Part 21 (1/2)

Devon jerks her head up.

Ms. Coughran smiles. ”Surprised? We teachers aren't as oblivious as you kids might think. Not much flies under my radar. And nothing flies under yours. True? You watch everything.”

Devon frowns. Ms. Coughran is yet another person here who has been a.n.a.lyzing her, thinking about what kind of person she might be.

”Just because you don't say much doesn't mean people don't notice you, Devon. It's actually the quiet ones who often draw the most attention. There's this constant whirlwind of motion and sound all around, and then there's the quiet one, the eye of the storm. Quiet tends to stand out here because it's so uncommon.”

Devon looks down at her hands.

”So, thus far, what do you think about what we do in cla.s.s? Boring? Too easy?”

Devon shrugs. ”I don't know. It's okay.”

”But not very challenging.” Ms. Coughran waits a moment.

Then, ”I realize this, and it's a big concern for me. The work is aimed at about a seventh-grade level. Sometimes that's challenging enough for some of these girls.”

Ms. Coughran goes on about how many of the residents at Remann Hall have come from terribly chaotic backgrounds, how their schooling may have been inconsistent, many of them being transient kids or with too many problems going on in their lives for them to absorb academics. Kids living in crack houses with strung out and abusive parents, who'd rather have them dealing and distributing than writing book reports and memorizing multiplication tables.

”So, my idea of what I'd like to see happen,” Ms. Coughran says now, ”is for you to come into the cla.s.sroom after dinner every night, during the time that's scheduled as Clean Up and Quiet Time, and work on self-paced programs on the computers. I've got some good interactive math and science activities that you could do. And we could come up with a writing project together, if that's something you'd like. That way, your academics won't suffer too much while you're here. How does that sound?”

While you're here. How long does Ms. Coughran expect Devon to stay in this place?

Devon pulls her eyes from the tabletop and looks up at Ms. Coughran. She's smiling and eager. Similar to the look her mom gets when she's suggested an activity they could do together. This instinctively makes Devon feel stubborn inside, initially makes her want to reject the idea immediately.

”The staff has been thinking of b.u.mping you up to Honor status. They're going to discuss it this morning, in fact, during their meeting-”

”Really?” Honor status. This news excites Devon, and she smiles back at Ms. Coughran then. Dom will be very happy.

Ms. Coughran nods. ”Yes, really. So that would move your bedtime up to ten, giving you lots of extra time. If you can get into the cla.s.sroom at, let's say, five thirty or so, you could potentially work for at least three hours every night, unless the staff has some special activity planned. So, what do you think?”

The possibility of keeping her mind engaged interests Devon; those lame word searches and Sudoku puzzles that Ms. Coughran has been giving them to do in cla.s.s are starting to get tedious. And having something to occupy her evenings besides scouring the book cart or hiding out in her cell. A legitimate excuse to avoid the other girls, keep to herself.

”Sure,” Devon says. ”It sounds really cool. Thanks.”

”Great!” Ms. Coughran smiles bigger. ”So, then there'll be three of you all together-”

Three of us? Devon s.h.i.+fts on her stool. The idea loses its appeal suddenly. She won't be by herself?

”-who I think would really benefit from this arrangement. You know Destiny, don't you? She's actually a very gifted writer-”

Devon remembers that Destiny had written a poem and read it aloud to the cla.s.s. Ms. Coughran had seemed impressed with it, and all the girls had clapped.

”And then there's a girl who just came here this past Friday morning. I don't know if you've met her yet-Samantha?”

Sam, the tall one with the red hair? Devon nods. ”Yeah, I played some basketball with a new girl on Sat.u.r.day morning. At least, I think that's who you're talking about.”

”Basketball, huh?” Ms. Coughran shakes her head disapprovingly. ”I hope you didn't overdo it, Devon. Playing basketball.”

Devon rolls her eyes. ”No, I didn't overdo it. Anyway, we had to stop because-”

Karma. Kicking and screaming, the staff slamming her to the ground. The stretcher, the blood. It's all there, fresh.

Devon hadn't really allowed herself to think much about Karma. Not since talking to Dom that last time on Sat.u.r.day afternoon. Devon feels sick inside all over again.

Ms. Coughran raises her eyebrows, prompts, ”Because?”

”Karma,” Devon whispers.

”Oh, yes.” Ms. Coughran's expression darkens. Her smile is gone, a tired sadness replaces it. ”So I heard.” She sighs loudly. ”But she's back now.”

Back? Here? ”But . . .” Devon takes a breath. ”But . . . she was bleeding. She-”

POP! The bolts on all sixteen cells snap open.

Devon and Ms. Coughran jump.

Together their eyes jerk toward the clock over the control desk: 7:30.

”Whoa!” Ms. Coughran giggles embarra.s.sedly, slapping her palm to her chest. ”Not used to that sound.”

”Neither am I,” Devon says, laughing. ”It scares me every single morning.”

”Yeah, I bet.” Ms. Coughran stretches to her feet, yawns. ”Well, anyway. Yes, Karma is back. Got in from Tacoma General last night, safe and sound and ready to cause trouble.” She winks at Devon, then checks her watch. ”Well, I'll see you in the cla.s.sroom in about an hour. I'm going to skip out of here and grab myself some java. I'm a java junkie, you know.” She knocks on the tabletop. ”Gotta keep that pep in my step.” She waves lazily behind her back as she walks away.

Devon sits there at the table for a moment, sorting out how she feels. She's relieved that Karma is back; it probably means that Karma's pretty much okay. She thinks about Ms. Coughran's special cla.s.s, explores the idea of maybe getting to know the other girls, Sam and Destiny, a little better. It's not a completely horrible thought, she finally decides. Sam seemed okay. And Destiny might be kind of strange with her thumb-sucking issue, but at least she's quiet.

The common area is growing noisy. The girls are stumbling out of their cells now, rubbing their eyes.

Devon looks around the room, scans the faces. Karma isn't out there. At least, not yet.

Devon takes a deep breath, lets it out. And goes to join the girls retrieving their toiletries from the box beside the control desk.

This morning, Ms. Coughran moves the cla.s.s out to the common area. A woman is already there, waiting for them in a wheelchair.

Ms. Coughran directs the girls to form a semicircle on the floor before her.

Devon chooses a spot in the back, behind everyone. Like being in the goal with the view of the entire field in front of her, the ball's erratic movement and the player reactions. She wants everything clearly laid out in front of her now.

Someone drops down right beside her. Exasperated, Devon turns to see who it is.

Karma.

Devon sighs. Well, at least she's recovered enough to attend cla.s.s again. And be annoying.

Karma gives Devon a jab with her elbow, leans in. ”Miss me?”

Devon feels anger then, feels it rise inside of her fast. It's like nothing's changed. Like the Lockdown and blood smears and ambulance stretcher and broken spork didn't even happen.

Devon jabs Karma back, hard. Turns to her, eyes narrowed. Whispers, ”Why did you do it?”