Chapter 3 – “Every man builds his world

The ride through Grand Junction is bumpy. When Jackson’s not looking, I crack open the water and take a drink. I did it. Everyone on this bus, except the guard, knows that I’m not someone to mess with. My stomach no longer bothers me, but my destination does. Like it or not, I’ll be starting a new school. New people to deal with.  And this time I won’t have Cousin Bailey for the move―not that she helped much in Virginia. Whatever. I can handle it.

Outside the bus window, the dry, small-town streets slip away. The ugly, green bus chugs up hill. I do regret making Dee Dee think she can depend on me to protect her. That’s not going to happen. I don’t do people. It takes no effort to recall my famous uncle placing his hand on his heart and stating with gusto, “The correct moral focus of a person’s life is the pursuit of his own happiness.” It’s not a direct quote of Ayn Rand, but close enough. Senator John Manchester believes Nanny Bella’s Jesus is just an excuse to hinder happiness.

I reach into the back pocket of my jeans. Uncle John’s note takes a little effort to retrieve, but I’m able to pinch it between two fingers and pull it out. He didn’t write the note himself, but I can’t complain. Shoot, he’s the only one from my family who gave me anything.

I don’t care who’s watching me as I lean forward and smell the paper. The dusty scent of libraries calms me. It will be okay. I pull the page back and read the printed quote:

“Do not let your fire go out,

spark by irreplaceable spark,

in the hopeless swamps of the approximate

the not-quite, the not-yet, the not-at-all.

Do not let the hero in your soul perish,

in lonely frustration

for the life you deserved,

but have never been able to reach.

Check your road and the nature of your battle.

The world you desire can be won.

It exists. It is real. It is possible.

It is yours.”

- Ayn Rand

 

I swallow. I’ll make it. The bus groans into a turn. Impenetrable rock walls loom on the left. A tree-filled abyss drops down on the right. On my side.

I move away from the window.

Not cool.

Uncle John’s note reassures me as I face mortality. It was flippant to seek death in a plane crash. The idea that Mother or Father would weep over me was ludicrous. Uncle John’s right. I was the only one who cared about me. With the real possibility of plummeting off a jagged cliff, every cell in my body hungers to live.

It doesn’t help that everyone else in the bus is equally scared. Dee Dee whimpers behind me and Fisher doesn’t even tease her. I glimpse out the window. I can’t see the edge of the road, only treetops and sky. Oh gosh, I thought I’d known mountains in California, but nothing this tall. Nothing this sheer or sharp. Harsh pointed rocks on the left indicate the descent I can’t see below me.

The bus’ transmission grinds down to a lower gear. Jackson takes a tight turn. The sky next to me stretches wide. Clouds hang below us. He’s going too fast. I’m not in a hurry to get to The Center and I’m in less of a hurry to die. Although the air in the bus feels hot, my leather-covered toes are icicles. The higher we get, the more snow appears on the mountain edges. I hug my coat hoping it would cushion me if this bus careens off the edge. I stare out the window.

Rocks.

Sharp turns.

Snow.

More miles.

Ice.

High cliffs.

I close my eyes and pretend to sleep. If I watch one more pine tree pass my window, I might just jump to put an end to the suspense. I don’t like being scared.  The shifting bus and hot air make my nausea return. I open my eyes and try to find a horizon to study.

Before I can scream, the road smooths. The impenetrable world deepens. A thirty-foot-high gate opens up to let our bus in.

Jackson calls out to us. “Welcome to The Center.”

My heart is in my throat. I’ve lost all blood flow to my toes and fingers. The place is isolated and creepy. Welcome is the last thing I feel. We park in the snow packed lot next to chain-link.

“The fence is high voltage,” Jackson informs us. “If you ever wander this far from campus, do not try to climb it.”

A guard stares down at us from a high tower. I don’t see a rifle, but can imagine he holds one. I shake my head hoping to dislodge the crazy thought. The Center is just a reform school, not a prison. At least that’s what Mother said, too bad she’s not here for Jackson to correct her.

“You’ve just entered the grounds of the world’s only high-tech detention facility. Over 10,000 acres of land is owned both commercially and privately. The electric fence runs the entire 16 square miles and is intended to keep the wild animals out. Still, I wouldn’t touch it if I were you.”

He turns off the bus engine and a heavy silence hangs in the crisp air. When the accordion door opens, the peaceful smell of Christmas pine and snow is all wrong. He unlocks the gate and stands in the doorway. “To leave the bus, I have to cuff you again. But, once we get to the campus, you’ll be free of metal constraints for the rest of your stay.”

From the corner of my eye, I catch a glimpse of Fisher’s grin. Dee Dee must have seen it too because she asks, “How will you keep the mean kids apart?”

“The Center has methods.” Jackson leaves it at that and he walks up the aisle handing each of us a pair of snow boots. “Before you step off the bus, put these on. We just had a storm and the snow is a bit deep for late spring. We’ll leave the bus here and take the Snowcat.”

I want to ask him what a Snowcat is but I’m distracted by the boots. They smell like wet dog. “Are these used?”

“Yup.”

“Aww, the princess wants a pair of glass slippers.” Fisher shoves his loose foot into a grimy boot. He grins at me and waits while Jackson cuffs the jerk’s hands to the seat before releasing the ankle restraint.

I ignore the troll and ask Jackson, “How do I know whose nasty feet have already worn these?”

“They’ve been disinfected.”

“Disinfected? Seriously? Why would I want to put something on my feet that needs disinfected?”

“The socks stuffed inside are clean.” Jackson removes Fisher’s leg restraint and moves over to Mario.

“Clean?” This couldn’t get any grosser. I’ve never worn anything used. I’m not a diva. Not really. But the idea that someone’s sweat and stink once contaminated these socks isn’t lost on me.

“Welcome to prison, princess.” Fisher’s contagious laugh only heightens my anxiety.

Jackson clanks Mario’s wrist to the bar.

I take a deep breath and slip off my heels. The metal floor is cold on my already blood-deprived toes. I was stupid to think that even a reform school would be easy. Used socks. What next? A sterilized orange jumpsuit?

I exhale. I close my eyes and chant a mantra in my head. This entire place is only temporary. Twenty-four months to be exact. I’ll get through it and go home where I can make sure my parents know I’ll never, ever, ever forgive them. The socks smell clean and I can’t see any specific stains. As I slip them over my feet, I think about all the haters who would love to see me now. One thing is for sure, when I get out, I’ll never do another wicked thing.

“Courtney, you first.”

I shove my arms into my coat sleeves and grab my shoes. The rest of the crew remains cuffed to their seats as if they had someplace to run. What’s the point?

Jackson leaves the cage door open and asks, “The point of what?”

I don’t care that he heard me. I put my hand on my hip and ask him, “Why cuff everyone? It’s not like we can escape.”

“The cuffs aren’t meant to keep you from running.”

“So?” I step into the cool air after Jackson. It smells cleaner than I imagined, but they probably sanitized it as well.

“The restraints keep those boys from getting violent. They’re lottery students.”

He crunches past me in the snow to the back of the bus. Before I can ask why anyone would buy a lottery ticket to this horrible place, my thoughts get stuck at the sight of the beast in front of me. The orange, boxy vehicle has a bus sitting high on top of what looks like the treads of a tank. A wide, rubber strip stretches across gears where tires would normally be. The closer we get, the more monstrous it becomes. I’m a tall person and the door is at my waist.

“How deep is the snow?”

“Only a few feet, but still this is safer than the bus.”

“A few feet?”

“Don’t worry.” He helps me climb into the orange contraption. I hate how much I want to cry. Why would they put us someplace where the snow is too deep for a regular car to drive on?

I enter the orange behemoth.

The silent world tightens oppressively around me. This vehicle announces that we haven’t even tipped the iceberg of remote. Once inside, thick Plexiglas divides three sets of seats as well as the driver. Room for eight. Jackson takes me to the back row then leaves me alone with the see-through door open. I’m glad I won’t be within reaching distance of Fisher while the guard drives this monstrosity. I hug my shoes knowing I’d use them as a weapon if necessary.

Outside, skyscraper-sized trees are half-way buried in snow. An endless white road winds up the hill through a grove of aspen. I’ve been skiing before, never really liked it. Spent most of my time in the lodge. But that was different. In those trips, people in bright colored parkas roamed around with skis on their feet or over their shoulders.

Right here. Right now. The five of us are alone. Isolated like the very last people on the planet. No happy-faced skiers. Only Jackson and four losers. Me included. Six if you count the tower guard. Every apocalyptic movie I’ve seen is set in burnt down cities or wasteland deserts. The creepy feeling of being at the end of time covered in the icy cold terrifies me.

When Dee Dee steps into the Snowcat and sits on the seat next to me. I don’t have to force a smile. She can’t save me from whatever waits at the end of that desolate road, but it’s nice to have another human being around. Never thought I’d say that. It’s not like I trust her, more like turning on a TV when home alone. Pointless, but safe.

Fisher ruins my glad when he gets on. Jackson puts him near the front. “This reminds me of The Shining”

“I hate horror movies.” Dee Dee frowns.

“Redrum, baby, redrum,” Fisher laughs and exaggerates the words, “Here’s Johnny.”

I’m glad I have no idea what he’s talking about. Instead, I stare at the frozen world and do something I’ve never really done in my life.

Pray.