I deliberately plop down on the bed,
calm my arterial stutter. No pacing
now, damn it. Now or ever, not here.
Instead, like an imprisoned wildcat,
I lock eyes with the human just
beyond the bars. The one staring
at me with interest I cannot tolerate.
“What about you, Simone? Why are
you here?” Come on, Ghost-girl. Tell
me your story, although I’m half-afraid
to hear it. Half-afraid. Half dying to, because
the eyes mine are locked to are haunted.
ZERO RESPONSE
So I prod just a bit. “Come on.
I told you my sordid little tale.”
Nothing.
I look over at Eliana and Rosa.
Both are wide-eyed, silent.
Nada.
Hmm. This one must be good.
“Is your dad, like, a serial killer?”
Zilch.
She shoots a dry-ice glare.
“Okay, fine. I don’t care, anyway.”
Empty.
I wish I were rooming with las
cubanitas. Even three to a room.
Vacant.
THANKFULLY
Tanya calls from way down the hall,