by Kate Brian
"Hound from hell! Hound from hell! Hound from hell!"
Her short brown hair stuck out in all directions, as though she'd recently shoved her finger into an electrical outlet, which, Ariana thought, was not completely out of the question. Cathy began
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frantically clawing at her face as she screamed, her nails cutting a long, deep scratch in her cheek. Appalled, Ariana watched as two guards finally descended on Cathy and dragged her away from the fence. The dog, of course, kept right on lunging.
"That animal should be taken out to the lake and shot," Kaitlynn said, clucking her tongue. "He is just vicious."
Ariana dropped her lunch bag down on the table. "Now, Kaitlynn, you know that all of God's creatures serve some purpose," she admonished. Although if she hadn't needed Rambo, counted on him, Ariana would have shot the beast herself, just to punish Meloni. He loved that dog more than life itself.
"Not all," Kaitlynn said, easing her tall, lanky body down on the bench across from Ariana. She leaned her chin on her hand and sighed as she stared out at the lake. "I wonder what she's doing right this minute." A light breeze lifted her curls from her shoulders. "Probably lazing around at the country club pool, working on that skin cancer, and drinking herself into oblivion."
Ariana knew exactly who "she" was. Briana Leigh Covington. The object of Kaitlynn's obsession. The billionaire Texan oil heiress who had killed her own father to get her inheritance, then framed her best friend for the murder. The girl who hadn't even batted an eyelash when Kaitlynn had been sent away for life for a crime she had not committed.
"I got another letter from Grandma C. today," Kaitlynn said with a smile.
"Good," Ariana replied. "How is she?"
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"It sounds like she's doing well," Kaitlynn replied brightly. "Heading up some new foundation, looking forward to the cooler weather in the fall...."
Ariana smiled as Kaitlynn trailed off. She knew how much her friend looked forward to these letters. Grandma Covington was the only person who ever wrote to her. When Kaitlynn was thirteen years old, her parents had died in a plane crash and her aunt and uncle had refused to take her in because of a falling-out they'd had with her parents a few years prior. The Covingtons, who were old family friends, had welcomed Kaitlynn into their sprawling mansion, and Kaitlynn had instantly bonded not only with "Grandma C," but with Briana Leigh as well. Everything had seemed perfect, until it all fell apart.
"Is she still living with Briana Leigh?" Ariana asked.
"Yes." Kaitlynn looked at the ground. "It must be so strange for her, living on the estate her son built. You know, now that he's..."
Kaitlynn swallowed. She couldn't even finish the sentence. Ariana's heart went out to her. Kaitlynn had been through so much even before being falsely accused of murder. First, her parents' death. Then her surrogate mother, Mrs. Covington, had died of cancer when Kaitlynn was fifteen, which had caused Kaitlynn's best friend, Briana Leigh, to become increasingly withdrawn, bitchy, and self-centered--all of which had come to a boiling point on the night Mr. Covington died. According to Kaitlynn, Briana Leigh's father had refused to write her a check for some ridiculous purchase, so she had snapped and shot him with his own gun in order to get her hands on her inheritance.
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But since cold-blooded murderers were generally sent away for life, Briana Leigh had to find someone to frame for the murder. She had chosen Kaitlynn to take the fall, and Kaitlynn had been locked up in the Brenda T. ever since.
Even though she'd heard the story at least a thousand times, Ariana simply could not understand how any jury could look at Kaitlynn and find her guilty. The girl was pure innocence. Apparently not even Grandma C. thought Kaitlynn was responsible for the death of her only son. The old woman was the only person who had ever written to Kaitlynn since she'd been incarcerated--although Kaitlynn had never shared the contents of those letters with Ariana. Some things, Ariana knew, were simply too difficult to talk about.
And just to make the whole thing even more unbearable, Kaitlynn was now flat broke. Much of her own inheritance had been spent on her defense. Some had been used to bribe the judge into placing her at the Brenda T. What was left had been transferred to her cousin Robert once Kaitlynn became a ward of the state--Robert, who was the only son of the couple who had refused to take care of Kaitlynn when she was orphaned. So if Kaitlynn ever did get paroled, she would have to start from scratch.
The whole thing was just too unfair. Every time Ariana thought about it, her skin grew hot with anger.
"I wonder if she has any new friends," Kaitlynn continued, her words barely audible over Rambo's barking. "I wonder if she even realizes that she sent her only true friend away...."
As Kaitlynn spoke, she slipped smoothly into her Texan drawl.
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The accent always became more pronounced when Kaitlynn spoke about home, and especially about Briana Leigh. Ariana had noticed it on her very first day at the Brenda T. but had never pointed it out to Kaitlynn, lest her friend become self-conscious of the quirk. Ariana's Southern accent worked in much the same way. There were many people at Easton Academy who had never even realized she was from the South, but when she talked about her mother or her childhood--which was rare--the twangs and "y'alls" came right out without her even realizing it. Ariana also consciously threw them in when she needed something. Over the years she had found that when playing the damsel-in-distress card, it was more effective when that damsel was a Southern belle. As if women from the North were so much stronger and more capable. Right.
"Kaitlynn, you must stop obsessing about Briana Leigh," Ariana said as she removed her club sandwich from the paper bag. She smoothed the bag out on the table as a place mat, making sure all the corners were flattened, then set the sandwich down and carefully removed the wax paper, which she folded into a neat square. Kaitlynn automatically produced a large stack of napkins from the waistband of her state-issue jeans--cheap, light-wash, and made pocket-free in order to prevent the inmates from hiding contraband--and gave one to Ariana, who wiped each of her fingertips, one by one. "Obsession is unhealthy," she added.
Kaitlynn raised an eyebrow at Ariana's perfectly folded wax paper but stayed mum.
Rambo's barking had subsided into a constant snarl now that Crazy
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Cathy wasn't rattling the fence and ranting at him. Ariana's shoulder muscles relaxed slightly, and she removed the bread from the top of her sandwich.
"I know I shouldn't think about Briana Leigh," Kaitlynn said, opening her own lunch bag. "But how am I supposed to stop? It's all wasted on her. All of it. The freedom, the cash, the life."
She dropped her head in her hands, the tips of her hair grazing the coarse grain of the picnic table surface. The only time Kaitlynn ever grew despondent was when she was talking about Briana Leigh Covington. Even over the past couple of grueling weeks as Kaitlynn had tried to find a lawyer who would appeal her case and failed (now that she had no money, attorneys weren't quite so interested in her), she had somehow stayed bright-eyed and peppy. But as she watched Kaitlynn now, Ariana's heart skipped a beat in sympathy. She took a break from her meal preparations and cleared her throat. Rambo started to bark feverishly again. He was getting closer to their table, but was separated as always by that horrible fence.
"Kaitlynn," Ariana said firmly. "Kaitlynn, look at me."
Her friend glanced up, already chagrined.
"Everything is going to be okay," Ariana told her. "One day, we are going to get out of here. And when we do, I promise you, you are going to get your revenge."
A warmth spread throughout Ariana's chest. A warmth of pride. Of strength. A warmth she clung to. It set her apart from the other inmates--the pathetic, the insane, the hopeless. It was going to set her free. Her and Kaitlynn. Because Kaitlynn clearly did not have
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the tools to free herself. She needed Ariana. And Ariana liked to be needed. To help those weaker than herse
lf. To be the strong one.
Kaitlynn blushed and looked down again, tracing a knot in the wood with her fingertip. "I hate it when you say 'revenge.' It sounds so... medieval. I could never actually hurt anyone. Not even her."
Sometimes Kaitlynn amazed Ariana. How could anyone go through what she had gone through and not come out the other side just a little bit hardened? She reminded Ariana of the way she used to be, before Thomas. Before that Christmas at Easton. Before all the death and disappointment and heartbreak.
Tears stung Ariana's eyes at the thought of the girl she used to be. The girl she had been with Thomas. Stung at the memory of Thomas's playful smile, his searching blue eyes, his rough hands. But she quickly blinked them away.
"I know," Ariana said finally, placing the two halves of the wheat bread down on a napkin. Rambo was going berserk again now, his bark so close it felt like it was coming from inside Ariana's brain. "That's why I'm going to be there to help you."
Kaitlynn smirked, amused, as though there was no way either one of them would ever get out of the Brenda T., let alone both of them. Ariana bit her tongue.
You think I can't make it happen? she thought. Just wait.
"What would you do if you had Briana Leigh's money?" Kaitlynn asked, leaning her chin on her hand.
"Go to any school I wanted," Ariana said automatically.
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"Really? With that kind of money you'd never have to see the inside of a classroom again," Kaitlynn said with a laugh.
Ariana shrugged. "I know. But I like school. I wish I could have finished."
She swallowed a lump in her throat as her thoughts turned to Easton Academy again. She'd been so close to graduation. Only one semester left. And she would have graduated with honors. Maybe even won firsts over Noelle again those last two quarters, what with Taylor gone from campus and unable to do Noelle's work for her. What a waste. What a supreme waste it all was.
But you're going to fix it, she reminded herself. You're going to fix it as soon as you can.
"What about you? What would you do with the money?" Ariana asked, taking a sip of her water.
"Travel," Kaitlynn replied. "My parents and I had this whole plan to see the world together, but we only got through Western Europe before they died. I'd see all the places we were going to see. Australia and the Far East and Africa and Russia and South America... just everywhere."
Ariana noted the wistful sadness in Kaitlynn's eyes and felt a pang in her heart. "You'll do it eventually."
"Yeah, right." Kaitlynn's hands came together in her lap and she looked down at them.
"You will," Ariana assured her.
She looked at her sandwich, at the exposed layer of roast beef on the top, and grimaced at the thick line of glistening fat running through it.
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"Ugh. They really expect us to consume this?"
Pursing her lips in disgust, Ariana peeled the beef from the sandwich, taking with it a few curls of shredded lettuce, and tossed it into the bushes. She then carefully reassembled her meal, the sandwich now half its original size.
Kaitlynn shifted in her seat, and her tone took on a hint of concern. "Ariana, don't hate me for saying this..."
"What?" Ariana asked, eyebrows raised. She took a bite of her sandwich, enjoying the sudden silence. Her shoulders relaxed completely now as she looked around the courtyard. The guards all at their posts. Rambo licking his paws. The inmates either lunching or wandering around staring at the sky, the flowers, the grass. Oblivious, each and every one of them.
"It's just... maybe you should deal with that," Kaitlynn said, lifting a hand. "You know, your... eating habits."
Ariana blinked, chewing slowly. "My eating habits?"
"Well, it's just... you order a roast beef and turkey club every day, and then every day you throw the roast beef away."
"It's always too fatty," Ariana replied.
Kaitlynn bit her lip, as if carefully considering what to say next. "Ariana, you do know what the definition of insanity is," she said tentatively.
"Tell me." Ariana was enjoying this.
Kaitlynn looked around. She leaned into the table and lowered her voice, making sure only Ariana could hear. "It's doing the same thing over and over again, but expecting different results."
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Her blue eyes were wide with unadulterated concern. So earnest it made Ariana want to giggle. But Ariana's self-control had always been her greatest asset. Except, of course, in extreme situations.
"I'm just worried about you. Maybe you should bring it up in group," Kaitlynn said.
Ariana nodded, touched by Kaitlynn's concern. "I'll think about it."
"Good."
Kaitlynn smiled. She picked up her own sandwich and took a big bite. Always polite, she waited until she had chewed and swallowed before speaking again. Ariana very much appreciated this behavior. Inside the Brenda T.'s walls, there was a lot of talking with one's mouth full. Or, for that matter, letting the food just fall right out the side of one's mouth while cackling or jabbering on.
"Know what this weather reminds me of? The summers at Camp Potowamac," Kaitlynn said, peeling the lid off her yogurt container. "Did I ever tell you about that girl Briana Leigh and I used to hang out with? Dana Dover? She was always talking about her friend Emma Walsh from home like she was some kind of Hollywood idol...."
Kaitlynn launched into a story Ariana had already heard at least ten times before. The one where Dana got a letter from Emma that was essentially a breakup letter, saying they couldn't be friends anymore because Emma had a boyfriend now and she'd outgrown Dana. Dana had retaliated by writing a song to the tune of "You Are My Sunshine" called "You Are a Loser." She then got her entire bunk to sing the song into her video camera so that she could e-mail the video to Emma. It was all immature fun, and a distracting story to
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help whisk away the last remnants of irritation left over from Ariana's session with Meloni.
'"You are a loser... a big fat loser... ,'" Kaitlynn sang merrily under her breath.
"'You're such a fatty... you block the sun..., '"Ariana sang along in her mind, having committed the tune to memory long ago.
It was an awful song. An awful and immature retaliation from a girl who should have just risen above and let her little friend Emma move on.
But then, everyone knows that teenage girls have a gift for cruelty, Ariana thought, feeling nostalgic for her former friends, her former life.
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CREATURES OF HABIT
Ariana had learned a few things in her year and a half at the Brenda T. She had learned that people were creatures of habit. That if she paid enough attention to someone's tendencies--and she did have a thing for noticing details--she could predict what that person would do in any given situation. She found this discovery both spirit-crushing and very, very helpful.It was spirit-crushing to learn that people lived by sad little routines day in and day out, because it made them far less interesting.
Helpful, because that predictability was going to set her free.
"Tracy? May I please use the bathroom?" Ariana asked, pausing outside the door to the common lavatory on Sunday.
Tracy Millet, the guard who lived to please, tried for a tough expression. As always, the effort just made her look more squirrelly and pinched than she already did. The other three inmates whom
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Tracy had been escorting to the common room, Kaitlynn included, all stopped and waited.
"You okay, Osgood?" she asked.
Ariana tried not to stare at Tracy's dry brown curls, which sat atop her head like a plate of curly fries. She put her hand over her lower stomach and swallowed hard. "I'm not sure. I think they might have served bad yogurt at lunch."
"Ugh. Nasty," Donna Short said. The former child rapper, who'd been locked up for smashing in the teeth of some rival artist and was now in daily anger-management sessions, backed away from Ariana. For a girl who claimed to have been raised on the st
reet, "Sweet D." seemed to have a low threshold for bodily functions.
Tracy's threshold, however, was even lower.
"Go ahead," the guard said with a grimace. "I'll walk these three down and then I'll be right outside the door," she warned.
Ariana shoved the door open and entered the white-on-white-on-white bathroom. Everything from the tile walls to the marble floor to the porcelain toilets was bleached to a sheen. After making sure she was alone, Ariana yanked off her shoes and placed them on the counter next to the sink, feeling the chill of the floor through her white gym socks. She turned to the silver plate that served as an unbreakable (and unreliable) mirror, and stared into the mottled reflection of her blue eyes.
"One Mississippi... two Mississippi..."
Patience. Patience was the thing. Tracy was weak--pathetic, really. If Ariana stayed inside long enough, Tracy would cave. She would
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stand out there imagining what Ariana was doing and her leg would start to bounce. Then, after another minute, she would start to fiddle with her keys. Another minute and she'd be kneading the back of her neck with her palm. Finally, she would look both ways to make sure none of her superiors were around, and then stroll casually down to her post in the common room, where she would get sucked in by Deal or No Deal and all but forget about the diarrhea-ridden girl in the bathroom.
So Ariana kept counting. When she finally picked up her shoes ten minutes later and opened the door a crack to peek into the hallway, Tracy was gone. She was now standing on the inside of the metal-and-glass door to the common room, her back to the hallway. She could still turn at any moment and see Ariana, but Ariana had the sound buffer of the door and a good thirty yards of hallway between her and the guard.
Heart pounding in her ears, sneakers clutched to her chest, Ariana kept the door open but an inch and stared out. Her palms were clammy and she could hardly swallow. Everything hinged on this moment. If this didn't go exactly as planned, it would all be over before it had a chance to start.
