A List of Cages(20)

The bells rings, and a moment later babies start waking up and wailing. A frazzled-looking teacher pokes her head into the room. “Mind if I shut the door?” she asks.

Miss Carlisle nods sadly.

And the door closes, trapping all the cries inside.

Stressed-out girls start typing codes into their babies’ backs. The room falls silent, but only for a few seconds before a different group starts up.

“Do you understand now?” Miss Carlisle raises her voice so we can hear her over all the noise. “Do you see how this would ruin your lives?”

My baby has been with me every moment this week, and sometimes I think I can tell the difference between hungry-crying and sad-crying just like my parents said they could with me. Mostly I don’t mind the noise, although I do worry when we’re in my hidden room and his loud voice echoes to the rafters. But I worry even more in the middle of the night.

Russell has been away, but I’ve been afraid he’ll come home after I fall asleep, afraid he’ll hear and get mad, and I keep getting a cold pain in my stomach like I’ve swallowed a thousand winters.

But for the past three nights it’s been only us—me and the baby—and I haven’t noticed the strange noises the house usually makes, almost like they aren’t there anymore. It’s been nice and not terrible, but I don’t know when Russell will be back.

Now the baby is looking at me with worried eyes. I smooth down his soft hair and run a hand over his round cheek.

“What the fuck?” Jared’s voice finds me like a missile. “Are you petting your doll?”

Everyone is looking at me now. Kristin’s rolling her fish eyes. Violet is staring, her eyes so inky dark, they look wet. A couple of other girls laugh.

I glance at Jared, and that’s when I see what is sticking out of his backpack: a baby. Its rosy cheek is caved in. Jared launches to his feet, kicking over the bag. The baby’s head thumps hard against the floor.

“Jared!” Miss Carlisle looks up from her computer. “These dolls are expensive!”

Jared scowls and grabs the baby by the hair to toss it onto his seat. Then he looks at me.

My eyes flit to Miss Carlisle, who’s back to concentrating on her screen.

Jared starts toward me like a predator, like a wolf.

My heart begins to pound in my ears, and the next thing I know, I’ve pulled my baby into my lap and wrapped my arms around him. Jared stops in his tracks, almost as if he’s startled.

Then he smiles with wolf teeth. “Someone really likes his dolly.”

I hear a couple more laughs and feel my face getting hot. I should probably set him back on the table, because everyone is acting like it’s weird to hold him, but if I do, Jared might grab him and do something to him.

“Jared,” Miss Carlisle says wearily, “go back to your seat.”

But he doesn’t.

He stares me down, eyes full of angry black scribbles like the ones he used to make on my watercolors.

“Jared,” Miss Carlisle repeats.

The scribbles start to swirl. They fill up his face—the whole room.

“Jared.”

He growls, then begins walking backward, watching me all the way to his desk.

Then he shoves his baby to the floor and slams into his seat.





I’VE NEVER BEEN inside the ISS room, but I can already tell it’s going to suck. It’s windowless, colorless, posterless—basically totally freakin bleak. There’re five desks, all facing one gray wall so our backs are to the teacher. Floor-to-ceiling wooden partitions separate each desk like bathroom stalls. I guess they’re to avoid distractions or the pleasure of looking at anyone, but it feels a lot like being stuck in the corner—a punishment I found unbearable when I was a kid. Within five minutes my skin’s crawling. I need to move or see something—anything—but this room was designed so that you have to stare at the wall.

There’s a loud bang behind me.

I angle my chair just in time to see Charlie and Jesse smirking through the door’s narrow glass pane. I’m about to flip them off when the little elderly ISS lady orders, “Turn yourself around.” I return my gaze to the gray brick wall, and it feels like I’m back in the refrigerator box.

When I was in the fifth grade—the same year I became Julian’s reading buddy—there were two kids with ADHD in my class: me and Darren Holt. I didn’t see much similarity between us, since he played alone and was constantly doing weird things like using strips of Scotch tape to collect tiny bits of debris from the floor.

One morning, when we got to class, a refrigerator box was standing in the corner, and Darren’s desk was missing from its row. Mrs. Nethercutt explained that Darren preferred peace and quiet to do his work, meaning he and his desk were inside the box.

A few weeks passed like that, then one day Darren didn’t come to school. I was pissing Emerald off by swinging her braids like double-dutch jump ropes when Mrs. Nethercutt suggested I try working in Darren’s little room.

It didn’t occur to me to say no, so I went into Darren’s box and sat at his desk. The cardboard walls were taped with magazine photos and computer printouts of different kind of insects, and in one corner were dozens of balls of Scotch tape. It was creepy, but even worse than that, it was boring.

I pitied Darren for all the days he’d spent like this. I vowed to never be off task again. I would stop pouring glue on my hand and pretending it was an old-man-hand. I would stop trying to deconstruct Emerald’s perfect hair. I would take a vow of silence and do my freakin work.