“Lights out!” barks the skinny shorter one. She has thin blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail and a tan face. The stouter one is behind the glass windows of the office that guards us.

I try to get comfortable, but the huge amazonian girl I share this tiny bed with has stolen the covers. I lay on my back and silently watch the skinny blonde tack up our art projects on the big bulletin board, the room’s only decoration.

She tacks mine up on the bottom. No I want tell her, the others with scratch it and smear the oil pastels! The others hate me. I was the object of their scorn before I even was assigned to this room. The blonde changes her mind, my picture is turned sideways and tacked at the top. Turning it sideways is an act of rebellion, a silent signal that I am hated. But I am calmed at the sight of it up high in the top corner, where the others can’t touch it.

A tall skinny boy with recently buzzed hair and a carrying a small suitcase entered. We all silently stared at him from our beds.

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