Dream Where the Losers Go Read online

  But what about the birth control pills? Acid nausea swept Skey. The small piece of foil was still sitting inside her bra, where Jigger had tucked it back in. How carefully would Janey frisk her? Would she be embarrassed to feel up a girl’s breasts?

  “I’m going to have to search you now,” said Janey setting down Skey’s jacket.

  Skey took a step back, her face flushed. “Did you find anything in my jacket?” she demanded hotly. “No. You haven’t got any evidence, Janey. You’re just doing this because you like it. You’re a lez, Janey. A lez.”

  “Take off your shoes, Skey,” said Janey with a tired look on her face.

  “You’re going to make me strip?” shouted Skey. “What are you, a pervert?”

  “You just have to remove your shoes,” said Janey. “You can keep the rest on.”

  “My dad’s got money,” screamed Skey. “His lawyer will sue your ass.”

  “This will be a lot easier for both of us if you cooperate,” said Janey, then moved around behind her. Skey couldn’t believe the moment the woman’s hands flattened themselves against her back. Hot and cold waves swamped her, and she shook as the hands shifted downward and ran the inside of her legs.

  “Turn out your pockets,” said Janey.

  The only thing in Skey’s pockets was the rock. Slowly she pulled it out. The rock lay in her palm, gray with white markings, unbelievably ordinary. Would Janey be able to see it if Mr. Pettifer hadn’t?

  “There aren’t any drugs in it,” she muttered, glancing sideways at Janey. “It’s granite or something.”

  Janey frowned briefly, glancing from Skey’s hand to her face. Their eyes held, Janey’s searching, Skey’s blinking rapidly. If they took her rock, she would lose everything.

  “It’s just granite,” she said again.

  Hesitantly Janey reached out and touched Skey’s palm, her fingers passing right through the rock. “What are you talking about?” she asked.

  Skey stared at the warm brown fingers resting on her palm. She could see them superimposed over the rock, taking up the same space.

  “Nothing,” she muttered.

  Confusion flickered across Janey’s face, and then she moved on to the next step. “Could you lift up your sweater?” she asked. “Just to your stomach.”

  “Fuck,” Skey whispered. Abruptly Janey and the visitor’s lounge vanished, and the dark tunnel took shape around her.

  “You’re in trouble,” said the boy.

  Skey could feel Janey’s fingers running the inside of her waistband.

  “Someone’s touching me,” she hissed at the boy. “I think I’m going to throw up.”

  And then she did. Without warning, Skey vomited the remnants of Tammy’s lunch all over Janey’s surprised face and sweatshirt. Heaving and sobbing, she stood clutching Janey’s mucky arm for support until she was finished. Then silence took over again, the dark all around, close as breathing.

  “Sounds like you just did a number on someone,” observed the boy.

  “Yeah,” said Skey. She began to smile.

  “Feel better?” asked the boy.

  “Yeah,” she said.

  ANN STOOD IN HER doorway, openmouthed. “She frisked you?” she demanded.

  “Yeah,” said Skey.

  “And you threw up in her face!” Ann squeaked.

  “Yeah,” said Skey.

  Upon her return to the unit, Skey had taken a shower in one tub room cubicle while Janey had showered in the next. Now she was sitting on her bed, her body clenched like a fist as she stared out her window at the nothingness of gray sky. With an effort, Skey turned her head and met Ann’s dark gaze. At that moment, it hit her—how wrong she had been. She wasn’t different from the girls in this place. It had just taken her a while to understand their loud voices, their constantly pounding stereos and the rigid way they held their bodies as they stalked their cage. She was one of them.

  “I’d kill her,” said Ann.

  “I feel like it,” Skey whispered.

  “C’mon,” said Ann. “Let’s tell the others.”

  They emerged into the unit to find most of the girls sprawled on the couches in front of the TV, waiting for dinner.

  “Skey just got frisked,” Ann said loudly, approaching the group.

  Skey watched the girls’ heads come up, their nostrils flaring.

  “Who did it?” asked Viv.

  “Janey,” said Ann.

  “Bitch,” said another girl.

  “Like to see her try and feel me up,” said someone else. En masse, the group turned and stared at the office.

  “She find anything?” asked Viv.

  Skey shook her head, and Viv gave her a tight grin. Behind that grin, Skey could feel it—anger like black fire dancing from Viv to the rest of the group. Two more girls came out of a bedroom, and Viv beckoned them over. Now every girl in the unit was huddled around the couches. In the office, staff were grouped around Janey, conferring.

  “Skey’s been strip-searched,” Viv informed the two girls.

  Standing to one side of the couch, Skey opened her mouth to clarify, then closed it again.

  “We’re one for all and all for one in here,” Viv announced loudly. “Skey’s done things for me, and now we’re gonna do something for her. We gotta stick up for ourselves or they’ll start doing that to all of us. Got it?”

  The girls nodded.

  “We gotta show them,” Viv said intensely. “Now. Let’s turn this place upside down. Get us some blood. Blood for blood.”

  Getting to their feet, the girls formed a close circle around Viv, and Skey moved into the circle with them, feeling rage pull the entire group into one thought, one mind—a mind she understood now, a mind where she belonged. This was her rage, and even though she had never felt anything like it, she pushed deep into it, calling it to herself like blood and breath. At the center of the circle, Viv picked up a lamp and began to swing it. Quickly, Skey reached for a second lamp that stood nearby, but as she did, something invisible began tugging at her mind, pulling her away from the lamp, the couches and the TV. Without consciously deciding to, Skey began moving away from the rest of the girls, out of their black fury into a different darkness, where she could be quiet and rest. In the tunnel, there was only the sound of breathing—the boy’s and her own, separate from the rest of the enraged seething world. She began to shake violently.

  “No,” she whispered. “Not blood. No blood.”

  “Whose blood?” asked the boy.

  “They’re taking it away from me,” she said. “They’re stealing what happened to me and making it theirs. It’s not theirs. I don’t want blood.”

  “Can you get away?” the boy asked.

  “I could go to my room,” she said.

  “Do it,” he said.

  To her left, the girls had shifted into a half circle and were moving toward the office, overturning furniture as they went. Someone kicked at a wall, and a gaping hole appeared. Without a sound, Skey slid along the opposite wall to her bedroom door. As she slipped through it, she glanced back to see Janey standing by the office, watching her. The staff gave her a quick nod and tears burned Skey’s eyes. She closed her door and locked it.

  Through the door, she heard Janey shout, “Girls, I want each of you to go into your own room and lock your door. You’ll be safe there.”

  With a desperate sucking in of breath, Skey listened, but Janey didn’t add, “Like Skey did.” Almost immediately, she heard Ann enter the next room. After this, the noise in the unit continued unabated for what seemed hours. Lying curled into herself on the floor, Skey shuddered with each crash and scream. At one point, several bodies thudded against her door and she scrambled toward the opposite wall, but the locked door held. A little later, she heard a deep male voice yell, “Police!” Things quieted soon afterward, but she didn’t open her door. Crouched in the white tunnel, she had wrapped both arms around herself and was rocking intensely. Nothing is safe, a voice wailed inside her head. N
o one could be trusted; everywhere people erupted into sudden violence. How was she supposed to know what would be coming at her next?

  Something touched her hand. Startled, Skey opened her eyes and found herself alone in her room, the door still locked, the unit quiet. The sensation came again, someone’s fingers pressing lightly against the top of her left hand.

  “Are you safe?” asked the boy.

  Darkness faded in and she found herself crouched in the dark tunnel, the boy beside her, touching her hand.

  “I’ve been thinking and thinking about you,” he said, “trying to pull you in here. For a long time you were just a glow. Purple-blue. But now you’re here. I can feel you, you’re in.”

  “I thought you didn’t like to touch,” she whispered.

  The boy squeezed her hand, then pulled away. “I don’t,” he said. “Especially you. You’re like touching a scream, you’re all pain. It wasn’t easy.”

  “But you kept trying,” she said.

  “I’m all pain too,” he said.

  “We found each other because we’re the same,” she said. “We’re in the same place, aren’t we? No one else ever comes here.”

  “When I ran away from you,” he said, “I got lost. I had to feel my way back.”

  “Did you use the carvings?” she asked eagerly. “They’re like a map, aren’t they? I haven’t figured them out yet, but you must have—they led you back.”

  “No,” said the boy. “There aren’t any carvings. I just thought about you—your voice, the way your voice feels to me. That’s how I found you.”

  The darkness was like arms, holding them close.

  “Just don’t touch me,” the boy said. “Not ever.”

  “No,” she said. “I won’t. Never.”

  THERE WAS A knock on her door. “Skey?” called Janey.

  “Yeah yeah,” mumbled Skey.

  “You can come out now,” said Janey.

  “Maybe I don’t want to come out,” said Skey.

  “I need to know how you are,” said Janey. “If you don’t come out, I’ll have to come in.”

  Skey let out a groan. Huddled against the outer wall for hours, she ached from head to toe. With a grunt, she pulled herself stiffly to her knees and creaked to her feet. Then she touched the rock in her pocket, took a deep breath and unlocked her door.

  Her mouth dropped as she caught sight of the unit. Holes gaped in the walls, tiles dangled from the ceiling and the furniture was in pieces. Several cracks angled across the office window, but the wire had held firm. Beside her, Ann’s door slowly opened.

  “Holy shit,” whispered Ann.

  Across the unit, Monica and another girl wandered out of their rooms.

  “You four are the only ones left,” said Janey. Glancing at her, Skey saw the woman’s left cheek was bruised and her sweatshirt torn. A small patch of hair seemed to be missing from her head. “The others have been taken to the detention center,” Janey added quietly.

  “Are they coming back?” asked Ann.

  “They’ll be facing charges,” said Janey. “We’ll see what the judge says. You girls did the right thing. You went into your rooms and stayed out of trouble.” She blinked, and Skey saw tears in her eyes. “Way to go,” the woman added.

  “I was mad,” admitted Monica, “but I didn’t want to wreck the place.”

  Skey’s knees gave a sudden wobble beneath her. Too much. The whole thing was just too much of too much. Taking a step backward, she turned, about to fade into her room again, but Janey caught her by the arm.

  “Don’t you waste a second thinking this was your fault, Skey,” she said fiercely. “Viv was looking for something— anything—to blow on.”

  “I told her,” Ann said miserably, staring at the floor. “Skey didn’t.”

  “But I told you,” said Skey.

  “Of course you did,” said Janey. “Friends talk to friends. No crime in that.”

  Their eyes met, and for the second time that day, Skey felt it. Opening—she was opening to the people of this place. But this time it was a different kind of opening; she belonged with Janey and these three girls in a different way.

  “I’ll help clean up,” she said quickly.

  “Me too,” the others echoed.

  Janey smiled tiredly. “First, let’s have dinner. It’s nine o’clock and I’ve been hungry since four.”

  THEY WERE FEELING their way along the tunnel walls, the boy on his side, she on hers. What had happened in the unit was now over, part of another life. She hadn’t told him about it—the riot didn’t belong with the two of them, here in the dark.

  She stopped, her fingers tracing a carving of circles that radiated outward from a small hole. Sticking her finger into the hole, she slid it around the empty space.

  The shape of it, she thought. There’s a sound to it. It’s the shape of a sound.

  “What are you doing?” asked the boy.

  “Come here,” she said.

  He shuffled to her side, careful to stay beyond touching distance.

  “Feel here,” she said. “It’s one of the carvings. I’ve felt one like this before. Here, touch it.” Pulling back, she waited as he brushed his hand over the wall. This particular carving, she felt within herself—deep, dark and curved. It was a groan. The carving told the story of a groan.

  “There’s nothing here,” said the boy.

  “Maybe you missed it,” she said. “Here.”

  “Don’t touch me!” he said quickly.

  “I won’t,” she assured him. Gently she ran her fingers over the groan in the wall, tapping to show where it was. “Move your hand toward here,” she said. “There are circles radiating outward. And a small hole at the center.”

  Pulling her hand away, she listened as his slid toward the carving. She could feel it in the dark—the exact moment he touched the groan and passed on.

  “Nothing,” he said edgily. “Why are you playing tricks?”

  “You’re the one playing tricks!” Panicking, she swallowed heat and salt.

  “No one’s playing tricks,” the boy said wearily. “You’re just imagining things.”

  “I’m not imagining it!” she insisted. “There’s a hole here, it goes up to my second knuckle.”

  “Yeah yeah,” he said. “And circles radiating outward.”

  “Fuck you,” she said.

  Confusion beat its ragged heart between them, huge, deep and pounding. The boy took a quick breath.

  “I won’t hurt you,” he said, “and you won’t hurt me.”

  Everything stopped as she remembered.

  “We promised,” he said.

  “But you’re lying,” she stammered. “The carvings are here. You can feel them.”

  “I’m not lying,” he said. “You think I don’t want to feel them?”

  Surprise opened within her.

  “You have your carvings and I just get the dark,” he said. “How come you get more than I do?”

  “I don’t know,” she whispered.

  “Tell me about them,” he said. “Tell me what you touch and I’ll listen.”

  No one had ever listened. Not like this. The realization shook her once, violently, then rippled gently, aftershocks.

  “Go on,” he said. “It’ll be like bedtime stories, except I won’t start yawning.”

  So, in the dark, where no one could see her face or heart, she began to run her fingers over the carvings in the wall, telling the boy the stories they brought her.

  CHAPTER TEN

  THEY WORKED ALL MORNING, clearing plaster and debris, and dragging broken furniture down the main staircase to the side entrance, where a pickup waited to haul it away. A few girls from Units A and C came in to help, and by lunch-time, there was only vacuuming and mopping left to do. Staff ordered in pizza and the entire group sat in the middle of the floor, eating from paper plates and surrounded by silence because someone had kicked a hole into the stereo and smashed the TV.

  “How many holes
did they make?” asked Monica, and together they counted nine in the unit’s main walls, two in the girls’ washroom and several in the head of each girl who had been arrested.

  “I hate to tell you this,” said Tena, a girl from Unit C. “I know how you love this place and all, but today it is not exactly home sweet home.”

  This struck them all as absurdly funny. Through their howls of laughter, Tena continued sternly. “I mean, look at the way you keep this place,” she said, waving a finger at them. “You have to take pride in where you live. Pick up your clothes. Don’t jump on the furniture. Vacuum those carpets.”

  “Clean under your bed,” added Ann.

  “Take out the garbage,” said Monica.

  “Patch the holes in the walls,” said Skey.

  More howling erupted.

  “Sweep up between riots,” gasped Skey. This set them off again, until they were crawling away from each other, begging for the jokes to end. By the time the afternoon shift came on, the unit had been vacuumed and the kitchen and washroom floors mopped. A large dining table with matching chairs now stood in the eating area, and Ann’s clock radio blared from a corner, doing its best to fill up the large common room with its tinny voice.

  Janey came in to work with the rest of the afternoon shift. After admiring the cleanup in the main room, she headed into the girls’ washroom. Hesitantly Skey followed her in.

  “Janey?” she said.

  “Hmm?” asked Janey, turning toward her. Since yesterday, the bruise on her cheek had darkened, and there was definitely hair missing from her head.

  “I’m sorry I threw up on you,” said Skey, her eyes darting to the floor.

  “Hey, it was an experience,” grinned Janey. “You don’t smell too good inside, Skey. Take it from me.”

  Skey gulped air. “And I’m sorry I called you a lez,” she added.

  “That’s not an insult,” said Janey.

  Skey blanked. “Oh,” she said.

  Janey smiled.

  “Well,” said Skey. “I’m sorry I called you a pervert, then.”

  “Now, that’s an insult,” said Janey. “Apology accepted. How long did it take you girls to clean up this place?”