It's lights out, but I can't sleep. This room is shaped like a white cement cereal box, small and narrow but with an inexplicably high ceiling. I don't understand why they need a ceiling that high. Maybe they used to have bunk beds in this room before some law kicked in about overcrowding. I don't know. But right now, it's just me and one other girl I've barely ever spoken with, and she's fast asleep.

There's a soft light coming in from the hallway, where guards are walking up and down, peering in at the windows in our doors. It should make me feel secure, but it makes it impossible to sleep. I'll close my eyes and begin drifting off, but when I hear footsteps outside my door, my body jumps to attention and I sit up, eyes open, feeling my pulse quicken. Being afraid is exhausting. It's easier to just stay awake.

My mind turns over and over, like a car trying to start, grasping at thoughts, memories, worries. It always goes back to Jude. Where is he? How is he? Is he hurt? Is our foster father hitting him right now, or screaming horrible things at him? Did Frank kick him out altogether? What if he's alone in an even worse foster home now, and it's all my fault? What if he hates me for leaving him?

The blankets are hot and scratchy and I kick them off, turning over and trying to find a more comfortable position. A flashlight shines in through the window, and I freeze. My pajamas are twisted around and part of my stomach must be visible to whoever is looking in. When the light is gone and the footsteps move away, I grab the blanket and pull it back over me. At least it's some privacy. Some protection. I tug the blanket up over my head. What about Jude? What protection did I leave him?

I hope he is sleeping with that baseball bat under his bed.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Get it!" "Get it!" An elbow hits me in the chest and I stumble backwards as twenty girls fight for the soccer ball that had been at my feet. Someone eventually kicks it out of the pack and they all move away like hyenas chasing a steak. I make no effort to follow. Being present for physical activity is mandatory, but I have no desire to toss myself into the fray. Instead I go over to the water fountain and take a few gulps, feeling the wind cool my sweaty forehead and play with my hair. My hair's become a slightly darker brown in the past two and a half months. Not a lot of sun-highlights in people's hair around here.

I don't even hear her come up behind me, I just feel the pain as someone grabs my ponytail and yanks me away from the fountain.

"Move, bitch." The girl with the cornrows pushes me aside, and leans over to drink some water herself. I put a hand to the back of my head, wincing, and try to back away. I'm not fast enough.

"You a pretty pathetic sight with a soccer ball. You must have learned from your mama, 'cause you kick like a girl."

I can feel my face flushing with anger. The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them.

"Well you must not have had a mother, 'cause you act like you were raised in a barn."

I'm expecting the punch, but that doesn't make it hurt any less. I duck so that her second one swings over my head, and take a leaf out of Frank's playbook and kick her in the stomach. She doubles over, trying to catch her breath, and I turn and run, back to the soccer game, back to the people who can witness any attacks. She catches up to me a minute later, but she's too late. I tell the guards I'm not feeling well, and stand near them on the sidelines for the rest of the game. Her expression promises revenge later, and I know I'll pay dearly for both the comment and the kick, but I can't help feeling a small sense of victory. Of course, if I get a shiv in the side tomorrow, I'm sure that sense of victory will be short-lived in more ways than one. But I'm winning today.

Pretty soon the soccer game is over, and we're lining up for showers. The girl with the cornrows edges her way up to me and launches into a series of curses and threats. I ignore it, and loudly tell her to stop cutting people in line. The guards hear, and march her back to her spot at the end of the line, several people away from me. Her face is absolutely murderous now.

One more week. I just have to survive one more week, and I can get out of here and find Jude. I jump behind the curtain and peel off my clothes. As the hot water streams down my back, I pretend it's his warm hands giving me a hug. I wonder if he'd be proud or scared because of what I did today. I'm thinking probably both. Because really, so am I.