my new clothes, which were not my style—khakis, leather belt, knit polo shirt. I was making my bed when Charles said, “I’m about to pull the curtain back. If it’s too soon, clear your throat.” I was silent.
When the curtain was pressed once again against the wall, I glanced at Charles’s bed. Not made yet. Good; I was ahead of him. I finished quickly and went to my desk. There was a pad of paper there, and a pen. It was for me to use if I had to say something I couldn’t communicate with hand gestures. Well, all right, it was supposed to be for emergencies, but that’s a relative term. I wrote, “Why are you in here?”
When he turned away from his bed and saw me holding it up to him, he froze. I will always remember the expression on his face after he read it, because it was the only honest one I ever expected to see there. It had fear in it, and admission. It told me all I needed to know.
Gotcha.
He said, “You’re supposed to do that only in emergencies.” He wouldn’t look at me. If he had, he’d have seen that I knew. Instead he looked at my shoulder, saw it was missing something, and pointed to the page of yellow labels on my desk. I shrugged and slapped one onto my shirt.
Without speaking he jerked his head in a follow-me kind of way, and he led the way to breakfast. He herded me silently through the line, pointing at trays and silverware and napkins, and I followed him to an empty table for four. What else was I going to do?
We’d been there just long enough for Charles to say a quiet grace that I guess was supposed to apply to both of us when two girls sat down in the other two chairs. They saw my yellow sticker—looked for it, or so it seemed to me—and asked Charles how he was. The smile that appeared suddenly on his face was a lie.
“Happy and grateful,” he replied. “Jessica Rifkin, Marie Downs, this is Taylor Adams. Today’s his first full day with us, and as you can see he’s in SafeZone. He’s my new roommate.” To me he said, “Jessica and Marie are roommates, too.”
I tried to look at them without looking at them; didn’t want to draw attention to myself too soon in this place. Marie was one of those girls who, for sure, will be in one sorority or another at college. You know the type? Dark hair pulled back on one side with a plastic tortoiseshell barrette; white blouse with one of those collars that has round edges that meet in the middle when you button it all the way up, which of course she did. Something prissy about her. Just missed being pretty. Jessica seemed more normal, at least in my terms, though she was definitely plain-looking. Longish light brown hair, no particular style to it. She’s the one who got the conversation going, while Marie watched Charles closely.
“You were so quiet in Prayer Meeting last night,” Jessica said, and I couldn’t quite tell whether her glance at him was more concerned or inquisitive. Did she know something interesting about Charles? What was special about last night’s meeting, other than the fact that I didn’t show up?
Charles didn’t look at her. “I just had a lot to talk with God about.” He reached for the jar of maple syrup, watching the stream of it intently as it cascaded down the stack of pancakes on his plate. Then he held it out to me, his glance questioning.
I had pancakes, too, so I reached for it. He must have been watching my face closely, ’cause when my mouth opened to thank him he withdrew his arm a little. Instantly I understood the warning. I nodded and held out my hand for the syrup.
But Jessica wasn’t done with him. “We’re supposed to be sharing our communication with God. In Prayer Meeting. Do you need some coaching, brother? Are there secrets that need to see the light?”
I glanced at her sharply, feeling—to my total surprise—defensive for Charles. At least he’d treated me decently so far. But I couldn’t speak. So all I could do was notice that the smile plastered on Charles’s face seemed to hurt him. But his voice, hard but clothed in something soft, cut her off at the proverbial knees.
“Why, sister, I’m touched at your concern. Thank you. But no, nothing God and I were talking about at the meeting was secret. Nothing you don’t know.”
I looked at her, thinking, Take that, sister Jessica. Then I sat back, a rather stunning idea occurring.
Whoa. Could this be deliberate on their part? Are they playing “good cop, bad cop” with me? Is this just a ploy to get me on Charles’s side somehow? So I looked at him again, assessing.
No. Don’t think so. He looked genuinely uncomfortable, and uncomfortable knowing that was how he looked. No one could fake that. Don’t be so suspicious, I told myself. Silently, of course. So I went back to my original suspicions. They were bad enough: lying, brainwashing, mind control, hypocrisy.
At least Jessica showed a true color, even if it was an ugly shade of passive-aggressive. But her voice, as well as her words when she asked Charles if he needed “coaching,” had sounded spooky. Haunted. Haunting, that’s for sure.
Their conversation changed rather abruptly, which I was sure was okay with Charles, when Marie said, “I’ve been trying to reach out to Leland, but he hasn’t been very responsive. Any hints you can give me, Charles?”
For just a second, Charles stopped chewing. Maybe it wasn’t so okay after all. But he didn’t look up from his plate, and he sounded calm enough when he said, “Leland may need a little more time. He might not be ready to see that what you did was in his best interests.”
“You’ve been talking with him, then?”
Charles’s head snapped up. I wasn’t sure if it was anger or fear in his eyes, but all he said was, “Sister, you know that Leland is in SafeZone again.” Then his voice got really pointed. “If anyone is speaking to him now, especially about what happened, it would be irresponsible. We must all help him to preserve his current parameters. Perhaps now is not the best time for you to be reaching out to him.”
Jessica looked like she had an opinion about this, but before she could get it out, there was a woman smiling down at me. She wasn’t very tall, but something about the way she had her hair pulled back made her seem—I don’t know, stern or something. And there was this streak of white, almost two inches wide, that swept up from her forehead adding to the effect. The rest of her hair was pretty dark, though there were a few shots of white in it. She might have been pretty, but it was hard to tell with that hairstyle, and with the way her face seemed pulled tight.
Charles practically jumped to his feet, so I figured I had to stand as well.
The woman said, “Taylor, I know you’re in SafeZone, so let me just introduce myself to you. I’m Mrs. Harnett, and I’m the staff leader for your group. I’m sorry I couldn’t be here yesterday to meet you, but I had to be elsewhere.”
I nearly said, “That’s okay,” but Charles was boring a hole into the side of my head, so I remembered in time and just nodded.
“As your staff leader, I’m here to help you in any way I can. Please stop by my office before you report to your first assignment. Charles will show you where it is. God bless you, Taylor.”
And she left. It was only at that point that I noticed that Marie and Jessica had not stood when Charles and I had. I made a mental note to review the rules about how “men” and “women” were expected to act with one another, if only so I would know what was going on.
I kind of wanted the interrupted conversation to continue; it had been making Charles uncomfortable in one way or another, and I’d been thinking that might be a useful thing to know how to do. But evidently Charles wanted to talk about other things.
“Have you both got companions for Friday’s barbeque dinner?” He pushed a forkful of pancake into his mouth.
“Marie hasn’t. But I’m sure she will.” Jessica’s smile was as big as Mrs. Harnett’s, but it didn’t look warm. “What about you, Charles?”
He nodded, and when he had swallowed he said, “Danielle has agreed to go with me.”
I swear Marie’s tongue nearly poked through