Within These Walls

Chapter 13

Most of the kids in the cafeteria are staring at me as I slink back to my table. I keep my head down and sink into the chair opposite Willow's. Her full lips are parted, eyes wide in surprise. I wince. "Was it that bad?"

"It was very brave," she says reassuringly.

I rub my brow. I don't know how to explain my reasoning. That I was trying not to let my emotions dictate my judgment. That one act pales in comparison to being able to eat. They'll think I'm a freak—and they would be right. No one in their right mind would have done what I did. 

Carson's eyebrows are pulled low. "You didn't have to go that far."

"Not like I had much of a choice," I say, defensive now. "Marcus is the only one who can stop Rudolph."

"I get that. I just don't want you sticking your neck out for me like that." He's getting more agitated with every word. "It's bad enough that you took this on all by yourself, but don't get yourself hurt because of me. I can take care of myself."

"She was trying to help you," Willow says. "You don't have bite her head off for it."

He sighs and scratches the side of his neck. "You're right. I'm sorry. I just have a thing about letting people think I'm some kind of a charity case."

"I—I didn't—" I can't get the words out. He's right. I did decide on my own that he needed my help. I thought he'd be happy to receive it. Friends have each other's backs, don't they? "I'm sorry, Carson."

"No, you shouldn't be apologizing," he relents. "Thanks for what you did. It took a lot of guts facing Marcus like you did."

I wish I could believe his troubles have been erased, but even though he's smiling at me, I still see the flatness in his eyes.

Around four in the afternoon, a basketball match starts up in the gym and a crowd gathers inside. I start to refuse when Willow asks me to join them, until she whispers in my ear, "Carson could use the distraction."

We sit at the top of the bleachers and watch the game between Marcus and his friends. Rudolph is among them. At one point, Marcus body-checks him while he dribbles the ball. He topples to the floor, cracking the side of his head against the hardwood. Unsurprisingly, the referee doesn't call a foul on Marcus.

I'm not interested in the match, but I have to admit that it does wonders for the morale of the group. These kids might be scared and helpless, but their spirits haven't been crushed. Even in a place like this, people still want to find a reason to laugh and cheer.

Two unfamiliar teenagers join us thirty minute into the game.

"Can we talk to you guys?" the girl asks.

She's a tiny little thing with big brown eyes and curly dark hair that flows down her back. The guy is her opposite in every way: stocky, square-faced, and blond. In size, he's the kind of person Marcus would want at his table, but there's this timidity about him, there in the way his shoulders are bowed forward and the way he scratches his neck nervously.

"Um, sure," Willow says.

"I'm Rae. This is Nate."

He nods his head in greeting, and we take turns introducing ourselves. "One of the girls in our block was taken that first night," she begins. "And some of us have been thinking that . . . maybe the ones that are gone made it back home."

"Rae and a few others are thinking of quitting," Nate says. "They'll let those men take them away instead of going back to their blocks."

Willow's lips are compressed. Everything about her expression tells me she's thinking what I'm thinking. I track Marcus's skilled moves as he dribbles down the half-court and tosses the ball to a teammate. "It's a bad idea. Too risky."