Ms. Strepp was too tense to answer as the action unfolded on the screen. The guy outweighed Cassie by at least fifty pounds, and was six inches taller. Some inmates backed up to give them space, while others came to watch.
The guy made a fist and drew it back to give himself maximum power, but before he could even swing, Cassie launched herself at him as if she were a windmill in a hurricane. He was much more powerful, but she was lithe, hard, and fast. She flitted around like a mosquito, getting in multitudes of sharp, angry, well-placed jabs. It seemed only seconds before both of his eyes were swelling, his lip was split, his nose broken and bleeding. He limped from where she stomped on his instep, and was grimacing in pain from the killer kidney punch she had nailed him with—twice.
It was over quickly. The bully limped off to the jeers of the prisoners, his fists still clenched as he spit blood on the ground.
Cassie had a welt swelling on her jaw, a knot forming on her forehead, and her knuckles were bruised and scraped. She sat down again, somewhat stiffly—he’d landed one or two rib punches—and managed a smile.
Her devotees quickly sat down next to her, and as Strepp and Warden Bell watched, Cassie held up her hands again to start the game.
“Amazing,” Warden Bell said.
“Yes,” Ms. Strepp said, somewhat breathless. “I wish—”
“You know what’s going to happen,” Warden Bell said sharply. “There’s a bigger plan in play here.”
“I know.”
The women turned away from the screen, and so they didn’t see Becca Greenfield scowling at her sister, then hurrying after the guy her sister had just beaten.
65
BECCA
AFTER CASSIE’S SHOW-OFFY DISPLAY IN the prison yard, I was twice as glad that she wasn’t bunking with me, Merry, Diego, and Vijay. They fell in beside me when the alarm sounded for us to go back to our rooms.
“Is your cell, like, really hostile?” Vijay asked. “You and Cassie have both kind of… taken to fighting super quick.”
“Nah,” I said, but I’d noticed the same thing. “Maybe just ’cause we’re used to hard work? So we’re strong?”
“You!” a voice boomed. “You quit talking!”
I clenched my teeth as I recognized the voice of our crazy-house traitor: Tim the Guard. I’d felt for him after our fight, when we were in the pen and he was yapping about being forced to fight, blah, blah, blah. But now, as he stood a head taller than anyone, important in his guard uniform, all I could muster up was loathing. He strode toward me and Vijay, tapping his billy club against one open palm.
“Shut up and hustle, people!” he said, pointing his billy club at me.
I narrowed my eyes and gave him a quiet sneer.
In seconds, he had yanked me out of line, slammed me against a wall, and pressed one forearm against me, right under my neck.
“You shut your trap!” he snarled, then grabbed my jumpsuit and practically hurled me back into line. Facing forward, I seethed and started swearing in my head, and then I realized my pocket felt weird—heavy. I put my hand in… and managed to keep my face blank for the rest of our march to our room. I didn’t dare look at Tim as he slammed our door open and waited for us to file inside, then slammed it shut. He marched off, locking in other prisoners, and I moved slowly to the back wall, trying to get as much out of the view of the hall camera as possible.
Then I turned my back and carefully took my hand out of my pocket. The hand that was holding an apple that Tim had sneaked to me.
A real apple. It felt like forever since I’d seen one. The tasteless mush they fed us had no recognizable real food ingredients, and here I was with a whole real apple.
“Guys,” I whispered almost soundlessly. “Circle round.”
My roommates’ eyes fastened onto the apple as if it were a unicorn.
“Where did you—” Diego began, then held up a hand. “Never mind. Don’t want to know.”
Slowly I brought it to my mouth and bit into it, feeling the skin break and tasting the sweet burst of juice. I almost moaned out loud. Then I passed it to Merry, whose startled, ravenous look gave me all the thanks I needed. She took a bite, closing her eyes and chewing slowly, and passed the apple to Diego. Diego made the sign of the cross and muttered a prayer, and then took his bite. He did moan out loud, but squelched it pretty quickly, handing the apple to Vijay.
Vijay almost inhaled it, and I remembered that they had all been here longer than me. It had been even longer ago since they’d seen an apple.
We took turns passing it around, and each managed to have at least five bites. We ate everything, even the core, and afterward I was as happy and full as if I’d just gotten up from Thanksgiving dinner.
Then I lay on my bed, savoring each bite over and over, reimagining it, running my fingers against my lips, still tasting the apple in my mouth.
The apple that Traitor Guard Tim had given me.
What was he doing?
Was this a trap?
If so, I had just jumped right into it, headfirst.
66
CASSIE
MY ROOMMATES WERE ALL RIGHT. I was the only girl, but Hayden, Mikaelus, and Rayray didn’t treat me any different. Now that I was in another hall, I hardly ever saw Becca—maybe sometimes at meals or out in the yard. Mostly we just scowled at each other, like we were two other people instead of Cassie and Becca Greenfield, twins.
Back home in our cell, there had been lots of people, but lots of space. There had been room to be alone, where you could just sit under a tree listening to the breeze. Here, I was never alone, ever. There was approximately zero privacy, from the bare, stainless steel toilet in our cell to the coed showers, and coed everything else. Share an open toilet with three guys? It went from being an unthinkable impossibility to just business as usual in about four hours.
Same with the coed showers. At first you think you’d rather just stay dirty. But after a day or two of caked blood, mud, dank water, random dust, and the possible slime mold you sat on in the mess hall, you were completely and totally eager to strip down in front of thirty other kids. Completely and totally eager to bully a smaller kid out of the very rare soap. You didn’t even mind the obnoxious WHAT’S GOOD FOR THE CELL IS WHAT’S GOOD FOR THE CITIZEN sign rusting on the wall.
“That’s a good look for you.”
Becca’s dry voice made me turn quickly, brushing suds out of my eyes.
“What, clean?” I asked.
She shook her head and stood under the next ancient metal shower where sometimes rusty water flowed out in a tepid trickle. “Bruised. Banged up. Makes you look tough.”
I gave a tense, fake laugh. “Yeah, that’s me. Tough Cassie.”
Becca snorted and tried vainly to work up a lather from the hard sliver of soap.
“Listen, Beck,” I said in a low voice. My sister gave me a chilly, uninterested glance. “I think I know what’s going on.”
Becca ignored me.
“Listen, you little ass,” I said, “who I somehow still happen to love. I think we’re being drugged.”