Total pages in book: 48
Estimated words: 46398 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 232(@200wpm)___ 186(@250wpm)___ 155(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 46398 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 232(@200wpm)___ 186(@250wpm)___ 155(@300wpm)
They’d never let me hear the end of that one. All the bastards here would want to know how I learned her name in the first place. They hate it when we know each other from outside.
Nothing scares these people, but I guess the thought of us finding each other and comparing notes in the outside world makes them a little nervous.
If I knew her name, the most I would do is whisper it under my breath when everybody else was asleep. Just to hear how it sounds coming from my lips.
I want to know the shape of it in my mouth.
I want to know how it feels to say her name. I wish she’d say mine too. I want her to know it. I wonder if she’d call out to me. I wish she would. I’d do anything for her to say my name.
That’s what I’m thinking about in the lunchroom, pushing around the chunks of boiled chicken in rice with the plastic spoon. Nothing about the way the day has gone so far makes me think that anything will change.
The monotony of it all is enough to make you go insane.
There are always the usual things. The bastards in charge could flip our schedule upside down. They could come up with new sick-fuck punishments to try out on us. A few of them might be in a worse mood than usual.
I guess the opposite is true, too. A few of the staff members might be in a better mood than usual. They might be extra motivated to whip us into shape. They might go above and beyond and beat us harder than we’ve ever been beaten. It’s to beat the demons out of us, at least that’s what they say.
I don’t know what they get for that.
I hope it’s stacks of gold or the lives of their families or something like that. I wouldn’t do this for all the money in the world, unless I could use that money to burn this place down.
I let my eyes hover over the lukewarm meal, avoiding eye contact with everyone and moving as slowly as I can without getting in trouble for blocking traffic.
That’s the key. If I pay too much attention to what’s happening here, I get so angry I could explode. That’s happened enough times for me to know that it won’t get me anywhere.
If I pay too little attention, that’s basically an invitation for Mr. Jay to fuck with my hands.
He loves going after my hands—loves it more than anything else. I think that’s because he knows I’ll need my hands to do any kind of job when I get out of here. God knows I won’t be able to get a job with any kind of smarts. I’ve never been the sharpest knife so to speak. If he takes my hands, he’ll take my entire future, if I even have one.
That makes them an obvious target. A good target and an easy one too. And he always goes for the good targets.
Beside me on the bench is another kid who sleeps in my dorm. In my periphery I recognize him. We’re close enough together that I could nudge him with my elbow. I can feel the warmth of him in the air between us. But we might as well be on different sides of the country.
I don’t nudge him. I don’t even look in his direction.
He doesn’t look at me.
One of the staff members says something to him. I don’t catch what it is.
“Yes, sir,” he answers, his voice flat and toneless. I think he’s here about as much as I’m here. Maybe that means we’ll both make it out.
Maybe it doesn’t. I don’t know.
I focus on putting food in my mouth. The roll is stale, and I have to wash it down with half of my water. There’s some kind of vegetable. Green beans, maybe, but they’re shiny with oil or something. It’s not butter. I try not to pay attention to that, either.
I eat fast enough to avoid getting punished for eating slowly, and slowly enough to avoid getting punished for eating too fast.
When my food is gone, I fold my hands in my lap and stare at the table. That’s the safest place to look. Can’t meet anyone’s eyes with my head down.
I sit up straight.
I think about the girl.
I think about her face in the room with no cameras, and I think about her face on the other side of that glass.
I’m not paying much attention at all to the lunchroom, which is why I almost miss it when the riot starts.
It starts because of Mr. Jay.
One minute, I’m sitting still, waiting to be dismissed.
The next minute, there’s a sound.
It’s the sound of a hand hitting skin. More specifically, the sound of a palm slapping someone’s face. Hard.