Burning Page 15

  I glance over my shoulder to make sure I’m alone, then ease the door open. It swings in without creaking. I step inside, holding my breath even though I know the room is empty. Jessica’s tucked away in the basement right now, poring over stacks of library books on rickety tables.

  Still, I check over my shoulder before moving inside, half-afraid I’ll see the little girl hovering at the end of the hallway, her eyes slowly turning black.

  I close the door behind me with a soft click. Technically we’re not allowed to close our doors except for at night, but I don’t want anyone to wander past and wonder what I’m doing. Ten minutes isn’t a very long time, so I get to work. Officer Crane and the others did a pretty thorough job of checking our room, but I’ve lived in this eight-by-eight-foot space for almost two years. I know every inch of concrete by heart.

  I crouch next to Jessica’s bed and peer into the shadowy darkness below. About a year ago, Cara got it into her head that she could roll makeshift cigarettes using old math worksheets and chamomile from torn-open tea bags. She hid them in the wire frame beneath her mattress. They burned too quickly and tasted like chamomile-flavored ass, though, so she gave up and threw them out.

  Now there’s nothing under the bed but dust bunnies and an old gray sock with a hole in its toe. I dig my teeth into my lower lip, thinking. I scramble to my feet and head over to Issie’s locker. There’s a gap between the wall and the locker itself where we usually hide the cookies and tiny bottles of tequila Issie’s brothers sometimes sneak in. I swipe my hands over the cold, crumbly concrete. Nothing.

  I lean against my bunk, pulling my knees up to my chest. I run my hands over my short, curly hair, then lower them to my eyes. This room is the size of a closet. There aren’t many places to hide a stuffed bear.

  I stare through my fingers at the bed across from me. Jessica’s bunk. Her thin blanket stretches tight across the mattress, and she’s tucked her lumpy pillow neatly on one end. She was lying there when she hid that damn bear. I remember how the moonlight bounced off her eyes as she hugged it to her chest. A second later, it was gone.

  I kneel, then crawl over to the bunk, checking the metal frame. I look for holes along the mattress edges and pillow seams. Nothing. Damn.

  Frustrated, I fall back on Jessica’s bed. One of Cara’s conspiracy-theory posters still stretches across the wall, held in place with yellowing Scotch tape. I stare at it for a moment, then carefully peel the tape away from the wall, revealing a small hole in the drywall.

  “Jesus,” I whisper. My heart beats so hard that I can feel my pulse in the veins running down my arms. The hole is small, barely large enough for me to shove my hand through. I hold my breath and reach inside. My fingers brush against dry, ashy fur.

  If I were a spy in a crappy mystery novel, this would be the moment I got caught. My palms start to sweat. The back of my neck tingles. I’m suddenly certain there’s someone behind me. Watching. I spin around, nearly falling off the bed.

  There’s no one there.

  “Chill,” I whisper to myself. Dr. Gruen’s in her office. She didn’t follow me here. I exhale and pull the teddy bear out of the hole and onto my lap.

  It looks worse in the daylight. Bits of snowy fluff spill into my hands, and the bear’s glassy eye hangs from its face by a long thread. Jessica’s burned this thing clear through. Every inch of fur is black and crusty.

  Seeing the tattered, burned bear in my lap rattles something deep inside my chest. I picture Jessica standing in the hallway, clutching the bear in one hand. Don’t let them take me.

  I pinch the glass eye between two fingers, tempted to tug it clean off. Nerves prickle up my arms. What am I doing? Jessica trusted me. Am I really going to hand her over, just like that?

  I have no choice. I’m screwed if I don’t cooperate with Dr. Gruen.

  But I shove the tattered bear back into its hole anyway, and I tape the poster in place over it. Then I lie back on Jessica’s bed and spend a long time thinking about absolutely nothing.

  The mood inside Brunesfield changes after the raid. Everyone knows at least one girl who’s been sent to Seg, either because of something found during the raid, or for walking too quickly in the halls, or for forgetting to say “officer” when addressing a guard. The girls are silent in the corridors, whether their hands are in diamonds or not, and even the nicest guards have stopped joking around with us. Even Mateo seems stiffer with us than usual, like someone warned him to stop being so friendly. If we aren’t being punished, it’s like we don’t exist.

  This isn’t the time to get in trouble, Mateo said. But it’s practically impossible not to.

  It seems obvious that Dr. Gruen is behind the changes, but I can’t figure out why. What can she gain from making the rest of us miserable? She’s supposed to be here to help.

  I lower my head to the sticky breakfast table, doubt and curiosity gnawing at me. It’s been two days since the dorm raid and we’re all huddled together in the caf. Something smacks against the table behind me and I jerk around. But Ellen just knocked over a glass of water.

  “Jumpy much?” Cara asks.

  “Just tired, I guess,” I lie. Most of the other girls have already finished their breakfast but they’re all still here, poring over the twenty-year-old science textbooks they found in the library. Every few minutes, I hear someone snap at someone else to stop chewing so loudly, or to quit tapping her pen against the desk. Even Issie has a ratty biology book propped in front of her.

  “Did you know the Atlantic puffin can swim underwater?” Jessica says this with her mouth full, and when she gets to the word “water,” a Cheerio flies across the table and lands next to Cara’s thumb.

  “Oops,” Jessica says. Cara flicks the Cheerio away.

  “I think you broke her,” Cara says to me. Jessica hasn’t stopped talking all morning. It’s been a nonstop barrage of questions about our lives, mixed in with obscure animal facts. Ellen has already shushed us twice.

  “I guess.” I hunch back over the table, my head resting on my folded hands. It’s Visitors’ Day, and family members will be here in less than an hour, but the girls in the caf make no moves to return to their dorms. Issie, Cara, and I have to stay behind until everyone leaves so we can gather dirty trays and wipe down countertops.

  Cara pokes me on the arm. “You okay?”

  “Fabulous,” I deadpan.

  “Forget I asked,” Cara mutters. I open my mouth to apologize, then close it again. I’ve been pissy and anxious for the past two days, but I can’t tell my friends about Dr. Gruen’s threat without explaining my mother’s horrible letters and Jessica the pyretic.

  I glance at the cafeteria door. I keep expecting Dr. Gruen to walk in. She knows that I know where Jessica’s bear is hidden. Any second she’s going to drag me to my room and make me tell her everything. Twice now, I’ve hung behind as the others filed out of our dorm, and twice I’ve stared at the poster above Jessica’s bed, willing myself to just grab the damn bear and get this over with. But something always holds me back. If I believed in things like a sixth sense and intuition, I’d say it was that. Dr. Gruen can’t be trusted, no matter what she threatens me with.

  But Dr. Gruen doesn’t come into the cafeteria. No one does. Mateo’s the only guard on duty right now. He leans against the wall, eyes trained on the fly lazily circling his head. We haven’t spoken since our fight in the Seg Block. So there’s another thing to feel crappy about.

  “Why do you write those words on your fingers?” Jessica asks, poking Issie’s hand. Issie looks up from her textbook.

  “I’ve got to study, girl,” she says, but she makes a fist. Faded Sharpie letters dance across her knuckles, spelling out the word “hurl.” Jessica squints to read it, then snorts with laughter. This time she covers her mouth with her hand so she doesn’t spit cereal across the table.

  “Be quiet!” Ellen snaps. Jessica’s face turns red.

  “Why did you make it say that?” She presses her hand ag
ainst her mouth, and it muffles her voice. “Why not write something pretty?”

  “Like what?” Issie asks.

  “What about ‘happy’?” Jessica says. Issie frowns and counts her fingers. Mateo catches my eye over her shoulder, then quickly looks away. My cheeks flare. I stare down at the table, pretending it doesn’t bother me.

  “Nah, that has too many letters,” Issie says. “You don’t want to use the thumb because then you can’t read the word. See?”

  Jessica screws up her face like she’s trying to think of a good word. I trace a water ring with my index finger.

  “You could write ‘home,’ ” Jessica says, taking Issie’s hand. She counts off a letter on each finger. “H-o-m—”

  A scream echoes through the caf, cutting her off. I stand so quickly I bang my elbow on the edge of the table. Aaliyah leaps out of her folding chair, accidentally knocking it to the ground. Metal slaps against the concrete and echoes off the walls.

  “The hell?” Cara says, swiveling in her chair. Mateo pushes away from the wall, a hand resting on his nightstick.

  “All good, ladies?” he calls, ambling over to Aaliyah’s table. Aaliyah shakes her head, pointing to the floor.

  Something squeaks. A spot of brown weaves between the table legs.

  “Mouse!” I say, half in relief, half in disgust. I crawl onto my chair, hugging my knees to my chest. Cara squeals and crawls onto the table.

  “Ew,” she shrieks, peering over the side. The mouse darts beneath the table, whiskers twitching.

  “It’s just a mouse,” Issie says, but she scoots her chair back and lifts her feet off the ground. Mateo stops next to our table and kneels.

  “Why don’t you girls move so I can chase it out from under there,” he says.

  “No way.” I shake my head. It was bad enough when the mouse was trapped in a drawer in the library. Now I imagine that tiny, furry little creature climbing up my pant leg, whiskers scratching my skin. The thought makes me want to puke.

  Mateo glares at me and yanks his nightstick out of his belt. He must still be stung from our fight because he doesn’t order me to get down. He taps his nightstick against the ground, making kissy noises.

  “Come on, little guy,” he murmurs. The mouse twitches its nose, watching Mateo with glassy black eyes.

  “You’re scaring him,” Jessica says. She crawls out of her own chair and crouches on the ground next to Mateo. “Mice have emotions just like people. They’re very empathetic.”

  “Jessica, don’t,” I hiss. She ignores me and stretches out a hand, her fingers inches from the mouse’s tiny pink nose.

  “Hello, Sir,” she whispers, like it’s a lost pet that got out of its cage.

  “Did you just call him sir?” Mateo asks.

  “That’s what Ellen calls him,” Jessica explains. “He must’ve gotten out of his drawer.”

  The mouse creeps closer. Its pink feet look like little hands.

  “Don’t touch it,” I say. Jessica crawls under the table. She pulls a Tootsie Roll out of her pocket.

  “It’s just a field mouse,” she says, unwrapping the Tootsie Roll. “We had them where I used to live.”

  I press my lips together, thinking of the depressing gray house where Jessica grew up. I picture her and her foster brother kneeling on the ground, tracing pictures in the dirt with twigs. I bet they caught mice and tried to keep them as pets.

  “This one probably has all sorts of weird juvie diseases,” Cara says, as she curls her fingers around the side of the table and leans over, watching. Jessica holds out the Tootsie Roll. The mouse creeps closer, sniffing.

  “Ellen feeds him these,” Jessica whispers. “She lets me help sometimes.”

  Mateo shifts his eyes over to Jessica and then back to the mouse. I hold my breath as he edges forward, lifting the nightstick. The movement makes Jessica flinch.

  “No!” she yells. The mouse darts away before Mateo swings the nightstick. It disappears into a hole in the wall, its pink tail swishing behind it. Great. One more creature to hide in the pipes while I shower.

  “Dammit, Jessica!” Mateo lowers the nightstick, dejected. “We can’t have a mouse running around here. Cara’s right, it could have rabies.”

  “You can’t kill Sir,” she says, popping the Tootsie Roll into her mouth. She scurries over to the wall to examine the mousehole. Or try to coax it out with another Tootsie Roll, I think, grimacing.

  “You’re such a bully,” I say, hopping off my chair. Mateo’s lips hitch up at the corner—an almost-smile. He shoves his hands into his pockets.

  “You would have tried to kill it too,” he mutters.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  “You gonna tell us what crawled up your butt and died?” Issie asks once we get back to our dorm. I try not to grimace at that delightful visual.

  “Nothing.” I plop onto my bunk and throw an arm over my face. Jessica’s already down in the library, probably explaining to Ellen that her mouse is hiding inside the cafeteria walls. It’s just the three of us.

  “Wrong answer,” Issie says, tossing her textbook onto her bunk. “You’ve been pouting for, like, three days.”

  “Seriously, nothing—” I start.

  “Come on, Issie. You know Angela’s always an überbitch on Visitors’ Day,” Cara says, shoving her feet into her slip-ons. She catches my eye and winks. I feel a fierce stab of gratitude. She’s covering for me and doesn’t even know why.

  “Are you leaving too?” I ask. I don’t feel like being alone right now, and Cara and I usually spend Visitors’ Day together. We play cards and read while Issie greets her legions of admirers. She has this huge extended family, and someone new visits every week, bringing chocolate and presents and telling crazy stories of the outside world.

  I only have Charlie, and he’s too young to visit without an adult chaperone. Cara doesn’t have anyone.

  Cara pauses at the scratched mirror hanging on the wall above our newly reinstalled sink. “I’ve got a meeting with Dr. Gruen.” She leans in closer and swipes a finger over a nonexistent spot on her front teeth.

  Just that name—Gruen—sets my teeth on edge. “What? Why?”

  “Uh, because she’s gotten about a million demerits in the past week and they’re going to make her spend the night in Seg,” Issie explains.

  I don’t know whether I’m more freaked out by the idea of Cara spending a night in Seg, or asking Dr. Gruen for help. “But why do you have to go to her?”

  Cara frowns at her flawless complexion and pushes her bushy hair behind her ears. “She said we could discuss my options.”

  “But Cara—”

  “Why do you sound so scandalized?” Cara catches my eye in the cloudy reflection of the mirror. “I thought you liked her. And Mary Anne says she helps a lot of girls.”

  I hug my knees to my chest, trying not to glance at the poster on the wall across from me. I’m starting to realize that Dr. Gruen’s definition of “help” is not the same as mine. Cara was the last person I expected to fall for her act. I want to tell both her and Issie what she’s really like, but I can’t make myself say the words. I have this horrible suspicion that Dr. Gruen herself is waiting just outside our door. That she’ll appear the second I say a word against her, my mother’s letter pinched between her long, thin fingers.

  “Just be careful,” I say, finally. “She’s . . . different than she seems.”

  Cara holds my gaze for another beat. It looks like she might say something else, but then Issie pushes past her to get to the mirror, and the moment passes.

  “My brother promised to bring me some M&M’S,” Issie says, smoothing her thick braid over one shoulder. “The peanut ones. You want me to bring you two some M&M’S? I think you could use them.”

  She turns around and cocks her head, looking at me like I’ve just told her my kitten is dying of cancer.

  “No, I’m fine,” I say, distracted. “Go see your family.”

  Issie wrinkles her nose. I sw
ear, she’s a ninety-year-old grandmother in a tattooed sixteen-year-old body.

  “I’ll bring you an M&M,” she says, squeezing my shoulder. “One of the blue ones. They’re the best.”

  Cara tightens her ponytail and follows Issie into the hall.

  I stare after them for a long moment, guilt twisting my chest. I should have warned them about Dr. Gruen, but I’m not sure how I could have. Even now a guard paces up and down the corridor outside my door, reminding me that I’m never really alone. Someone’s always watching. Always listening.

  I sigh and lean back in bed. I don’t look at the poster above Jessica’s bunk, even though the spot draws my eye like a magnet. I walk my bare feet up the side of the wall. The cold cinder blocks tickle my toes. I picture Cara perched on a leather chair in front of Dr. Gruen’s desk, Dr. Gruen leaning forward to offer her something that sounds too good to be true.

  The image changes. Now it’s not Cara sitting in that leather chair—it’s me. Dr. Gruen’s reading my mother’s terrible letter out loud and I’m trying not to scream.

  I roll over and bury my face in my pillow. I can’t lie here obsessing over this. I need a distraction.

  I could listen to Tuck Everlasting again.

  Or try to find Cara’s deck of cards.

  Or write a letter to Charlie.

  The last option is the only one that doesn’t involve moving, so I close my eyes.

  Dear Charlie, I think. I’ve screwed up my last chance of getting out of here, and now I won’t see you for practically a whole year. Send cookies.

  I sigh and turn onto my back again. That won’t work. I stare at the insides of my eyelids and wait for better words to come to me.

  Nothing.

  More nothing. I tap my feet against the wall.

  Then, “Hi.”

  Fear shoots through me, and I sit up so quickly that I bang my head on the bunk above me.

  “Jesus.” Mateo takes a step into my dorm, then freezes. The male officers aren’t allowed inside our rooms. Obviously.