing behind me like a puppy. If I turned too quickly, I’d step on her.

  “No, I woke up on the wrong side of the bunk,” Cara says. “The top bunk.”

  I roll my eyes to tell her to get over it, then hurry behind the other girls already waiting in the hall. They’re lined up at the blue line, their hands forming diamonds on their lower backs.

  I glance down at Jessica. “Like this,” I whisper, touching the tips of my fingers together to show her what to do. Jessica twists her skinny arms behind her back and something inside my chest pinches. I study the top of her head. I don’t think it’s an act—she really does look terrified. She flinches at every loud noise and hasn’t once met another girl’s eyes. She’s practically trembling in her too-large scrubs.

  If she were anyone else, I’d say she wouldn’t last a month. Weakness is preyed on here. Brunesfield is very much a bully-or-be-bullied environment.

  But last night I saw Jessica coax flames out of thin air. Soot still coats the bottoms of my feet, proving it wasn’t just a dream. She’s stronger than anyone here, maybe stronger than anyone I’ve ever met.

  So what’s she afraid of?

  “Looking good, ladies.” Officer Crane’s eyes travel over the twenty or so girls lined up in front of their dorms. “Let’s get through this quickly.”

  “Like hell,” Issie says. When Crane turns her back, Issie nods at the girls in the line ahead of us.

  Peach watches us. “Dyke,” she taunts. I resist the urge to roll my eyes. I guess she’s decided that slut and whore aren’t insulting enough anymore.

  “You’d think she’d be bored with us by now,” I say. Cara pulls at a thread hanging from her shirt.

  “When you only have two brain cells I guess it takes a long time to get bored,” she says.

  “Ignore her,” I whisper.

  “Whatever,” Cara says. She yanks the thread out of her shirt with more force than necessary.

  “No talking when your hands are in diamonds!” Officer Crane shouts. Cara and I fall silent. Crane turns around, and I wiggle my fingers at Peach behind her back. Peach bares her teeth and hisses like a cat.

  The line shuffles forward, and Crane makes her way back to the front. Cara waits until she’s out of earshot, then picks up a crumpled SciGirls brochure that someone dropped on the floor.

  “You heard about this?” she asks, straightening out the brochure.

  I shake my head. “No Just what Dr. Gruen told me.”

  “Aaliyah was talking about it in the activity center. She’s all nervous about passing some big test you have to take in order to get in.”

  “Are you thinking about what Mary Anne said?” I ask, plucking the brochure out of Cara’s hands. “That you should sign up?”

  “No,” Cara answers quickly. She clears her throat. “I mean, it doesn’t really seem like my kind of science. Dr. Gruen called me into her office to talk about it, but she called Roswell a hoax when I asked about aliens.” Cara flicks the edge of the brochure with one figure. “Why, are you signing up?”

  “I hadn’t thought about it,” I say, truthfully. I’ve been too distracted by Jessica to consider whether or not I want to get involved with SciGirls.

  Cara tosses the brochure back onto the floor. “Probably better that you don’t,” she says. “Just another government official attempting to brainwash us with her crazy propaganda.”

  “Right,” I say.

  “Stay on the blue line, ladies,” Crane calls out once we’ve reached the end of the hall. Nobody moves, but as soon as she heads into the bathroom to supervise, we drop our hands from behind our backs and lean against the wall.

  “So, what’re you in for, runt?” Issie asks. She has this way of talking to everyone like they’re her very best friend in the world. It works too. I’ve seen her make friends with the meanest girls in here. But Jessica just stares at the floor.

  “What’s wrong? Did the Seg Block get you down?” Issie asks. “Cara was in Seg for a week and she didn’t talk for like a month after she got out.”

  “I didn’t talk for two days,” Cara snaps. Issie shrugs.

  “Whatever. I’m just saying it’s okay if you’re scared.” Issie slides a black Sharpie out from the waistband of her pants and weaves it through her fingers. The word on her knuckles still reads “ham!” but she’ll have us write something new after her shower washes it away. “I was scared when I first came here. Used to cry myself to sleep every night.”

  I’ve been sharing a dorm with Issie since the day we both arrived, and I’ve never heard her cry herself to sleep, but I keep my mouth shut.

  “Anyway, the girls here aren’t that bad,” Issie continues. “You’ll see.”

  “Don’t touch me, you fucking whore!” someone shouts from inside the bathrooms. Officer Crane pulls the nightstick from her belt and raps it against the wall. It makes a deafening crack against the concrete.

  “Knock it off in there or you lose shower privileges for a week,” she yells. The gi
rls in the bathroom fall silent.

  “Anyway, you’re lucky you ended up with us,” Issie continues, like the disruption was nothing. “Because Angela and Cara and me are pretty tough. And we got your back.”

  “God, she doesn’t care, Issie,” Cara says, examining her cuticles. But Cara’s wrong. Jessica’s still staring at the floor, but she’s tilted her head slightly to the left. She’s listening.

  “Issie’s right,” I say. “Your dorm-mates are like your family, okay? So if anyone ever gives you any trouble, you come talk to us.”

  Jessica looks up to me and opens her mouth like she might say something.

  A scream echoes out of the bathroom, cutting her off. Officer Crane swears under her breath and yanks the nightstick out of her belt again. She storms out of the bathroom a moment later, leading Aaliyah and a girl named Carmen out by the arms. Three long red scratches cut across Aaliyah’s left arm. Carmen hisses something at her in Spanish.

  “Mouths shut, both of you,” Crane says. She pauses next to Issie. “I’m taking these two to see Director Wu. Keep the line moving.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Issie says, and the four of us head into the bathroom. The tiles are a pukey shade of beige in the light of day, and moisture makes the paint droop from the ceiling like stalactites. Black mold reaches out from the corners and stretches across the floor.

  All the showers are currently full. Peach stands in front of the last stall in the row, an orange towel draped over her shoulders. She scowls when she sees us. A tiny hand slips into mine. I look down to see Jessica clutching my fingers.

  “This is crap,” Issie says. I know what she means. Showering at Brunesfield is miserable on the best day. You’re only allowed two minutes under the water to clean as much of yourself as you can. Going over means the next person in line gets less time, so there’s always someone barging in on you, screaming that your turn is over.

  And then there are girls like Peach, who are constantly looking for someone to torture. A cruel smile twists her lips when she sees Jessica shuffle into the bathroom, holding my hand.

  “New girlfriend?” she asks.

  “Knock it off,” Issie says. “She’s just a little kid.”

  “Was I talking to you?” Peach snaps.

  Issie lifts a bushy eyebrow. I sometimes forget how scary she is. I’ve known her for so long that all I see is my friend, the girl who likes origami frogs and stories about running away to live in the woods. But Issie’s also the two-hundred-and-fifty-pound little sister of some seriously terrifying gang members.

  “Someone should teach you a lesson about calling people names.” Issie taps her knuckles together, flexing the muscles in her heavily tattooed arms.

  “Issie, don’t,” I say, stealing a glance at Cara. She could still have that knife tucked in her waistband, and I really don’t know if she’s stupid enough to use it. I step between them and Jessica drops my hand. She rocks back on her feet, staring down at the tile.

  “What’s the matter, Davis?” Peach says. “Thought I heard you were tough?”

  “Give it a rest,” Cara hisses.

  “Standing up for your girlfriend?” Peach snaps back. She jams her shoulder into my side, sending me stumbling into Issie.

  “It’s three against one, girl,” Issie says. “You really want to do this?”

  “Sounds like a party.” Peach smiles wide to show off all her teeth. That’s the thing about Peach—she doesn’t care whether she can win a fight. She just wants to do some damage.

  “Guys—” I start, but I’m cut off by a low, tuneless hum. I turn around.

  Jessica rocks back and forth, her skinny arms twisted around her chest. She digs her fingernails into her arms and hums steadily under her breath.

  Oh, shit.

  “Is she okay?” Cara asks.

  “No.” I push past Cara and drop to my knees, grabbing Jessica by the shoulders. “Jessica? Look at me.”

  Jessica shakes her head and pulls away. She drops her arms. The air around me buzzes.

  I think of Jessica making the sink explode, of fire clawing at the ceiling, and of the tiny red burns crawling up my arms. Fear uncurls inside me, and time slows. I need to do something, calm Jessica down or distract her. No, I have to get the other girls out of the bathroom before she hurts someone. I open my mouth to shout at them to run—then Dr. Gruen’s voice echoes through my head, warning me not to say a word.

  I haven’t told anyone what Jessica can do, but I don’t think that matters if they see it for themselves. I feel everyone watching us, waiting for an explanation. So I blurt out the first thing I can think of.

  “She’s having a panic attack. Issie, help me get her into the shower. That’s supposed to help.”

  Issie mans the situation like a linebacker, using her body to separate Jessica from Peach as she ushers her to the shower. Jessica doesn’t stop humming until she’s safely inside the stall, and I’ve yanked the flimsy curtain closed. I hold my breath, waiting for flames to shoot out from under the curtain and set the bathroom ablaze.

  The shower sputters on.

  “You okay, runt?” Issie calls.

  For a long moment there’s silence. Then a tiny voice squeaks, “Yes.”

  “You guys are a bunch of freaks,” Peach says. She slides the shower curtain aside and slips into the stall next to Jessica’s. There’s the sound of rustling behind the curtain as she undresses and turns on the shower.

  I exhale and collapse against the wall.

  Suddenly, Peach screams. A billowing cloud of steam rises from her shower. She yanks the curtain aside and stumbles back out into the bathroom, wrapping her orange towel around her body. Burns cover her arms and shoulders.

  Officer Crane races in from the hall. “What is it?” she asks. Peach gasps and points at the shower behind her.

  “The water,” she says. “It just started boiling.”

  The shower next to her switches off and Jessica pulls her curtain open. She moves past Issie, her own orange towel wrapped around her shoulders.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Plumbers arrive the next day. They replace our old rusted showerheads with shiny stainless-steel models that have adjustable water pressure and get hot in ten seconds flat. New sports equipment appears in the rec yard the day after that: soccer balls that are actually filled with air, and nets to kick them into, basketballs, and a hoop. Even the guards suddenly have top-of-the-line walkie-talkies hanging from their hips.

  We all know Dr. Gruen is behind the changes. Most of the girls have already been asked into her office to talk about school and volunteer work and their futures. SciGirls sign-up sheets show up outside the cafeteria and in the halls. In less than two hours, there’s a name scribbled in every single slot. I scan the sheets to see who got talked into signing up.

  Halfway down the page, I spot the name Isabella Suarez written in Issie’s loopy, girlie cursive.

  “Since when are you joining SciGirls?” I ask Issie later that day. We’re in the kitchen making lunch. Today’s delicacy: chicken potpie.

  Issie goes back to cutting the chicken into cubes. “You can’t just join. You have to be accepted. They only take the best. There’s a test and everything.”

  I pull open the freezer and start rooting around in the back for a bag of frozen peas. “I thought you said all that science stuff was geeky.”

  “It is geeky, but nobody’s asking me to join a watching-TV and eating-M&M’S club.” Issie shrugs and looks up from the chicken. “And Dr. Gruen said the girls get to go on field trips to, like, museums and stuff.”

  “Maybe when they’re not getting experimented on,” Cara calls from the other side of the kitchen. She wrestles a cookie tray out of the cupboard next to the stove and another three clatter to the floor.

  “Ignore her,” I say. “I think it sounds kind of cool.”

  Issie brightens. “Really? Because me and Aaliyah and Erin are forming a study group to prepare for the test. You could come.”

&n
bsp; The kitchen door swings open before I can answer, and Officer Crane walks in.

  “Hands in diamonds,” she barks. I put down the frozen peas I’d just found and glance at Issie.

  “But we have to make lunch,” I say.

  “Diamonds,” Crane says, her voice harder this time. I toss the peas back into the freezer and twist my arms behind my back.

  Crane holds the kitchen door open for us. “Let’s go. Yellow line.”

  “Yellow line?” Cara drops her hands. The yellow line leads to the infirmary on the second floor. “Why are we—”

  “Demerit, Miss Walker,” Crane says. “You know there’s no talking with your hands in diamonds.”

  “Well, technically they weren’t—”

  Crane raises an eyebrow. Cara shuts her mouth and winds her arms behind her back, making a diamond with her fingers. Every muscle in her body tightens, giving her the look of a very small prizefighter. Officer Crane brushes a finger against her scar absently.

  “To answer your question,” she says, “you’ll be getting physicals today. Now move along. Yellow line.”

  “Physicals?” Issie mouths silently behind Crane’s back. I shrug. The three of us follow Officer Crane down the hall and up two flights of stairs.

  A long line of Brunesfield inmates twists away from the infirmary door, surrounded by unfamiliar girls in crisp white polo T-shirts. The green patches on their sleeves read “SciGirls.”

  Issie pokes me in the back. “Look,” she whispers, nodding.

  “Yeah, I see them,” I say, careful to keep my voice low. The SciGirls look just as carefully perfect as the photographs in Dr. Gruen’s brochure. They’re all pretty and healthy, with little bows and headbands perched in their hair, their lips curved in polite smiles. I try to imagine anyone from Brunesfield wearing a SciGirls polo and beaming at a camera, but I can’t. We could never look like these girls do.

  “This way,” Crane says, leading us to the front of the line. “You three will need to get in and out so you have time to prepare lunch.”