Disclose by Joelle Charbonneau

Author:Joelle Charbonneau
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperTeen
Published: 2020-07-30T00:00:00+00:00

Thirteen

The blast of a horn jerks me awake and I almost fall off the edge of the narrow bed trying to sit up. By the time I blink away the haze of sleep everyone else is already sliding out of their beds to get ready for whatever the Instructors are planning.

There are no toothbrushes in the bathroom. No one else standing at the trough of sinks in the bathroom appears to care about the lack as they splash water on their hands and faces and hurry out to make room for the next person to wash. I use my finger to rub the worst of the stale, cottony film from my mouth and am headed back into the dorm room when the next horn sounds. I spot Dana in line and lift my hand to get her attention. She sees me. I know she does, but she doesn’t acknowledge the greeting.

“Friend of yours?” Liz appears at my side. Her hair is wet and her cheeks are shiny pink.

“Not exactly,” I say as Dana whispers something to the woman next to her. They both give me a strange look, then turn away. “Maybe not at all.”

“Don’t feel bad. People do all sorts of things they normally wouldn’t just because they’re here.” The doors at the front of the room clang open and the line of women starts to move.

Liz grabs my arm and pulls me into the line. “You don’t want to be one of the last to leave the dorm or they might run out of food before they get to you and you’ll end up hungry.”

“Really?” I look back at the tired faces of the women shuffling behind me.

“Don’t worry about anyone else,” Liz says. “You think that sounds mean.”

“A little,” I admit.

“That’s because it is. It’s also practical,” she explains. “Trust me. I was in the holding cells for three weeks. I’ve been here at the farm for almost two. I learned the hard way—do what you have to in order to survive, and screw the rest.”

“Then why help me?” I ask.

“You look like you might be useful. I want you to owe me.” She glances at me and I wait for the smile that will say she is joking. It never comes.

She pulls her hair back with a piece of ripped fabric as we shuffle through the hallway and back into the humid dining hall. The screens above flicker. I look for the Chicago news feed as I’m handed a tray, then follow the line around the edge of the room to a line of carts. We are given a bowl of what looks like oatmeal, a small red apple, and a glass of water.

I follow Liz to one of the tables and shovel the vaguely warm, congealed food into my mouth, not caring about the lack of flavor. As I eat, I watch the stories from back home march across the screen. Without the sound, I only have a vague sense of what most of the news spots are covering.

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