The Center

Chapter 5 - He has the power to choose,

(Note from the author - if you are this far into the book, maybe it's because you like it. Please remember to give each chapter a star so more people can find it.) THANKS. : )

Jackson turns the lights on then changes places with Rowena. "You are here to learn to be better citizens. You will all have jobs, chores, and classes."

"That's slave labor," Fisher complains.

"You'll earn a wage."

"How much?" He tips is chin up, obviously interested.

"Don't worry about that for now."

I don't care. No amount of money would be enough. I've never had a job in my life. I mean, apart from school. And even then, I could intimidate most kids into doing my homework for me. I remember the people shoveling snow in their matching outfits. They all looked young enough to be inmates. Manual labor? The blogs said nothing about that.

"We believe in reform." Jackson's gentle voice and handsome face gives me the creeps. At least Rowena didn't pretend to be our pal. Seriously. "Our overall goal is to equip 12 to 22-year-old students who are struggling in the outside world. You will learn to be productive. Everyone gets a chance to earn a diploma before they leave."

Mario raises his hand.

"Yes?"

"I'm half-way through my bachelor's."

"Wonderful." Jackson smiles. "Your credits will be transferred. You could leave with your degree." He's serious. Total creeper. His promised candy is really just a chocolate-covered rock. We're in a freaking prison.

"Excuse me?"

"Nothing." I put my fingers over my mouth. Mario nods. Dee Dee grins and scuffs her foot on the floor. Moron. I want to tell her not to buy it. Rowena's the one you want to listen to. She's laying down facts. Forget Jackson and his fairytales.

"One last thing before we get you into your uniform. You might have noticed the poster at the front of the lodge."

"Cool." Fisher nods. "Do we get to watch movies?"

"Sometimes, when you earn it, but that's not the point. The poster was designed by an art student. They create a new one every year to help remind students about the cameras." He points to a dome on the ceiling. "All 20,000 of them."

"20,000?" I can't help myself. "Two, zero, thousand?"

"Yes. Not all of them are that obvious. But they are everywhere."

"Even in the bathroom?" Dee Dee squeaks.

"Yes, but the image from those cameras are fuzzy. Just enough to make sure you aren't hurt or injured."

"Right." I add another mental note for Uncle John. They can't do this.

"Courtney," Jackson said gently, "we're not here to embarrass or exploit you..."

I whisper an expletive.

"... we're here to help. The cameras prevent us from having to put bars on the windows or lock you into your rooms. For everyone's safety, we monitor you twenty-four seven."

I feel my stomach revolt again. I don't get those people who go on reality TV and expose their lives to millions. The idea of even one person watching me while I live my private moments is awful. This place is worse than the internet claimed. The tasers are real. That only means one other thing. Somewhere in this vast acreage looms a dungeon. I half expect them to start a movie about underground caves with rats and chains.

"We have rights." I complain.

"No," Rowena responds. "You gave up your rights when you broke the law."

"No." I shake my head. "No, not all of them. My uncle's a senator and he won't tolerate this violation of my privacy."

"We know who your uncle is." Rowena waves a hand at me as if I were a pest.

"I want to call him." I stand again. I can't stay here one more second. I've never asked Senator John Manchester to pull political strings for me. I never wanted to push him too far. I mean, I know he loves me, I just don't know if he loves me that much. But, if there ever was a time to test it, now would be it. "I don't want to wait. I want to make my call. Now!"

"Really?" Rowena plants one of her man hands on her hip. "Then let's do that. Fisher, you take the boys to booking."

They both groan at the same time.

Rowena's grin cut across her face like a scar. "I'll take these two."

"But we haven't finished the orientation," Jackson tries to persuade her.

"We can do that after these nice young people are checked and have called home." She nods at me. "It's the least we can do."

Fisher groans.

Mario's shoulders slump.

The hardened criminals don't like the idea of being booked or checked or calling home. Suddenly, I'm not sure if accelerating the process is such a good idea.