Then
The hallways feel like they could go on forever, gray and windowless.
I’ve been making mental notes of the arrows painted on either side of the walls, and so far, I know the day nurse and the classrooms are somewhere to the right of where we’re headed.
We’ve walked through so many double doors that we must be in a different building from the one we started in.
This place is bigger than it looks from outside.
The sound of our footsteps and Ms. Bree’s keys have been the only noise in the halls since we entered them.
Where do the other girls live?
“This is the only time you’ll be in this elevator, unless it’s an emergency.”
We pile in. Samantha leans on the wall across from me.
“I know it’s a little tight in here, but remember, absolutely no touching,” Ms. Bree reminds us, putting another key in to push for level 3.
The elevator creaks like it doesn’t have many trips left.
“Sounds like being in here is the emergency,” someone whispers.
The girls let out bursts of laughter that we’ve been holding in. Mine is mostly fueled by nerves and sheer panic.
“Okay, ha, ha, ladies,” Ms. Bree says just as the elevator jolts to a stop. “Enough now.”
A woman with bright pink lipstick pulls the gate open. “Looking like one of the girls,” she jokes to Ms. Bree. “They weren’t playing about a full house.”
“Yeah, girl, like we needed it,” Ms. Bree says, pushing Samantha toward the woman. “She’s all yours. The rest of you to the wall.”
The woman moves behind Samantha and they go through two sets of doors. “You’re not going to give night staff trouble, right?” she asks before the doors slam behind them.
I can’t hear Samantha’s response, but I hear loud laughter from inside the room they’ve disappeared into.
“We’re going in there, quietly,” Ms. Bree says.
There are mumbles of agreement. I just nod.
Ms. Bree opens the first door and motions for me to walk through yet another gray hallway.
“Is there a time we actually get to talk?” a girl asks with the most attitude I’ve heard anyone give Ms. Bree up to this point.
I don’t move.
“Not really,” she responds.
“Of course.”
Ms. Bree marks something down. “Anyone else want to lose an early level?” She taps her pen to the clipboard almost like she’s daring us.
I don’t need to know what losing a level means to know I want no part of it.
“Walk,” Ms. Bree commands. I don’t hesitate.
I forgot to care about being first in line, which also meant being the first impression of the new girls. Now, my nerves return as Ms. Bree opens the second set of doors and the laughter from earlier gets louder.
“Over there to the right.” Ms. Bree points to a short length of wall to the left of a big windowed room labeled Unit Office. The laughter stops as girls on couches give us their undivided attention. The woman with the pink lipstick is in the office scolding a crying Samantha.
I find a spot on the wall, fix my eyes to the ground, and wait for further instructions.
“Ms. Pat, I better not get a roommate!” a girl yells from the couches.
“No yelling, Tanya!” a woman’s voice yells from the same area.
“Relax, new lady,” the girl says, and some others start laughing.
When I lift my head, I see that Ms. Bree has stopped sorting through piles of gray uniforms to glare at a thin white girl with braces.
“Ms. Pat, Tanya is…” Ms. Bree starts. The office door opens and Ms. Bree goes back to sorting. Ms. Pat steps out and moves to one side so Samantha can pass her.
“To bed.” She points to a single door to my right, and Samantha stomps off. “And Tanya, you had better stop yelling before you don’t sleep in any room up here.”
“I’m just playing, sheesh,” Tanya says. “Y’all so serious all the time.”
Ms. Bree counts uniforms, two for each girl. She puts the bundle under her arm and heads back over to us.
“She’s a good example of going nowhere fast,” Ms. Bree says.
I feel my stomach sink.
“Take your uniform and Ms. Kim will show you where to go.” She hands me a folded pile and keeps moving down the line.
I look around for Ms. Kim, the “new lady,” who is standing in front of a large barred window, pointing to a worn three-seater with wooden arms near the TV. I walk over to the couch, but Tanya and another girl are using the empty middle seat as a footrest.
“Make room, ladies,” Ms. Kim says to the girls, tapping the back of the seat with her clipboard.
They move their legs but don’t bother looking at me. I take a deep breath and clutch my pile as I drop my body into the middle seat, careful not to touch them. The volume on the TV suddenly gets louder.
“Oops.” A girl laughs, plucking a remote out from underneath her and throwing it into an empty basket next to the TV. She just misses a sign with big red letters taped right above it.
NO SHARING OF FOOD OR OTHER ITEMS.
NO PRIVATE CONVERSATIONS.
ABSOLUTELY NO TOUCHING.
No one is following those rules, I think to myself, looking around the semicircle of seats.
One girl is braiding another girl’s long dark brown hair as they lounge on beanbags.
Three girls are sharing a bowl of popcorn on the other side of the sectional.
Two girls are flipping through a notebook on single chairs that have been pushed together.
Ms. Kim puts the last girls on the couch next to me, where the girl already sitting there nods off so hard she almost hits her head on the wall.
Tanya chuckles. “Maybe she’s dying.” She turns to the other girl on our couch like I’m not even there.
“Gotta be.” The other girl laughs too.
I busy myself with a stray thread on my jeans, not saying anything.
“Ooh shoot, the new girl doesn’t think I’m funny,” Tanya says. She pokes her knee into my thigh, and I slide over until I feel the knee of the other girl. I take a deep breath and exhale loudly, keeping my focus on the office window.
Ms. Bree and Ms. Kim are huddled together, going over something on a clipboard. Someone please come out.
“You too good for jokes?” Tanya asks.
I close my eyes and slide my sweating hands under my thighs, preparing to stand up if she gets any closer.
“She thinks you’re corny,” the other girl says, laughing.
Someone mutes the TV and I open my eyes. Everyone’s attention has turned to our couch.
“You’re doing too much, Tanya,” the girl holding the notebook says.
She pulls a scrunchie from her pocket and gathers her long black hair into a tight ponytail.
I notice she has a really colorful tattoo on her left wrist and I’m immediately impressed since color tattoos don’t always show up well on dark skin.
She puts her hands on her knees like she’s bracing for something.
“You’re in my business again, Amari,” Tanya says.
The room is silent.
“You’re in hers.”
Tanya sighs just as the office door opens. “You’re lucky I’m making my level tonight.” She moves her knee and motions for the other girl to do so too.
“Tanya, the office now, please,” Ms. Pat calls out.
“Yeah, ’cause you’re a snitch,” Amari says, getting back to the notebook.
“And you’re a liar,” Tanya says, kicking Amari’s chair on the way to the office.
I move over enough to let my body sink into the couch and shiver as a streak of sweat makes its way from my underarm to my waist. I hope she doesn’t come back.
I look up to see that Amari is smirking at me.
I’m grateful for the kindness, but in prison movies, when someone saves you, you usually owe them everything.
I look away quickly and feel a tinge of jealousy of Samantha.
I hope it’s not too long before someone sends me to bed, too.
I’ve had about as much as I can take today, and I don’t want to end it in tears in front of everyone.
“You looked away like I was poisonous or something,” Amari says, taking a seat where Tanya was.
I glance at the office to make sure she isn’t heading back.
“Don’t worry about her, honestly,” she says. “I’m Amari.” She puts her hand out like she wants me to shake it, but I don’t take it. The rules are in big red letters. Even if no one else is following them, I’m going to.
“Hey, I’m Jasmine,” I say, “and umm, thanks for earlier. That was weird.”
Amari shifts in her seat so she’s facing me a little. Her eyes are such a dark brown they almost look black. They’re so intense.
I look away again.
“Hate to break it to you, but that’s normal. These girls are crazy.” She chuckles.
“Even you?”
She says nothing for a moment, and I wonder if she’s offended. Before I can muster an apology, she smirks again.
“Mostly me,” she whispers, and walks back to her seat.
I feel myself smile and look down at my shoes. I don’t want to make it obvious that her answer intrigues me. Thankfully, Ms. Kim starts sending girls to their rooms and she’s one of the first to go. Soon, I’m on my way too and looking forward to no more surprises.
When I get to the end of the hall, I see that the paper on my door reads SAMANTHA & JASMINE. I take the deepest breath I can and just hope the tears come out quietly.