Uprising by Margaret Peterson Haddix

girls’ puffs of hair, when he felt under their waistbands. And Bella, by trying to leave without going past the guard, had looked particularly suspicious.
    This is what they think of me?
Bella wondered.
They think I would actually do that?
    The shame of being seen as a thief mixed with the shame of being groped by a total stranger, and rooted Bella to the spot.
    â€œGo on, then,” the guard said, shoving her forward. “She’s got nothing.”
    Nobody apologized. Bella whirled around, past the elevators, just wanting to hide her shame. She stepped through another doorway—oh,
here
were stairs she could use. She didn’t care if she was supposed to or not; she just took off running down the steps. It was nine flights of stairs down to the ground floor, and she raced down them two at a time. Bursting out into the crisp autumn air, she let the door bang shut behind her.
    I’ll tell Pietro about this, too—he’ll want to defend my honor! He’ll tell them that I’m not a thief they have no right to treat me like that, to touch me, to cheat me out of the money I earned. . .
    The sidewalk outside was crowded, but she was too angry to care about how many people shoved against her. She scanned the crowd for Pietro, but he wasn’t there yet. She paced.
    It’s so unfair! That Signor Carlotti! That guard! I can’t wait for Pietro to tell them off!
    The other workers streamed out of the building, in festive moods because it was Saturday night and they’d just gotten paid and they were probably all going to movies anddances. Bella crossed her arms and leaned back against the building, just so the force of the crowd didn’t carry her away. The tide of workers coming out of the building slowed to a trickle, and then stopped. Pietro still wasn’t there.
    What if he thinks I’m to blame somehow for the guard groping me? And then he might think I am bad, like damaged goods.... Maybe I shouldn’t tell him about that, just about the money.
    To distract herself, she told herself maybe
he’d
gotten paid extra today—maybe he was right this minute buying movie tickets and planning to ask Bella to go with him. Bella had never heard of an unmarried boy and girl doing something like that back in Italy, but that was just because Calia didn’t have a movie theater, right?
    Bella couldn’t trick herself into believing her fantasy at all. The wind whipped around the corner, and she shivered. It was going to be dark soon, and the sidewalks were emptying out. Where was Pietro? He’d never been this late before—never.
    The tall buildings cast huge shadows. The wind blew more fiercely. Bella’s thin cotton dress was meant for the heat of southern Italy; it was no match for this cold wind. She was shaking now, huddled against the cold wall of the factory building. She wanted to bargain with God:
Oh, per favore, per favore, Idon’t need to have the rest of my payment, I don’t need to have my honor defended, I don’t need to go to a dance or the movies, just please send Pietro. . . .
    â€œEpes felt dir?”
someone said.
    Bella looked up. It was a girl from the factory, the girl who had cut threads with Bella the first day. This girl had moved on to running a sewing machine a long, long timeago, so Bella had barely seen her since that first day. She was with another girl with equally dark eyes and lustrous hair-Bella thought maybe the other girl was her sister.
    â€œI’m waiting for my cousin,” Bella said, pantomiming her hand over her brow, looking around searchingly.
    â€œDoesn’t your brother usually walk you home?” the girl said, and somehow Bella understood this, even though it wasn’t in Italian.
    â€œCousin,” Bella said. “Cousin, not brother. But he didn’t come tonight. . . .” She swallowed hard. She wasn’t going to cry in front of strangers.
    â€œDo you want us to take you