“Bebe darling?”

“What?” she snapped.

“Go to hell.”

Bebe and I iced each other that night and all the next day. I was furious with her, but I also knew I had to let it go. When you’re surrounded by enemies, you can’t really afford to hold grudges against your friends. Bebe realized the same thing. Two mornings later I found another of her notes stuck inside my shirt pocket.
I’m a bitch. I’m an idiot. I’m sorry.Forgive me?  BB I did, of course. I knew how frustration could build until you were ready to explode. Sometimes you just had to lash out at someone, and it was safer if we did that to each other. I also knew that what Bebe said wasn’t really about me or meant to hurt me. But her words hit home. In his letters, Dad did keep promising to visit. He was all gung ho, talking about making it a family trip with Billy and the Stepmonster, and while I had no desire to see her, I still wanted Dad to prove me wrong and show up. Although, having sunk down to Level Three, I wasn’t really in any position to have a family visit anyway. Despite the fact that I had been trying to “work my program.” Sort of.

V kept telling me to fake it, that all I had to do was open up in CT. It didn’t matter if what I was opening up about was total crap. So I invented sob stories about how alienated I was at school, how mean the other kids were to me. I even squeezed out a tear in one session. The counselors were impressed with my bravery and—get this—honesty. I thought for sure I was going back to Level Four, but I must have really pissed Clayton off, because even with all my feigned progress, I remained stuck on Level Three. I wasn’t going to see Dad in March and the next Family Intensive wasn’t until June—June! It was starting to look like was I going to be stuck at Red Rock for the summer. And what if they made me stay for my senior year?

That was one of the worst things about it, the not knowing. If you murder someone and go to jail, you’re allowed visitors, and you have a specific sentence, but the Sisters and I didn’t get those rights. After three months passed and I realized I wasn’t one of the insurance-only girls, it was a constant guessing game of trying to figure out when I’d be released. I was beginning to wonder if I’d be living at Red Rock until my eighteenth birthday. The thought of that thoroughly depressed me—which was ironic, and pathetic. I was always a pretty high-spirited person. I got sad, of course, especially when Mom started to melt down, but I was engaged in my world. It wasn’t until Red Rock that I started feeling empty, tired, and angry most of the time. There were some days when I just wished I could disappear from the world. So not only did I have no idea when I’d be getting back to my real life, I had no idea who I’d be when that happened.

Chapter 14

Dear Brit:How are you? How is school? I hope you are working very hard and getting good grades. Portland is as rainy and gloomy as ever. I sure wish I could be somewhere nice and warm and sunny.I wanted to give you some very exciting news about your Uncle Claude. His health is much better and he is again playing with his chamber music ensemble. He is very happy about this. In fact, his ensemble will be performing in a few cities, including San Francisco, Boise, and—you’ll never believe this—St. George, which is very close to you! He will be there on March 15, and would very much like to visit with you. I have told him that, unfortunately, this is against the rules and not possible. But he wanted you to know about his plans and that he will be thinking of you when he performs nearby.I hope you continue to progress at your school. Please mind your teachers and listen to your therapists. Spring is coming soon. And that means fireflies aren’t long after.Love,
 Dad “It’s from Jed,” I told the girls at our weekly meeting. I was beaming. “I can’t believe it. I haven’t been able to get a letter out to him because there’s been so much snow and all the field trips have been canceled. I thought for sure he’d given up on me. But it was like he knew how low I was feeling, and just when I thought I couldn’t take it anymore, he sends me this.”

“Brit. Stop,” V said. “Breathe.”

I stopped. I breathed. V held her hand out. “May I?”

“Go ahead. Read it aloud.”

When she was finished, V looked at me and said, “I suppose you’ll be wanting to claim your Christmas present now.”

“Yes please.”

“Will someone explain what’s going on? I don’t get it,” Martha said.

“Yeah. I’m lost,” said Cassie.

“Uncle Claude—that’s Clod, my band. They’re going on tour. They’re coming to St. George, and Jed wants me to sneak out and meet him. At least I think that’s what it says.”

“That was my interpretation, darling,” Bebe concurred.

“V, how are we gonna do this?” I asked.

We all turned to V, expecting her to stop and ponder, but she immediately launched into a plan: “Okay, here’s the deal. There’s supposed to be a Level Five and Six field trip sometime next week, so barring another blizzard, Cassie or I will make sure that one of us gets a spot. It’s pretty easy to sneak away, and one of us will call my moles to see if they can pick you up. You’ll use the pass key to unlock the door. I’ll leave it in the fake plant next to Clayton’s office. And listen up, because this is the fun part. At night most of the doors are alarmed, but here’s the trick: If a door’s left open, its alarm system isn’t activated. So on the day of the concert, one of us is going to have to fake sick, get sent to the infirmary, and jam a piece of paper in the doorjamb on the way back. Brit, you just go to bed as usual.

“Now the goon goes to get his coffee at ten thirty, and then he takes a piss. I hear him walk by every night. That’s your window, Brit. You’ll sneak out to the infirmary, climb the big cottonwood tree, and hop the fence. It’s not easy, but it can be done. Your ride will be waiting for you. You’ll be back by morning roll call, and you’ll get in the same way you got out.”

V stopped. We all stared at her, our mouths hanging open. “What. I’ve had a lot of time to consider this.”

“What are you still doing here, Moses? You obviously could’ve pulled an exodus ages ago.” Cassie was stunned.

“I could’ve, but where would I go?”

“What about the cameras?” I asked.

V shrugged. “Look, this is risky. You’ll for sure be seen by the cameras, but the question is, will anyone see what the camera catches? No one watches the closed-circuit TV, and they just recycle the tapes over and over. You know how cheap and lazy this place is.”

“It seems really risky, Brit,” Martha warned.

“I don’t care. I’d walk through fire to see Jed. What do I do about Helga, the nurse?”

“She doesn’t sleep here.”

“What about Tiffany?” Martha asked.

“Has Tiffany ever noticed you three missing for our meetings?”

“No.”

“We always make sure she’s sleeping before we leave,” Bebe said. “She snores like a freight train.” “And this will be less risky because only one of you is leaving. Brit, bunch some pillows under the covers so it looks like you’re in bed.”

“That solves the logistics. But there’s another problem.”

“Birth control?” Bebe asked. “You can get condoms in town, or maybe not. It’s really Mormon around here.”

“Bebe! I’m not hav**g s*x with Jed. That’s not what I’m talking about. I was just wondering what to wear. All I have is this lame uniform.”

The girls fell silent for a second. “Oh, that is a conundrum,” Bebe said. “We can fix up your hair and do your makeup with my stash of beauty products. But fashion-wise? You might be stuck.”

“I’m sorry, but I haven’t seen Jed and the rest of them for six months and I’m going to be mortified if I have to show up in chinos and a polo shirt.”

“I’d be mortified too, darling.”

“What about the clothes we were wearing when we got here? Does anyone know where they are?” I asked. I’d had on a vintage skirt and a Clash T-shirt. It wasn’t exactly sexy, but it was better than nothing.

“I was wearin’ my pj’s. They nabbed me at night,” Cassie said.

“Me too,” Bebe said. “Though lingerie might not be too bad.”

“I don’t think she’s after the harlot look, Bebe,” Cassie said.

“It doesn’t matter,” V interrupted. “They keep all that stuff, along with everything else they confiscate, in a locked closet in Sheriff’s office. Let’s not blow the whole plan by trying to break in.”

“What about your secret agents in town?”

“They’re nice and helpful, but of the sweats and sneakers variety,” V said. “And much bigger than you.”

“You could make something,” Martha piped up.

“Out of what?” I asked.

“Maybe we could take a pair of shorts and pull out the seams and stitch them into a cute A-line skirt. That wouldn’t be so bad. And you could take the polo shirt and rip off the sleeves and collar and turn it inside out, so it looks kind of frayed and rough. And you could wear knee socks and your Converse shoes. That would be kinda punk, right?”

“Slutty schoolgirl? Martha darling, you’re a genius,” Bebe said.

“Can you do any of that stuff?” I asked.

“Sure,” Martha said sweetly, “but I’ll need a needle and thread and something to pull the seams out with.”

“I can smuggle that stuff from Home Ec,” Cassie said.

“They have Home Ec here?” Bebe asked. “How did I not know that?”

“I think it’s just for the, well, you know.”

“Ahh, the Ellens…..”

“Ellens?” Martha asked.

“As in DeGeneres,” Bebe explained.

“Yeah, it’s part of their plan to domesticate me. If I told ’em I wanted to sew, I could probably lay my hands on a needle and thread. I mean how much damage can you do with one little pin?”

Martha looked like she was about to burst with excitement. “Brit, I promise I’ll do a good job. I used to make all my costumes.”

“Costumes?” the four of us asked in unison.

“From when I was a Junior Miss.”

“You were a beauty queen?” Cassie asked.

“Yeah. I was Miss Junior Columbus, Ohio, when I was twelve.”

We all stared at her, completely astonished. Martha? A beauty queen? It wasn’t that she wasn’t pretty. She was. She had big green eyes and pretty pink skin. But Martha was a big girl, and she carried herself like she was trying to disappear. She just didn’t have the aura of a Junior Miss.

“Martha darling. Don’t take this the wrong way, but was it a plus-size beauty contest?” Leave it to Bebe. We’d all been thinking the same thing, but only she had the nerve to say it.

“It was a normal contest, Bebe, but I was skinny then,” Martha said wistfully. “I only ballooned a few years ago. I guess my metabolism crashed,” she said, looking down at her hands. “But I can still sew. Really, my costumes were gorgeous.”