A/N: Italics mean it's a flashback.

Callie

No eye contact.

Only fight when you need to.

And above all else, don't let them see you cry.

I have survived eight foster homes living by these rules and juvie is no different. I couldn't tell you what's worse. At least here, you're guaranteed three meals a day and a shower. Cold showers albeit, with no privacy whatsoever, but it's better than nothing.

I should be happy: I'm being released today. Released to the wild. I wonder where I'll end up this time, maybe a group home. Horror stories of them circulate among us foster kids. I've managed to stay out of them for all these years but this juvie stint might just land me in one. I turn over in my cot. Springs creak as I pull the thin, scratchy blanket tighter around myself, willing it to rid me of the permanent chill that has settled in my bones. I stare at the cinderblock wall next to my bed. The wake-up call is going to sound soon, and breakfast will follow afterwards. Everything runs like clockwork here.

6:00, wake up. Make your bed, shower.

7:00, breakfast.

8:00, school.

12:00, lunch.

1:00, back to school.

Free time is from 2:00 to 7:00, then we have dinner, and at 9:00 its lights out.

I live by this schedule; I have lived by this schedule, for the past three months. It's been programmed into me. If I want, I can go through my entire day without giving a conscious thought to what I am doing at that particular moment. Most of the time, this is what I do. I can't allow myself to think too much, because as soon as I do, my thoughts drift to Baby.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?!"

I'm on my feet as soon as I hear Jim's angry shout. There's only one other person in the house he could be yelling at like that. I dash through the hallway and follow the yelling to his bedroom. Jude is backed up into a corner. He's wearing a strappy pink dress and it doesn't take long for me to figure out what is going on. Jude's face is pale and his eyes are wide with absolute fear. Jim is towering over him, belt in hand.

"I'm not having some fucking fag live in my house!" Jim roared, and before I could say or do anything, his hand came down and the belt struck Jude right across the face.

"STOP!" I grabbed Jim's arm and tried to pull him away from my brother. Jude was on the floor by now, hands pressed to his cheek as he tried to make himself small in the corner. Jim rips his arm out of my grasp with ease and shoves me hard. My head hits the back of the wall and I see stars for a moment. When I finally get my bearings together, I see that Jim is repeatedly hitting Jude with the belt, going for any skin he saw.

"Fucking faggot!" he yells, not letting up with the blows.

"Stop!" I yell, crawling towards them, "Don't touch him! Leave him alone!" Jim doesn't even let up when he kicks me away. The wind goes out of me and I gasp for a second as tears spring to my eyes. I struggle to my feet and stumble into the hall. I glance wearily at the phone and consider calling the police but there is no use. We were in a poor area and they wouldn't listen to some punk teenager. My eyes frantically search the area, hands coming up to grip my hair as I begin to panic. I spot the baseball bat Jim keeps by the door in case of robbers. I could try to take him out, but what if I failed and it just winds up that I gave him something else to beat my brother with?

Still, I wrap a hand around the end of the bat, clutching it tightly. I glance around some more and my gaze goes to the window. Jim's Trans Am is parked in the driveway; his precious car. I look back down at the bat and suddenly I know what to do. I run outside and only hesitate for a second before raising the bat high above my head and bringing it down with a satisfying WHACK on the windshield. It shatters like ice and the alarm begins to blare. I don't let up. I hammer the bat into the headlights and take off one of the side mirrors.

"YOU FUCKING BITCH!" I hear, "I'LL FUCKING KILL YOU!" I look up to see Jim coming towards me, pointing his finger threateningly at me, belt still in his hand. He's almost near me when I hear the saving sound of police sirens. I could almost smile. Jim has no choice but to stay where he is. The squad car comes to a screeching halt in the middle of the street and two men in uniform hop out.

"What's going on here?" One of them asks, stepping in between me and Jim.

"She's psychotic!" Jim exclaims, gesturing wildly at me, "She's freaking out over nothing!" I lunge at him and the cop has to hold me back. Jude is not nothing.

"He's lying!" I yell as I attempted to free myself from the officer's grip, "He was hitting my brother!"

"The kid fell!"

"You're full of shit!"

"Hey!" The cop interrupts, "First of all, you need to give me that bat." I sigh and hand it over. I watch as he gives it to his partner before he turns back to me, reaching for something from his belt.

"I'm going to need you to turn around, young lady."

I give him a confused look, "What?"

"You're under arrest."

The system is such bullshit.

An alarm blares, signaling that it's time for us to get up. I take a moment to myself, to pull myself together, before pushing the blankets off myself and sitting up. I think for a minute that this is the last time I'll be going through this routine. I have no reason to be sentimental over this. Out of the frying pan and into the fire.

We shuffle down the corridor past the now empty cells on our way to breakfast. There's one guard at the front of the line and one at the back. The scared girls, usually the new ones, will try to get right next to a guard so that they're protected; so that they're safe. They're naïve to think this way. I'm in the middle, mixed in with the others. I notice a girl towards the front turn back and give me the once over.

Daphne. Her hair is pulled back into cornrows and she has a face that can only be described as a 'Permanent Bitch Face'. She turns back again to look at me. I keep my eyes trained to the back of the girl in front of me.

No eye contact.

She begins to fall back in line, urging girls to go ahead of her. I start to get nervous, but she can't know that. She'll feed on it. In a few seconds, she's right in front of me. I wonder if she can hear my heart pounding against my rib cage, or smell the sweat that prickles my skin.

"You're gettin' out today, huh?"

I remain silent.

"That's what we heard."

Again, I say nothing. Daphne turns around and gets into my face, "Why you so quiet, huh? You was all mouth the other day when I cut in front of you at the showers. Lost my yard privileges 'cause of you." There's another girl behind me, breathing down my neck. Clearly, she's with Daphne. For every 'friend' you make here, there's one less person to beat you up. I don't receive any warning before Daphne's fist connects with my face. Not a second later, the lackey throws her own punch right into my stomach. The air rushes out of my lungs and I am forced to the ground as the blows reign on me. I consider fighting back, but that would not work out in my favor.

Only fight when you need to.

I could get into trouble. That would delay my release and from getting my brother. Instead of fighting back, I lay there. Pathetic. My ribs are on fire and my face stings. I force back any tears in my eyes because then Daphne can't get the satisfaction.

Don't let them see you cry.

Not soon enough, the beating stops when a guard finally pulls the girls off of me. Took long enough. He hauls them away and another guard comes over, a woman. She picks me up by my arm and I choke back a gasp of pain.

"You okay?"

"I'm fine." I mumble as I touch a finger to my lip. Not surprisingly, I see blood when I pull my finger away. The guard sighs, exasperated, as if my injuries are inconveniencing her. She gives me a little shove down the hall.

"Let's get you cleaned up."

I sit inside the infirmary, a paper towel pressed to my lip to stem the bleeding. I can hear the warden talking to the guard outside.

"What the hell happened?"

"Two girls got her on the way to breakfast. They've been taken to C-Block."

A sigh, "Well can we get her cleaned up before her parole officer gets here? We don't need to get any shit from the higher ups." My ears perk up at this: I knew I was getting a P.O. today, but I hadn't heard anything of them until this moment. I pull back the paper towel. A good section of it is soaked red with blood.

"How are you doing?" The nurse asks, an older woman. She's kind, probably one of the kindest people here. She hands me a Q-tip with some Vaseline on it, "Put this on. If your lips get chapped the cut will hurt a lot more." I take the Q-tip and slowly stand up. My ribs protest every movement I make, no matter how slight. By some miracle I make it across the room to the mirror so that I can see what I'm doing. I get a good look at myself. A bruise is beginning to form on the side of my face, creeping down towards my chin. I move my mouth a bit and instantly regret it as the pain shoots through me. Carefully, I begin to dab the Vaseline on my lip. With the mirror, I can see the backs of the guard and warden outside.

"I'm going to have to take her over to meet her P.O. right after she's done or she'll be late," the guard says gruffly, shifting his weight, "What's this guy's name again?"

There's a rustling sound, like papers being shuffled, "Uh…Foster. Officer Foster."

I'm so happy you guys like this! Thank you for the reviews, I really appreciate them all :) Callie and Stef will meet next chapter and Stef will receive some background on Callie. I really like writing this so far (it's fun!), even though I keep forgetting to write in the present tense and not the past.

Any requests/things you would like to see? Let me know.

Please review!

-Liv