Hall 12

The Island (REVISED)

The Island of Misfit Toys turns out to be a lunch table in the corner of the cafeteria, where the light isn't so blindingly white and you can't smell the foul stench of steamed broccoli from the kitchen.

Smokey greets the five teens already sitting there, running her hands through a boy's hair and kissing his forehead. She mumbles something along the lines of 'hey baby' and sits in the chair next to him. I stand still, frozen in place.

"Take a seat, Shakey. I'll introduce you to the toys."

I sit hesitantly next to Smokey and stare at the table in front of me, fixated on the bowl of m&ms in the middle. I feel their eyes boring into me. You don't belong here, I think to myself, you don't even know these people.

Smokey claps her hands and I snap out of my trance. "Alright then! This is Jimmy, but you can call him Crack."

The boy next to her waves to me and smiles. "Hi Shakey."

Smokey points to the girl next to him, motioning for her to speak.

"I'm Helena, but call me Cuts."

They go around the table, each of them introducing themselves with more warmth than I've felt in a while.

"Justin, but you can call me Psycho."
"Le-Ann, everyone calls me Skinny."
"Nico, or Heroin, if you're nasty."

I give each of them a polite wave and muster up enough courage to say hello. I look towards Heroin, glancing at the girl next to him.

"And you are...?" I ask, feeling my hands clench. The table is silent as night, all of the toys staring at her expectantly. My anxiety runs wild. She doesn't want to talk to you, Allison. Stop being so-

She leans on her elbows, chair scooting on the tile floor as her dark hair comes into view. Her lips turn into a smirk, bangs hanging in her face. She pushes them back, revealing those eyes, oh my god, those eyes.

"I'm Blue."

"I....." I can't even form a coherent sentence, mouth agape and breath sucked from my lungs. I can't tear my gaze from her, can't even move my own hands. She's like looking into a thousand suns, every part of my body burning in her flame and-

"Cat got your tongue, Shakey?" She asks, voice dripping with some sort of drug that makes me melt from the inside. My entire brain goes from panicked to pink mush.

"Blue." I whisper, wincing when I hear my own voice. It sounds like sandpaper scratching wood. "Hi."

She grins at me, oval fingernails lightly tapping the table top. "Hey sweetie."

Smokey coughs loudly, snapping her fingers at Blue. "Down girl. Behave."

I blush, looking down. Smokey's hand pats my kneecap and she squeezes it once.

"So, Shakey," Cuts says from across the table, "what's your crime? Why're you in this hell hole? You seem a bit too pretty."

I look up and smile timidly. "Anxiety, depression, and drug abuse."

Skinny laughs loudly, throwing her head back. "You gotta be joking. You look like you belong in a Miss USA pageant, not a druggies camp."

Heroin elbows her, muttering something like "shut the fuck up".

I shrug. "If Miss USA had an overdose category, I'm sure I'd have a fair chance at winning."

"Wouldn't we all?" Blue retorts, leaning back in her chair. Once again, I'm left speechless. "Gotta admit, haven't seen any new ones quite as gorgeous as you. Usually they come in with scabs and thin to the bone. You're..." She checks me out, dragging those blue eyes up and down my figure. "You're a whole new level of beautiful."

My foot bounces on the floor and my veins are lit with electricity that rocks me to the core. "Thank you," I rasp.

Blue bites her lip and chuckles to herself, reaching to the middle of the table and popping a candy into her mouth. "Anytime."

"Keep it in your pants, Blue. Shakey doesn't need you hitting on her," Psycho teases. Blue flips him off. He does the same.

Crack looks toward me. "Ana?"

I nod.

"Xanax?" Cuts adds.

"And Valium," Smokey cuts in.

Cuts hums, intrigued. "I'll trade you 16 Z for a pack of Newport Menthols."

I shake my head. "No thanks. How do you like, sneak those? They patted me down before I got to my room."

"Number One rule of Helmuth's," she says, "never ask where they get the drugs, just be thankful you know a source to get some."

There's three loud beeps from the speakers above us, and Psycho groans. "Time for bed."

I furrow my eyebrows. "But...it's 4 in the afternoon."

"They don't care. You can never get enough sleep when you're crazy."

This time, I don't bother denying it.