“Yeah, let me get upstairs before they do,” I say without thinking.
“Jasmine, you really don’t need to do that,” Travis insists. “I know it’s hard right now, but we’re a family.”
I want to ask him why he’s being nice to me after what happened yesterday, but I don’t. “Thanks,” I say, retreating into the hallway.
It’s not long before he’s on the phone placing the pizza order.
The front door handle turns just as I reach the stairs, and I bolt up to my safe space. A little later, I hear Kayla’s voice in the hallway and catch the words “not doing okay.” I wonder if she means herself or me. I guess it could be either.
I lean against the closed door and shut my eyes. Tears stream down my cheeks for the first time today.Now that everyone knows I’m a screwup, will I ever be happy again?
I go over to my notebook and look back through my writing. I’ve already written about Samantha trying to run away, the rooftop, and the silent alarm. I decide to write about what’s been going on the last couple of days since that’s how I processed my time at the center.
But as I start scribbling, something clicks in my brain. I wipe my tears and sit up as pieces start to fall into place. Samanthasaid someone told the staff on her. I never really considered it because what would they have to gain? Then I remember how Amari seemed to be up to something at dinner just hours before. Could she have overheard us talking in the bathroom? Amari always wanted to spend time with me. I turned her down, afraid of getting in trouble… until Samantha got caught and I ended up in trouble anyway. After that, I gave in to Amari and started running around with her.
Another memory: Tanya asked about the roof alarm as if all the girls knew about it. Did Amari? She stayed one step ahead of everyone at the center… how could shenotknow? And if she led me to the roof without telling me about the silent alarm, why? Was that her way of messing up my release and keeping me at the center longer? Well, good for her, because it worked.
As I retrace my history, the truth hits me—every time I started to pull back, Amari found a way to draw me closer, even if it meant hurting my chances of going home.
Everything’s a game.
I can see her face so clearly, her smirk turning up the corners of those perfect lips. If everything’s a game, then it’s clear: Amari won.
22
After barely leaving my room all weekend, I woke up this morning physically unable to push myself to go to school. Kayla poked her head in, but I pretended I was asleep in case she didn’t want me to know she was checking on me. My mom said I should prepare to show up for dinner tonight, so I’ve spent most of the day dreading the moment I have to face them all at once. I assume she’s on her way up here to make sure I haven’t run away. I put my notebook down and move to the door to listen for footsteps.
My emotions are confusing. I don’t think I want to have dinner with them, but I do think I want them to ask. I stand there listening, imagining Kayla bouncing down the hall like she usually does, announcing that we have “duties to attend to,” as if showing up for dinner is a chore. Travis and my mom hated when she said that, but I thought it was hilarious. And though tonight it absolutely would be a chore, maybe I wouldn’t mind it.
I don’t hear anything from the hallway. I wonder if my mom even cares.
I walk back to the bed and slide the notebook under my pillow. I spent half the day obsessing over my new realization that Amari’s whole goal in spending time with me was to have someone fail as badly as she had. Or worse.
At first, I was so overwhelmed by shock and rage that I couldn’t do much more than stare at the words until my vision blurred. But then I got the idea to change the names and write it like a story. Somewhere along the way, it started to feel like this had all happened to someone else. I kept going because I felt better getting my thoughts out.
Now, I feel scooped clean, but not totally in a bad way—just empty and spent from my swirling thoughts and emotions.
I’m picking out pajamas when there’s a knock on my door.
“Jasmine?” It’s Travis.
“Yeah, come in.”
He opens the door with a suspicious smile. “Oh, are you getting ready to come down?”
I step out with a set of cotton pajamas in my hand.
“Dinner’s here and we’d like you to eat with us.”
“We?” I want to clarify exactly who wanted me downstairs.
“Yes, Jasmine. All of us would like that,” he says, his brown eyes earnest.
I put the pajamas on the bed and sit next to them. I’m not used to saying no to Travis since he doesn’t do much of the demanding around here. I wonder if that’s why he’s the one who came up, because they know it will be harder for me to turn him down.
“Can I sit?” He points to my desk chair.
I nod.
