365 Days Alone

by Nancy Isaak

  Jay, meanwhile, was just sitting in her chair.

  She had her arms crossed and was wearing this real sour look on her face.

  It was so hilarious that I almost burst out laughing a few times. Finally, she gave up waiting for us to notice how annoyed she was, because she gave a big sigh and said, “Anyone know what day this is?”

  “It’s Tuesday,” murmured Jude—not even looking up from her map.

  Jay sighed even louder.

  I spun around, as if I was the one irritated this time. “What?!” I snapped. “Jude’s right. It’s Tuesday, so what’s the big deal?”

  “Not a big deal.” Jay’s head went down; she looked really hurt. “Just my birthday, that’s all.”

  “Oh my god!” I said. “I’m so sorry, Jay.”

  “It’s okay,” she sniffed.

  “I’m so very sorry,” I continued, “that you actually thought that we would forget your ‘Sweet Sixteen’!”

  Jay looked up, surprised.

  At that same moment, the door to the back bedroom opened. Cherry came out carrying an Oreo-cookie birthday cake, covered in sixteen flaming candles. Shawnee followed, holding Pugly in one arm, a brightly wrapped present in the other.

  “Happy Birthday, Skipper!” grinned Jude.

  As we all began to sing “Happy Birthday” to her, Jay began to cry. Jude immediately whacked her on the back of the head.

  “Stop it, dumbass,” she commanded.

  * * * *

  “Did Sophia make this cake?” asked Jay, as she shoved a forkful of cookie-cake into her mouth.

  “Are you kidding?” I said. “If Sophia had made this cake, don’t you think it would have looked a whole lot better?”

  “Plus, we would have had to ask her to the party, then,” said Jude, “and that simply wasn’t happening.”

  Cherry, Jude, Shawnee and I had been saving all of our Oreo cookies for the last two weeks to make Jay’s cake. Between us, we had managed seventy-two cookies (some of which were a little bit stale, but what could you do?) Some of the cookies we had left intact; others we had screwed open, scooping out the middle to create icing.

  Honestly—the cake was a mess.

  “I think it looks beautiful,” insisted Jay. “Besides, how can you go wrong with Oreos?”

  Shawnee placed the wrapped present in front of Jay. “It’s from all of us,” she said, beaming.

  “This is amazing, you guys!” said Jay, her eyes becoming moist.

  Jude tapped her on the head again. “No tears,” she ordered. “It makes me uncomfortable.”

  But—Jay did cry—when she saw what was inside of that wrapping.

  * * * *

  There were actually two presents.

  The first was a blue t-shirt—one that I had ‘appropriated’ from Jacob’s bedroom. On the front we had written:

  Doctor Who?

  Exactly.

  Then—on the back—we had created a stylized-drawing of the ‘Tardis’ (which is Doctor Who’s spaceship, in case you don’t watch the show).

  It was really neat, because the lines of the Tardis were actually formed from the letters of all our names: Jay, Jude, Lily, Cherry, Shawnee, Wandy, Kaylee…and Pugly.

  And—right underneath the Tardis drawing—we had placed the number ‘16’.

  (This is kind of important to a “Doctor Who” fan like Jay, because the number wouldn’t just stand for her sixteenth birthday; it would also mean that she was the 16th Doctor—I know, it’s all fangirl stuff.)

  The second gift we gave Jay was a small pin that Jude had somehow made in her forge. It was a ‘caduceus’. That’s the medical symbol you see everywhere—the two snakes twisting around a staff.

  * * * *

  Jay blubbered like a big baby.

  She looked so funny that the rest of us started giggling. Then we just plain old burst out laughing. Which got Jay to blubber-giggling. Then she was laughing right along with us.

  Finally, when we had all settled down, Jay asked who drew the Tardis.

  I pointed at Cherry. “She’s a pretty good artist, isn’t she?”

  Jay held up the t-shirt, admiring. “She’s amazing! I just wish we still had the net, so I could pin a picture of this on my Pinterest board.” She turned to Jude. “And you made the caduceus? Like really?”

  Jude shrugged. “It was easy. I just copied what Kaylee had traced from one of your medical books.”

  Leaning over, I placed an arm around Shawnee’s shoulders. “And—since we’re not the artists in this group, Shawnee and I made the cake.”

  “Looks like you also gave up one of your Jacob-shirts,” teased Jay.

  “It was for a good cause,” I shrugged.

  Jay got up then and gave us all a thank-you hug. Jude, however, took a step backward before Jay could even get close. “Seriously, Skipper!”

  “Take it now or I’ll get you in your sleep,” warned Jay.

  “Make it quick then,” Jude grunted.

  But Jay didn’t; she gave Jude a big, strong hug. And—although I would never mention it to her—I noticed that Jude didn’t even try to pull away.

  SOMEONE’S GETTING A WHIPPING

  The searing July temperatures made working in the field excruciating.

  We farm-girls petitioned the Tribunal for a change in hours to help combat our heat exhaustion. Instead of working through the day, the Council approved us splitting up our shift. We would now arrive at five in the morning and work until nine. Then we would abandon the farm to the heat of the sun, returning at five in the evening for another four hours of work.

  It wasn’t a perfect solution—but it was doable.

  I felt bad for the Laundry Detail, however.

  Cherry and her fellow clothes-washers still had to work straight through the day. The Council refused their request to split their workday into shifts.

  Sometimes Orla could be such a bitch.

  Did I say sometimes?

  * * * *

  I had just arrived at the field for the second part of my shift. The carrots were starting to mature and I looked forward to pulling a few for a personal taste-test.

  As I walked the rows, looking for a likely candidate, Cherry came walking up one row over. She looked exhausted; there were pit stains on her t-shirt and her arms were a nasty red color.

  “You should go see Jay,” I suggested. “She’s got something that you can put on that burn.”

  “It was bitching hot today!” Cherry complained. “Like have I mentioned how much I hate the Council?”

  I bent down and pulled a carrot out of the ground. It was no more than four inches long, but it was still a healthy orange color. Reaching across the row, I handed it to Cherry. “First vegetable ever. You try it…for Wandy.”

  Cherry’s eyes immediately filled with tears. “Oh crap!” She wiped a dirty hand across her face. “Now, why’d you have to go and say that?”

  “I’m sorry,” I apologized. “Do you want me to taste it instead?”

  “Screw you!” Cherry took a big bite of the carrot.

  I watched her chew. “Well?”

  Cherry nodded. “It’s very—carrot-y.”

  “Excellent!” I couldn’t have been more proud. Before I could say anything else, however—the warning trumpet sounded!

  Cherry and I both froze.

  “That’s not the ‘stranger-sequence’ they’re blowing,” I said, worried. “What is that?”

  A few months ago, the Council had created an ‘Alarm List’; different notes blown on a sentry’s trumpet would mean different emergencies. (And as much as I despised Orla, even I had to admit that it had been a brilliant idea.)

  “Should we go to our ‘defensive positions’?” asked Cherry, looking around.

  “That was ‘two short, one long’,” I said. “I’m pretty sure that means we’re supposed to go to the football field.”

  From around the corner, Alice came trotting up on Beauty. She waved at us to start walking. “Come on, ladies
. You heard the trumpet. Get your butts in gear!”

  “What’s going on?” I asked.

  “We finally caught the girl who’s been stealing from the supplies,” Alice said, grinning. “No forgiveness this time. Council said there’s gonna’ be a whipping!”

  “Oh my god!” gasped Cherry. “Shawnee, no!”

  She took off running.

  I wasn’t far behind.

  * * * *

  By the time Cherry and I reached the football field, the stands were already full of girls. They were all chattering and pointing toward the cage in the center of the field—the very cage that Jude had built.

  It was hard to see who was inside, because the Protection Detail had the cage completely surrounded, but there was definitely a girl there—backed up against the far bars, a hood over her head and her hands tied behind her back.

  Cherry immediately sprinted toward the cage.

  “Wait!” I tried to grab her, but she was too quick.

  Racing forward, she whipped around a 12th grader who reached toward her, but missed. As she neared the cage, however, two of the larger girls from the Protection Detail managed to grab Cherry—one on each arm—and throw her to the ground.

  “What the frack is up with you, Winslette?” yelled one of the girls.

  Before anything worse happened, I ran across the field to Cherry and tried to pick her off the ground, hoping to carry-pull her back to the football stands.

  “Let me go!” she screeched, batting at my hands.

  Suddenly—Jude was there.

  Between the two of us, we lifted Cherry off the ground. She fought hard, but we still managed to drag her to the side of the bleachers. There, Jude pinned her against the backboard, holding her in place.

  Cherry was absolutely furious. “Are you insane?! They’re going to whip Shawnee!”

  “Shaddup!” Jude hissed.

  “Don’t you tell me to shaddup…that’s my sis—“

  Before she could say another word, Jude shoved her hand over Cherry’s mouth. “Look up, dumbass—to your right…middle of the rows.”

  Like Cherry, my eyes went across the bleachers, following the rows up to where Shawnee was sitting next to a 9th grader. Cherry was so happy to see her sister that she practically collapsed in relief.

  Frankly, I was just as astonished.

  Because if Shawnee wasn’t in the cage—who was?

  * * * *

  Over the next few minutes, we sat in the stands, waiting for the ‘show’ to begin. I was seated in the front row, with Jude by my side. Cherry was a few rows behind us, sitting with her sister.

  Jay was nowhere to be seen.

  Like everyone else, I was scanning the stands—looking for the missing face—trying to figure out who was in the cage, under the hood. The only thing I could see for certain was that she was white. The girl’s pale hands tied behind her back gave that much away.

  “Any idea?” I asked Jude.

  She shook her head—muttering under her breath. “Knew it—knew they wanted the damn thing for a prison.”

  “It’s not your fault, Jude.”

  “Yeah, I know…but I still built it.”

  The volume level of the chattering girls all around us suddenly increased. Jude and I looked up to see the Foxes entering through the gate.

  Beside me, Jude gasped. “Lily!”

  * * * *

  It had been forty-eight days since we’d last seen our girl.

  And she had changed.

  Like the rest of the Foxes, Lily now dressed immaculately. She wore a pair of light green shorts and a pink and white striped top. On her feet were little white flats that matched the white Gucci bag she carried across one shoulder.

  Her hair had been styled into two French braids, one that went down each side of her head; each braid was tied at the end with a pink and green ribbon.

  If it wasn’t for the haughty look on her face, Lily would have looked adorable. Instead, she just looked arrogant and snobbish, as she took her seat beside Peyton.

  Jude said nothing, but I called out to Lily, trying to catch her attention.

  She completely ignored me—staring straight ahead.

  * * * *

  I was actually quite hurt by Lily’s behavior. Jude, however, put it all into perspective. “She’s just 8-years old,” she said, quietly.

  Orla, meanwhile, walked directly onto the center of the field.

  All around us—the girls went silent.

  “Well,” Orla began, “this is certainly a day that I personally hoped would never come.” She was standing in front of the cage; behind her was the Protection Detail, still obscuring our view of the ‘prisoner’. “As some of you may know, our Community has been plagued by theft these last few weeks. For a while, I am ashamed to say, I suspected that it might have been one of our own.”

  At this, the chatter started up again.

  Orla put up her hands for silence.

  “Yes,” she said, when things quieted down, “it turns out that it was an Outsider. But thanks to our wonderful Protection Detail, the Outsider was caught this morning red-handed…ladies.”

  The large girls who had held Cherry back, unlocked the cage and pulled the hooded prisoner out. It was a thin girl—obviously weak and starving—her head lowered, her legs shaking as her jailors stood her next to Orla.

  “As you all know,” said Orla, “our punishment for theft is to be whipped equal to your age. But that is for our Community. For Outsiders, we must set a different example. They must know that here—in Agoura Hills—we are strong, and we will not put up with thieves. If you come into our Community and take from us—you will be punished!”

  Behind me, more than a few girls cheered, while a handful of others clapped.

  “Dumbasses,” Jude hissed, under her breath.

  “So, for Outsiders,” continued Orla, “the punishment is that they will be whipped twice that of their age.”

  I gasped. “Ohmigod!”

  Out on the field, Orla waved Tray forward. With her unearthly elegance, Tray glided over to Alice—who handed her a whip. It wasn’t long like you see in the movies. This whip was about five feet in length, splitting down the center toward its end.

  Meanwhile, two other girls pushed a piece of football equipment called a ‘sled’ in front of the cage. (From watching Jacob practice, I knew that the football players would push up against this ‘sled’—a large metal structure, with two arms jutting up.)

  Under Tray’s direction, the prisoner was placed against the sled—back toward us—while her arms were tied down, one on each side, to a crossbeam.

  “Bear witness!” Orla cried out, loudly. “To this thief who must be punished—who stole from our Community. Who thought we were weak…who thought we were victims!”

  Tray reached over and pulled the hood off of the girl.

  I immediately felt my stomach drop.

  Even with her head turned away from us, I would have recognized those two messy red braids anywhere.

  Cammie!

  * * * *

  The young librarian from Westlake Village was slumped against the sled. She didn’t move and, for a moment, I wondered if she was already dead.

  “16-years old…two times her age,” said Orla. “Thirty-two lashes if you will, Tray, please.”

  Immediately, Tray lifted her arm and brought the whip down on the girl’s back, causing Cammie to jerk violently.

  Thwack…the sound was horrifying!

  However, that Cammie remained silent was somehow even more horrifying.

  As the whip tore through her light shirt, staining it red with her own blood, Cammie said nothing. Her head lowered even more, her body tensed—but she made no sound.

  Behind me, someone yelled out, “One!”

  * * * *

  Tray lifted her arm and brought down the whip again.

  Thwack!

  “Two!”

  Cammie’s shirt shredded even more—the whip was biting deep.


  Another strike; Cammie’s small body jerked back.

  Thwack!

  “Three!” It wasn’t just one voice; now more girls were yelling.

  I turned to look at Lily. She was staring straight ahead—but not at Cammie. Instead, her eyes were focused somewhere in the sky…and she was trembling.

  Thwack!

  “Four!”

  “Harder, Tray!” a girl yelled.

  I spun around, searching for the offender. From the avid smiles on some of the girls, I sadly realized that it could have come from one of many.

  Thwack!

  “Five!”

  Cammie’s back was becoming covered in blood. The ends of the whip must have twisted around her face at one point, because I could see red, oozing scores down the side of one cheek.

  Thwack!

  “Six!”

  “Yeah, baby! Get that bitch!”

  I didn’t understand—what was wrong with the girls behind me? Why was I about to be sick and they were having so much fun?

  Thwack!

  “Seven!”

  Cammie suddenly seemed lower—closer to the ground. It took a moment for me to realize that it was because I had risen from my seat. It had become too much—someone had to stop this brutality!

  “Screw this!” I growled, pushing my way down from the stands.

  But—I was too slow.

  Jude vaulted over the waist-high wall in front of the bleachers, landed on the football field, and made straight for Tray. She moved so fast that—before the Protection Detail even had a chance to react—Jude had ripped the whip out of Tray’s hand.

  “Let’s see how you like it, bitch!” she yelled. And Jude brought the whip down—right across Tray’s face.