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She blows out a breath, making her thick dark bangs flutter. “I can’t go out this weekend. Miller took away my outing privileges. Again.”
“What? Why?” I ask, outraged.
“I don’t know, something I did last year. Maybe because I put a rat in her office.”
Yeah, that.
Poe snuck a rat into her guidance counselor Miss Miller’s office last year.
I have no idea where she got the rat from — probably on one of her rare outings — and how she managed to hide it from all of us. Until Miller screamed in the middle of a very peaceful school day and ran out of her room.
“Well, that was last year though. Can’t she let it go?” Wyn asks.
“No.” Poe mimics Miller’s nasally voice, “‘Because as you know the school policy is that all grievances get carried over to the next semester. So I’m going to have to revoke your outing privileges until midterms.’ Fucking bitch.”
“Ugh, I hate her.” I shake my head.
“I can’t believe I have the same guidance counselor,” Salem laments.
I totally feel her pain.
Poe and Salem share the same guidance counselor and I swear Miller is Satan. My guidance counselor is pretty mellow on the other hand — another thing that I can admit that I like.
Poe bangs her fist on the table. “See? That’s why I hate him.”
None of us need her to elaborate who he is. Her guardian.
“This is why,” she continues. “All of this is happening because of him. Everything wrong in my life is because of him. Everything. That stupid, tweed-coat-with-elbow-patches-wearing, unfashionable, old… man.”
Wyn, Salem and me, we look at each other and press our lips to stop from laughing out loud.
“Old man.” I nod.
“Unfashionable too,” Wyn says.
“Yeah, let’s not forget unfashionable,” Salem instructs us. “And elbow patches.”
I nod for emphasis before saying, “How dare he? Tweed coats, oh my God! The man should die.”
Poe narrows her eyes before throwing her empty water bottle at me. “You guys are the worst.”
And we burst out laughing.
Which somehow turns into the highlight of my day so far.
Sitting on these hard benches, under the gray sky, laughing with the friends I’ve made at this reform school, I forget why I’m here in the first place.
I forget that I don’t have any freedom now.
That I’m caged inside these brick fences and iron gates.
That I’ve been caged here for two years now.
Because one night when I was sixteen, my heart broke.
It broke so badly that I died.
I died from the pain, and when I came back to life, I went from being good girl Callie to a heartbroken girl.
A girl who, in the throes of her pain and her hurt, did something that she never could’ve imagined doing.
A girl who did it all in the name of love.
I became a girl who was supposed to land in jail for it — for the thing I did, the crime I committed — but somehow was sent here.
As a mercy.
Away from everything that I’ve ever known: my town, my home, my four older and overprotective brothers.
I forget all of that and just laugh.
Which makes Poe growl. “Fine, whatever. Laugh it up. The only choice I have now is to live my best life. Tomorrow night.” She lowers her voice then. “When we sneak out.”
Tomorrow.
Tomorrow is Friday.
Fridays are special.
On Fridays, we sneak out, all four of us.
And if tomorrow is Friday, then today is Thursday.
And Thursdays are special too.
For me.
It’s a little before midnight and everyone has gone to sleep.
Especially my roommate, Wyn.
Which works out great for me.
Because as I said, Thursdays are pretty special and I have somewhere to be.
So slowly, I climb out of my bed and go to my dresser. I open it and grab my pre-packed bag and creep out of my room.
Out in the darkened hallway now, I close the door behind me and look from left to right. The coast seems to be clear so I walk down the narrow hallway, which is flanked by beige doors and walls that have bulletin boards and motivational posters hung on them.
My feet are quick but quiet, matching the silence this time of night.
Well, except for the low drone of the television up front in the reception area.
There’s a twenty-four-hour warden – they change shifts – to keep an eye on things and I’ve chosen Thursday in particular to sneak out because I know Miss Alvarez likes her late-night shows way more than she likes watching over the bad girls, and after two years of sneaking out, I’m an expert.
I know all the twists and turns of this hallway. I know how long it will take me to reach my destination if I walk at a certain speed. Twenty-five seconds.
It’ll take me twenty-five seconds to go where I want to go.
I’ve timed it.
And sure enough, twenty-five seconds later I’m there.
At the exit.
