Fisher's in The Bunker.
Mario's in my advanced math class.
I'm in shock.
Nothing in this place makes sense. Not the baby. Not the attack. Not the walking around like everything's normal. I find myself studying the short Latino for answers. The guy walks around the place bouncing his head to silent beats with or without his headphones. It takes me a couple days to realize the necklace Mario wears is one of Nanny Bella's Catholic saints. I spotted it the first day, but didn't connect the dots until after he saved me.
I'm normally the most confident person in the world. But hard as I try, I can't find the right moment to say thank you. That's how I find myself standing in front of The Chapel on Thursday. Although I promised myself I'd never enter it. I know Mario goes regularly. I have to stop being lame and just tell him thanks. It's been three days since he got zapped for me. It sounds trivial, even to my own mind. But something inside of me changed that day and Mario deserves to know it.
I find myself following a couple inmates up one of the narrow paths. I get as close as the glass entrance but don't go in. I haven't spoken to Uncle John since the call. But his comment about a visitor comes to mind. Of course no one is going to visit a place like this over and over again, especially when someone doesn't show up for close to a month. I can only hope that I don't have to interrupt Mario's visitor time.
I'll just make it quick and leave him to his life.
But the thought of bothering him stops me. Maybe I should wait for another time. He's not going anywhere. I'm not going anywhere. Should I really give up the last promise I made to myself because of one heroic act? I've shed so much of me, I don't want to be completely unrecognizable when I leave this place. There are parts of me I really like.
I shrug and turn around only to find myself face to face with Jackson.
"You going inside?"
"Not planning on it." It's an act. My smugness. His gorgeous features trigger unwanted heart palpitations. If I believed in God, I would ask him why this guy has to be so freaking gorgeous.
"I think you should." He smiles as he continues to walk backward toward the building.
"Because?" I put my hand on my hip in the flirtatious way I used to in a life outside of this place.
"You might just find what you've been looking for." He pulls open the door and extends his hand.
I study him for a minute. It feels a bit like a dare. "And what do you think I'm looking for?"
"The same thing as everyone else." He steps into the doorway and before he lets it close behind him he says, "Love."
I freeze.
No he didn't.
Is he flirting with me? Oh my gosh, that's nuts. I'm not looking for love. I rub my palms together in an attempt to restore circulation. Not too distant laughter touches my ears. The approach of two other students nudges me forward. I'm totally stuck now. I can't run away in front of these people.
I step inside the glass wall. The students move around me as I stand in the foyer. Wooden walls arch around an enclosed inner circle. Hidden doors open to a room deeper in. The rustic smell of pine corresponds with the outdoors.
On the other side of the entrance, I step into a smaller circle. An auditorium style room opens up in front of me. Eight rows of wooden pews form progressively narrower octagons. The red, carpeted aisles disconnect the geometric shapes at intersections. The walkway leads toward a platform. My eyes adjusted to the soft glow of the room as hidden lights glow along the edge of the exterior wall. In the center of the ceiling, above the stage, skylights allow those inside to view the sky as well as the base of a large wooden cross on top of the building.
YOU ARE READING
The Center
Teen FictionHidden high in the Rocky Mountains, The Center houses inmates ages twelve to twenty-two. The experiment in reform isn’t without controversy. Blogs report students being tasered or tortured in a dungeon. Eighteen-year-old, Courtney Manchester doesn’t...