I am definitely in shock. I must be. I cannot fathom how I can be here, me who doesn’t do anything wrong, who is a people-pleaser, whose every report card is filled with perfect As, whose boyfriend’s dad is the head judge of the Guild.
I go through my actions on the bus again, over and over in my head. I go through them so much they start to blur, like an overplayed song. I think about what I did, what I should have done, what I could have done better. I become confused as to what actually happened. I watch it happen over and over in my head; it’s like staring at somebody’s face until that person eventually starts to look different. I sit on the bed, my back against the only solid wall of my cell, and push my head to my knees, hugging my legs. I don’t know how long I sit like this; it could be minutes, it could be hours, but my heart flits from calm to panic as I reason with myself.
I can’t be Flawed. I can’t be Flawed.
I am perfect.
My parents say so, my teachers say so, my boyfriend and even my sister—who hates me—say so. My sister. I think of Juniper’s screams of defense as I was taken away, and my eyes fill. My big sister, who was flailing against the unmoving Art to get to me. I hope she’s okay. I hope they didn’t take her, too. She will be forced to say she didn’t agree with my actions, and I worry instantly. I don’t want to drag her into this. Who knows what Juniper will say? And what about Art? How is he feeling right now? Is he in trouble? Will his dad help me or never speak to me again? Will Art ever speak to me again? The thought of ever being without him makes me feel sick.
Around and around it all goes.
A door slams and I look up.
Tina and a male guard escort a boy who looks about my age, maybe a little older. They pass my cell and take him to the one beside mine. I can tell by his familiarity with the place that he isn’t new here, unlike me—as I was being led in, I frantically looked around to examine my new surroundings. His T-shirt is covered in white powder, and so is his hair. There are splashes of it on Tina and the male guard, too, which confuses me. The boy is tall, broad. He has a bold, stubborn face, a guilty look. He’s young like me, but his face looks older.
The fact that he is young makes me sit up. I want him to see me. I want to share a look, a glance, something to comfort him, and to comfort me. The guards aren’t as polite and gentle with him as they were with me, and this, selfishly, gives me hope that this has all just been a great big misunderstanding and I’ll be able to walk out of here as normal. I watch him, his mean, tough, bold face, and will him to look at me. I wonder what he has done. It can’t be a criminal act or he wouldn’t be here, but it must have been close. Whatever he has been accused of doing, I have no doubt that he has done it.
He looks up at me once he steps into his cell and sees me through the transparent wall we share. My heart flips. Contact with somebody, for the first time in hours. But as quickly as he sees me, he looks away again and strides with his long, lean legs and sits with his back flat against the transparent divide, so that all I can see are his back muscles, rippling through his soiled T-shirt.
Insulted, scared, and suddenly feeling even more alone, I sense the tears start again. They comfort me; they make me feel human and remind me that I am human, even in here, in this box within a series of boxes.
The guards lock his door and leave. They disappear out the main door and I’m alone again, but this time with a boy who won’t look at me.
The main door opens, and I see Mom, her face worried and frantic, and my dad, stern, wide jaw working overtime to contain himself. As soon as Mom sets her eyes on me, she becomes composed again, like she’s taking a walk in the park and enjoying her surroundings, so I know that it must be bad. When Dad sees me, his face collapses. He’s never been one to hide his feelings. Tina unlocks my cell door, and as they enter I rush to hug them both.
“Oh, Celestine,” she says, voice laden with grief, as she squeezes me tightly. “What on earth possessed you?”
“Summer,” Dad says harshly, to which she reacts as if she has been slapped.
I feel stung, too. The first real contact I’ve had since this happened and I was hoping for defense, for backup, not for an attack, not for my own mother to agree with them and point the finger at me. I knew that I was in trouble, but now it is really setting in.
“Sorry,” she says gently. “I didn’t mean to, but it is just so out of character for you. Juniper told us what happened.”
“It didn’t make any sense,” I say. “The whole thing defied logic.”