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)
It’s twisted—all I can think is how I’m breaking the rules. I’m not supposed to look at any other student for any reason. But I have to look at the boy. They decided that I have to break the rules.
I hate them. I hate them all in a way I didn’t think was possible. I don’t understand how someone can cause so much pain and agony and then continue to live.
We have to get out of here. Before I turn to something else.
We have to listen to them, though.
We have to stay still and quiet and do as we’re told.
We have to obey to get out. It’s the only way.
I don’t even know the man on the other side. I’ve never seen him before.
There’s a small prick at my finger, like a needle almost. I nearly touch it. I nearly pick at it. Instead I press the tips of my fingers into the desk. My knuckles turn white and my hands go numb as I watch the boy get his punishment.
I don’t know his name either. This poor boy I dared to look at. This boy I dared to speak to. I thought we were alone. My throat dries and I wish I could tell him.
The pain in my throat is unbearable and I don’t know if it’s from the screams or from not being able to talk.
Maybe I am crazy, but if I am, it’s because the school has made me that way. If I expected everything to make sense, I probably would’ve died by now.
That sounds dramatic. I might have, though. Other girls have disappeared in the night, and when we wake up, their beds are empty. No one will say where they went or whether they’re okay. I pray they got away.
They were good. Not like me. They listened. Unlike me.
The boy doesn’t look at me and I’m grateful. It would only make me cry harder.
“Straighter,” a voice from behind tells me, fingers digging into my shoulder. I sit up and watch. “That’s better,” the voice says and I stifle a gasp as the man sits the boy in the chair.
He drags both the boy and the chair, the metal legs screeching. I silently pray that he doesn’t put him in front of me but he does. He can’t see me, I tell myself. But I can see him. Beaten and bruised.
“You did that,” the voice says and I don’t know if it’s the one behind me or the voice in my head. I know better than to respond to either.
I go through the alphabet again, letter by letter, and count slowly to one hundred.
I wish my mom was here. For the first time in what feels like months, I wish she was here to stop them.
It must’ve been something terrible.
It must’ve been something that kept them up at night. That scared my mom enough to send me away.
“Corporal punishment is the only thing that works with delinquents like you,” the man says.
Blood drips from the boy’s lip as he lifts his head and I swear he’s going to talk back. He’s going to say something, but he doesn't. The only way I can stop looking at the boy is to close my eyes, but I’m not allowed to close my eyes.
My heart hammers and I memorize his face. Every detail. I swallow thickly and I pray for the guard to say the boy’s name.
Time ticks on. Not minutes, but hours. Hours of sitting there, watching him forced to sit and stare at the mirror on the wall.
They did it to me first. How long has it been?
There’s a ringing in my ear and I can’t hear. Please don’t ask me to repeat what he’s saying. I pray, my heart racing.
“Are you listening?” He sticks his fingers in his hair and pulls. The boy’s face crumples. “Are you listening to me?”
“Yes, sir,” the boy answers. He speaks. His voice. I’ll remember it forever. I can barely breathe as I watch.
He screams at the boy who tears up but doesn’t cry. I wish he would, if he would give in, maybe the man will stop.
It will never end.
It will never, ever end.
The voice tells me.
“You’re worthless!” The man screams. “You’re completely worthless. You shouldn’t exist. Nothing about you should exist. There’s nothing that makes you worthwhile. I don’t even think you can understand that. I don’t think you can do what you came here to do. What did you come here to do?”
“Learn, sir,” he answers. “And follow the rules.” I know what will happen if I react. I know what will happen if I cry.
On the other side of the window, the boy twists his head at an angle that has to hurt. His eyes meet mine again. I thought my heart couldn’t beat any faster, but it does.