fact,’ he continued, ‘it sounded to me like your biggest crime was being at the wrong place at the wrong time, with the wrong people. Am I right?’
Again, she only shrugged.
‘I talked to your counsellor at school, that Mr Gonzalez,’ the cop remarked. ‘He said you’ve been doing pretty well at Meadowbrook since you started there.’
This time she didn’t even bother to shrug.
‘So what happened?’ he asked. ‘Why did you have that knife?’
Jenna couldn’t hold back any longer. ‘What do you want me to say, that I was framed?’ she asked. ‘That someone set me up? Isn’t that what all the criminals say?’
Jack Fisher didn’t blink. ‘Sometimes it’s true.’
It wasn’t what she’d expected to hear from him, and for a moment, she was tempted to say more. But what if she came right out and accused Amanda Beeson? What good would that do? Amanda, who came from a ‘good’ family, who was one of the most popular girls at school, versus Jenna Kelley, who lived in a public housing estate, with no father, a recovering-alcoholic mother – a girl with a ‘file’. Who’d come out on top?
But even though Amanda was superficial and selfish and full of herself, it was hard to believe that she could be this downright evil. Then again, if she was spying on their class and working with serious bad guys, it made sense.
Still, it had come as a complete shock, that scene in Jackson’s office. Her mother . . . she’d been so upset. Would this incident make her start drinking again?
She could feel tears forming in her eyes. She needed to brush them away, but she didn’t want to call attention to herself.
But Jack Fisher was watching her. ‘Are you feeling sorry about something?’ he asked softly.
Jenna turned to him and spoke fiercely. ‘I’ve got nothing to be sorry for.’ She clenched her fists. If there was anything worse than a regular cop, it was a cop who pretended to care.
A voice from the other end of the lobby called out, ‘Jenna Kelley?’ Jenna rose.
‘Would you like me to come with you?’ the cop asked.
Jenna shook her head. ‘I know the routine.’ She turned her back on Jack Fisher, but he touched her shoulder.
‘I’m the police liaison for Harmony House,’ he told her. ‘So I’ll be seeing you.’
It was on the tip of her tongue to reply, ‘Not if I see you first,’ but all she managed was, ‘Whatever.’ And she took off for the registration ordeal.
Entering the office, she saw that prissy white-haired Ms Landers was still the so-called director, sitting behind a desk. The woman gave her a sad smile.
‘I wish I could say it’s nice to see you again, Jenna.’
Jenna slumped into the seat facing her. She knew what was coming next – the ‘welcome to Harmony House’ speech, which was supposed to assure you that this wasn’t a prison; to consider your stay here as an opportunity to search your heart and soul; to come to an understanding of why you’re here; to exorcise bad habits; to explore other ways of expressing yourself; blah, blah, blah. It was all crap, of course. The prisoners were called ‘residents,’ not inmates, and there were ‘resident assistants’ instead of wardens, but there were bars on the windows and guards stationed at the doors. They called Harmony House a rehabilitation centre, but it was no better than a prison.
After the speech came the rules, and those hadn’t changed either. The demerit system – any infraction of the rules would result in demerits, issued by the resident assistants. The accumulation of demerits would result in the loss of privileges.
Girls were confined to one side of the building, boys to the other, and the only interaction would talk place at mealtimes or in the TV lounge or at scheduled ‘activities’. Jenna recalled a compulsory ‘disco night’ and shuddered. No phone calls or visitors the first forty-eight hours, which was fine with Jenna – she wasn’t feeling very sociable.
When the director
Again, she only shrugged.
‘I talked to your counsellor at school, that Mr Gonzalez,’ the cop remarked. ‘He said you’ve been doing pretty well at Meadowbrook since you started there.’
This time she didn’t even bother to shrug.
‘So what happened?’ he asked. ‘Why did you have that knife?’
Jenna couldn’t hold back any longer. ‘What do you want me to say, that I was framed?’ she asked. ‘That someone set me up? Isn’t that what all the criminals say?’
Jack Fisher didn’t blink. ‘Sometimes it’s true.’
It wasn’t what she’d expected to hear from him, and for a moment, she was tempted to say more. But what if she came right out and accused Amanda Beeson? What good would that do? Amanda, who came from a ‘good’ family, who was one of the most popular girls at school, versus Jenna Kelley, who lived in a public housing estate, with no father, a recovering-alcoholic mother – a girl with a ‘file’. Who’d come out on top?
But even though Amanda was superficial and selfish and full of herself, it was hard to believe that she could be this downright evil. Then again, if she was spying on their class and working with serious bad guys, it made sense.
Still, it had come as a complete shock, that scene in Jackson’s office. Her mother . . . she’d been so upset. Would this incident make her start drinking again?
She could feel tears forming in her eyes. She needed to brush them away, but she didn’t want to call attention to herself.
But Jack Fisher was watching her. ‘Are you feeling sorry about something?’ he asked softly.
Jenna turned to him and spoke fiercely. ‘I’ve got nothing to be sorry for.’ She clenched her fists. If there was anything worse than a regular cop, it was a cop who pretended to care.
A voice from the other end of the lobby called out, ‘Jenna Kelley?’ Jenna rose.
‘Would you like me to come with you?’ the cop asked.
Jenna shook her head. ‘I know the routine.’ She turned her back on Jack Fisher, but he touched her shoulder.
‘I’m the police liaison for Harmony House,’ he told her. ‘So I’ll be seeing you.’
It was on the tip of her tongue to reply, ‘Not if I see you first,’ but all she managed was, ‘Whatever.’ And she took off for the registration ordeal.
Entering the office, she saw that prissy white-haired Ms Landers was still the so-called director, sitting behind a desk. The woman gave her a sad smile.
‘I wish I could say it’s nice to see you again, Jenna.’
Jenna slumped into the seat facing her. She knew what was coming next – the ‘welcome to Harmony House’ speech, which was supposed to assure you that this wasn’t a prison; to consider your stay here as an opportunity to search your heart and soul; to come to an understanding of why you’re here; to exorcise bad habits; to explore other ways of expressing yourself; blah, blah, blah. It was all crap, of course. The prisoners were called ‘residents,’ not inmates, and there were ‘resident assistants’ instead of wardens, but there were bars on the windows and guards stationed at the doors. They called Harmony House a rehabilitation centre, but it was no better than a prison.
After the speech came the rules, and those hadn’t changed either. The demerit system – any infraction of the rules would result in demerits, issued by the resident assistants. The accumulation of demerits would result in the loss of privileges.
Girls were confined to one side of the building, boys to the other, and the only interaction would talk place at mealtimes or in the TV lounge or at scheduled ‘activities’. Jenna recalled a compulsory ‘disco night’ and shuddered. No phone calls or visitors the first forty-eight hours, which was fine with Jenna – she wasn’t feeling very sociable.
When the director
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