I handed it over.
“It will have to be thoroughly checked every time you enter the front door. Everything you bring in has to be cataloged, and contraband removed.”
“Contraband like . . .”
“Drugs, cigarettes, alcohol, cell phones, laptops. We do allow portable music players, as long as they don’t have Internet access. So your iPod,” he said, nodding at the earbuds dangling out of the kangaroo pocket of my hoodie, “should be fine. I’ll get your bag checked and make sure it gets back to you ASAP,” he said with a toothy grin. “Got anything else in your pockets, Mara?”
I blinked. “Um, string or nothing?”
“Excuse me?”
I raised my eyebrows. “The Hobbit?”
He looked concerned. “A what?”
“It’s a book,” my father piped up. He met my gaze and winked.
Mr. Robins looked from my father to me. “You have a book in your pocket?”
I tried very hard not to sigh. “There’s nothing in my pockets, is what I meant.”
“Oh,” he said. “Well then, you won’t mind emptying them.”
It wasn’t a request. That would take some getting used to. I emptied my pockets to find some change, a packet of sugar, a receipt, and of course, my iPod. “That’s it,” I said with a shrug.
“Great!” He indicated that I could take everything back.
Just as I finished, a tall girl with lank, dyed black hair peeked in through the doorway. “Mr. Robins?”
“Ah, Phoebe. Phoebe Reynard, meet Mara Dyer, your new buddy.”
I extended my hand. The girl eyed me warily, her eyes deep set in her wide moon face. She had a perfect ski slope nose that didn’t quite match the rest of her features; it seemed lost, like it had wandered onto the wrong face.
After inspecting me for what felt like an hour, Phoebe took my hand and gave it a limp, sweaty shake, then dropped it like I was on fire.
Awkward. Phoebe’s eyes darted back to Mr. Robins.
“All right, I’m going to send you two off,” he said, “while I speak to your parents for a bit, Mara, and introduce them to some of the staff. Phoebe—you know what to do.”
Phoebe nodded, then walked out without a word. I gave my parents a low thumbs-up and then followed Phoebe out.
She led me down a different hallway that was sparsely decorated with unironic motivational posters. I kept waiting for her to say something as we passed different partitions within the space, but she never did. Awesome tour.
“So . . .” I started. How to break the ice? “Um, how are you?”
She stopped short and faced me. “What did they tell you?”
Oh, boy. “Nothing,” I said slowly. “I was just making conversation.”
Phoebe glared at me. Continued to glare at me. But just as I was about to scurry back to my parents, Jamie reappeared. He stood at attention.
“I’ve come to rescue you,” he announced.
“You’re not supposed to be here,” Phoebe mumbled.
“Now, now, don’t be testy, Phoebe.” His eyes never left her, but his next words were for me. “Has Sam come back for you yet?”
“Nope,” I said.
“Then you have the next ten minutes free. Want to make them count?”
I looked over at Phoebe; she was ignoring both of us. Her lips moved, but no sound came out.
“Is that a rhetorical question?” I asked him.
Jamie grinned. “Would you like to join us, Phoebe?”
“I’m busy.”
His brows drew together. “With what, pray tell?”
Phoebe didn’t answer. Instead, she sank down to the floor and stretched out like a plank. I found this to be highly alarming, but Jamie just shrugged.
“There’s no point,” he said to me. Then, “Don’t forget Group, Phoebe,” before we headed out.
“So where are we going?” I asked him.
“Does it matter?”
I followed him into an open area with sleek white leather couches. He swept his hand in front of him. “The common room. Where we share our feelings.”
I sank onto a couch. I remembered meeting Jamie on my first day at Croyden; it wasn’t that long ago but it might as well have been a million years. He decoded the social hierarchy, he showed me around. I was lucky he was here.
“What’s with the face?” he asked.
“Was I making one?”
“You were looking all wistful-like.”
“Just a touch of déjà vu.”
Jamie nodded slowly. “I know. It’s like we just did this.”
I smiled, and looked at his bizarre T-shirt again. I tilted my head at the image of the ancient Greek Rockettes. “What is it?”
He looked down and stretched the picture out. “Oh. A Greek chorus.”
“Ah.”
He leaned back against the leather couch and flashed a grin. “Don’t worry, nobody gets it.”
“Mmm.” I cocked my head to the side, considering him. “It’s weird that we’re both here, right?”
A noncommittal shrug.