Crazy House (Crazy House 1)

Anyway, between the concrete floor, worrying about Cassie, and my various bruises and injuries, I got almost no sleep last night.

Around 6:00 the big gate down at the end of the hall screeched open. The noise woke Robin, and she quickly leaned down to me. “I meant to tell you,” she whispered, “the first thing they’ll do is test you.”

“On what?” I whispered back.

“Everything,” she said urgently. “Do as best as you can. How well you do determines how you’re treated.”

The footsteps were getting closer. Maybe two guys with boots? Three?

“How you’re treated, how much you get to eat, and how long you get to live,” Robin hissed, then turned her back and pretended to be asleep.

Oh. So, no pressure.

Sure enough, the guards stopped in front of our rusty sliding door. One of them pointed a beefy finger at me.

“You. Get up. It’s time.”

I pretended not to know what he meant. “Time for breakfast?”

“Just get up.”

He unlocked the door and pulled it open wide enough for me to get out. The other guard immediately spun me around and clamped handcuffs around my wrists. I saw Robin, and the other kids now, too, watching silently. Robin gave me a very, very tiny thumbs-up. I didn’t react—didn’t want to get her in trouble.

Then the guards were hauling me down the row to… I had no idea what.

15

THERE WAS THAT FAMILIAR PRE-HURL feeling—the sudden clamminess, the extra spit in my mouth, the tunnel vision.

I stopped walking. The guards clamped onto my arms and dragged me forward. I pressed my lips together and swallowed a bunch of times.

Robin had said we were on death row. Were they taking me to be executed? Was I going to die without knowing why, without saying good-bye to my sister, or even Pa? Suddenly I felt like I had wasted a lot of years.

Actually, it turned out to be worse than death: I was strong-armed into a classroom.

I wasn’t an enthusiastic student when not in prison, so death row wasn’t going to up the scholarly factor. Still, the guards plunked me down in a chair behind a desk and took the cuffs off me. I rubbed my wrists, feeling the zip tie cuts start to bleed again.

Everyone’s favorite warden, Ms. Strepp, strode into the classroom and motioned for the guards to stand in the back. Today she was wearing an olive-green suit with pants and looked sort of military.

She gave me a good glare, then turned and wrote on the whiteboard at the front of the room. “Education is the most powerful weapon which you can use to change the w

orld.” - Nelson Mandela.

My eyes narrowed. I had no idea who this Nelson Mandela guy was, or what he had to do with life at home in the cell.

“You will now be tested on some core subjects,” Ms. Strepp said, handing me a test booklet and a pencil. “Science, technology, engineering, and mathematics are crucial for our society today. Let’s see how much you were paying attention during the years you received free schooling at the United’s expense.”

Robin had said that how well I did on these tests would determine how long I lived. Well, I was already dead, because none of these were my strong suit. Sure, I had passed the initial testing for my electrician’s license, but basically the only good that did me was teach me how to hot-wire Cassie’s truck. The truck that had been abandoned on the boundary road, and had no doubt been confiscated by now. If these tests didn’t kill me, if I wasn’t executed, then I knew my sister would definitely have my head on a pike when she found out I’d lost her truck.

Things were not looking up.

I met Ms. Strepp’s eyes calmly. “I haven’t eaten in more than a day. There’s no way I can concentrate on this stuff.”

Her face turned to concrete. She motioned one of the guards to come up, and my heart started pounding as I braced to get hit. “This man has a Taser,” Ms. Strepp said icily. “You will start taking the test, or he will tase you. Have you ever been tased?”

I shook my head.

“It’s terribly unpleasant,” she said with a sneer. “I suggest you start writing…” She took out a stopwatch and clicked it. “Now!”