Pushing Send

by Ally Derby

  “Mrs. Asher, there is no need to come at me like that. There is nothing I can do—”

  “Move. Her.”

  She looks from Mom to me, then back again. “She has to take the same steps as the others. I can’t play favorites in here; that’s not the way the system works. But if Hadley can continue showing progress, maybe participate a little in groups—”

  “We have yet to finish a group. There is always someone who interrupts, gets put out of program, and we get sent to our rooms to wait it out. I sit in there, staring at the godforsaken wall. I even know how many bricks surround my little closet-sized room because I have counted them at a minimum of five times a day.”

  “You should take the time to read, or write, or—”

  “They take the pens away so they can’t be used as weapons when our joke of a school assignments are finished, or there’s a restraint, or there is someone out of program. I haven’t been given a book to read for enjoyment—”

  “Have you asked?” she asks, and I stop talking. “No, Hadley, you don’t speak; you don’t participate; and you are showing no signs of being ready to move out of D Unit. Show me something, Hadley, some sort of progress, the ability to give respect to your YDA’s—”

  “Respect?” I half laugh, half sneer.

  “They deserve it. They are doing their job—”

  “They’re power mongers. They don’t care—”

  “D Unit serves a very good purpose, Hadley. If you want out, if you want to move up—which will not only gain you favor in here, but in court, as well—then participate, show some acceptance, and you can move in a week.”

  “To where?” my mother asks.

  “A much more home-like unit. I don’t feel Hadley is a threat, but I can’t move her without progress.”

  “Will her attacker be moved there, as well?” Mom asks, seeming to calm down.

  “No. No, she won’t. You have my word,” Mrs. Keller says.

  Mom seems at ease with this, but she doesn’t know what it is really like here.

  “Hadley, can you please,” she pleads, “just try, sweet girl.”

  “I will give you two a minute,” Mrs. Keller says as she heads out the door. “I will be right outside.”

  “Where’s Dad?” I ask as soon as she is out of earshot.

  “He’s been tired,” she says quietly.

  “Oh.” I shake my head.

  “He’ll come around, Hadley, he’s just having a hard go of it. He does have an interview on Monday at a factory in Ithaca for a full time job with benefits. Fingers crossed he gets it.”

  I hold up my hand, cross my fingers, and force a smile, realizing she is probably alone while battling this. God, I hate myself right now.

  ~*~

  For four days, I do my best to put myself out there. I answer questions and volunteer for things by raising my hand. I step out of my comfort zone like never before. I even participate during “school.” I never did this out in the “community” as they called it. I never wanted the attention, and it was not enjoyable to me at all to get it.

  The staff praise me, call me a role model, and I am given nasty looks by the others.

  I am able to read. God, I have missed reading, but reading makes me miss Bee, Skylar, and Lana. When I think of her, it’s of the last time I saw her—lying on the floor, lifeless in a tank top and shorts. I don’t understand what made her end her life. I just don’t understand.

  My heart hurts for Lana. It feels like it is breaking, like my soul is being battered, and there is a gaping hole inside of me, open wide and bleeding the life out of me. God, why did she do that? Because of me? Because of a video that got posted, though I still have no idea how? Didn’t she know me better than that? Did she decide to end her life because she truly believed I wanted to hurt her?

  Pain and grief turn to anger. I am angry she did that: took her life and left me here to carry the burden of her decision, one that changed my life and my family’s. Possibly ruined my future.

  Joey freaking White. It was Joey freaking White’s fault for asking her to prom.

  I open my book, needing an escape. Tonight, before lights out, I will be reading Percy Jackson, The Last Olympian, again because they didn’t have a lot of books here to choose from.

  I fall asleep after reading about Silena being killed by the drakon. I wonder if that is how I am viewed in Blue Valley: as a hideous monster.

  ~*~

  On Thursday, I am taken to Mrs. Keller’s office after lunch.

  “Have a seat, Hadley,” she says with a smile as I sit. “You have become a model resident here, excelling in classes and on the unit. We are very proud of you. That being said, you are being moved to another unit today.”

  Do I have any other choice?

  “Thank you.”

  “Ms. Redder is going to take you back to your unit to gather your things and then take you over to Guidance. I think you’ll like it there, Hadley.” I roll my eyes, which she sees. “Okay, I think you’ll like it better there.”

  “I know I should thank you, should say I appreciate it, and I will. It just feels so fake to do so. I don’t want to be here. I don’t feel like I should be here.”

  “I understand and appreciate your honesty. It’s refreshing.”

  “I don’t like YDA Redder. I would prefer she not be the one—”

  “Hadley, we will always have people we don’t like. We just have to learn to deal with them.”

  “I don’t trust her.”

  She sits, looking at me, and I feel my face starting to burn. “Mr. Keller might be available; do you feel more comfortable if it’s both of them?”

  Oddly, I do.

  “Yes.”

  “Okay, then. Congratulations, Hadley. Guidance awaits.” She pushes the button on her intercom. “Redder and Keller, please report to the Sr. YDC office.”

  ~*~

  I walk onto D Unit, and the unit’s YDAs start clapping.

  For the love of God, I think.

  “Congratulations, Hadley. G Unit is a huge accomplishment.” Owen smiles. “Our model resident has moved up and out faster than—”

  “You’re shitting me.” I don’t even have to look to see it’s Lucia.

  Owen points to the foyer, and Lucia stands up, kicking the chair out from behind her. It tumbles over.

  “Lucky that ain’t your head again.”

  I walk in my room and pull my state-issued clothing and hygiene bag, drop them into my laundry basket, and strip my bed.

  Exemplary resident—that’s me.

  I bring the bedding out and set it next to my door, then grab my basket and walk past the desks.

  I glance in Seanna’s direction. She smiles as she looks down. Even though we have never spoken, we have a connection. She didn’t try to cause a problem; she actually avoided it. I would watch her pray, and in that, I felt a little strength. I will miss her.

  With Redder unlocking the door and Owen standing near Lucia, Keller gets between us as we walk out the door.

  “Watch your back, bitch,” she warns.

  “I am not afraid of you,” I say with conviction.

  “Don’t, Hadley,” Mr. Keller says in a calm, deep voice.

  “You gonna screw this up on your way out, Lucky?” Redder’s laugh taunts me.

  Mr. Keller takes my elbow and shuffles me out the door. “You’re good. Let’s go.”

  I clamp my jaw shut and walk, and Keller releases my elbow, walking beside me.

  G Unit is in a quad of buildings identical to Intake and D Unit. It is not far, still within the walls of the cage that I look at every day when we move to and from the cafeteria at Intake, unable to find an escape, and I do look for one.

  When we walk in, I find it is set up similar, but the twenty chairs are not in rows; they are in a square. The enclosed desks are replaced with tables, two chairs at each. There are residents walking around with ear buds in their ears, attached to old-school MP3 players. Some are reading, while some ar
e actually sitting and talking with the YDA.

  The YDA is a male who stands when he sees us walk in.

  “Newbie, welcome to G.”

  I look up at Keller.

  “You’re good.”

  “She only speaks when she feels like it,” Redder, the president of my fan club, says with a tsk.

  “She’ll get used to it. You’ll be lucky number thirteen. Go ahead in. Bryn will show you around.” He points to the girl sitting in a chair.

  She has pink hair, holes in her ears where I assume gauges used to be, and a very bright smile as she stands. “This way.” I follow her to the closet, just like the one on D Unit, except it’s not locked. “Okay, now, don’t get overwhelmed by the choices over here. Do you want white”—she pulls a sheet out and hands it to me—“or white?”

  “I guess I’ll take white.”

  “Perfect.” She pulls out the rest of the bedding and walks toward room thirteen. “You know, the last girl who was in here got sent to Bedford Hills Women’s Facility. Lost her damn mind. They say it’s haunted.”

  I look at her and nod as I walked in.

  “All righty then,” she says from the doorway. “I’d come in and help, but that is a big no-no here.”

  “I appreciate it, but I’m sure I can handle it.” I begin to make my bed.

  “Do that later and let’s get through this.” We start walking around the Unit. “Bathroom three is yours. Chore list is over here on the wall.” I follow her over. “Looks like thirteen has laundry all week. So does eighteen, and that is me. Let me just tell you, it’s nasty, and you definitely want to wear the rubber gloves.” She points left. “The rules are there. This happens to be free time.

  “If you’re here, you are allowed to talk to the others during this time, just no inappropriate talk, or you’ll get booted to one of the other units. Not sure who decided you should be here on G, but you lucked out. We have the best staff and most relaxed atmosphere. Movement, school, cafeteria, and group rules are the same, but we get two phone calls a week. We can also have music, talk, do our hair, and even watch movies here.” She stops and looks at me. “Nothing?”

  “I don’t understand the question.”

  “You have no questions, comments, complaints?” she asks.

  “When can I call home?”

  She walks over and drags her finger down a list on the wall. “Sundays and Wednesday.”

  “Do we get to spend time in our rooms?”

  “Yep.”

  “Can I go there now?”

  She nods. “All right, thirteen, you have a name?”

  “Hadley.”

  “It was a joke.”

  “What was a joke?”

  “Thirteen didn’t lose her mind.” She smirks. “Just trying to make you loosen up a bit. No reason to fight it; embrace it. Safer here than out in the big, bad ‘community.’ ” She air quotes.

  “Right.”

  “Have fun in there.” She points to my room.

  Fun? I ask myself. None of this is fun. It’s Hell on Earth.

  chapter eleven

  The End of the tunnel

  On Friday, Mrs. Keller comes to the cafeteria while we are sitting down for lunch. “Your lawyer is here to speak to you. Bring your lunch and come with me.” I don’t move. “Hadley, you’ll get some answers.”

  I get up and start to follow her. “Is my mom here?”

  “No, she’ll be here tomorrow. She is going to be on speaker phone in the counseling room.” She unlocks the door to leave the cafeteria. “Come on, this is a good thing. You’ll get answers.”

  “Do you know the lawyer?”

  “Nope, I don’t know who he is, but I will say he is very professional, and he looks at his watch, a lot.”

  I take a deep breath and swallow back the bile that my stomach is overproducing at this moment.

  “Want me to stay?” she asks.

  I nod my head, then shake it.

  “Okay. Then I will be in there with you until you tell me you’re comfortable.”

  As I follow her, I am struck with the fact that, for most of my life, I have felt like I was all alone, that I could handle any situation because I was strong, and my parents were not. I now realize that was a lie, one told to myself in a perfect adolescent manner because, at that moment, I believed I was. Now I know different. I wish my mom was here to help me through this. For now, though, I would settle for Mrs. Keller, a person who, if I allow myself to stop thinking of her as my enemy—a thought provoked by fear—I know I would appreciate.

  “Thank you,” I tell her.

  She smiles, gives me a nod, and then continues to walk.

  We enter a large room, where a very tall man with gray hair, glasses, and a suit stands up and walks to me.

  “Hadley Asher, I am Abraham Preston, your lawyer.” He holds out his hand, and I shake it. “Have a seat and we will get right to it.”

  I sit down, and he opens a file, then takes a deep breath as he runs his hand through his hair, before taking off his glasses.

  “I am going to start by saying that this mess is perplexing, to say the least. You shouldn’t be here. Even if they could prove beyond a reasonable doubt that you did it with ill intent, the charges don’t make sense. Your school records are nearly impeccable. Up until recently, you’ve never even been in trouble. You are not a flight risk, and you are certainly not a violent criminal.” He looks up at me. “But the documentation about the two incidents at school and from the facility both hinder you a great deal.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “At school, you had two incidents where you were noncompliant and borderline combative. Here, you also fought authority—”

  I look up at Mrs. Keller, now feeling betrayed. “I’m all set. You can go now.”

  “Hold up, Hadley. It’s not untrue. Whatever you do here is documented in a report. There is nothing I can do to take that away, even though I am one hundred percent on your side.”

  “I said I was all set.”

  “Miss Asher, you need all the help you can get. Mrs. Keller here has already said, without my even asking, that she would go to court on your behalf if need be.”

  I don’t say anything. I feel outnumbered, cornered … helpless.

  “Okay, let’s continue,” Mr. Preston says, breaking the silence. “From what I have gathered, Judge Wood has been a judge for way too many years in Tompkins County. He isn’t a patient of Dr. Jamison’s, but his brother-in-law is a doctor who plays golf with him. To make a very long story short, Judge Wood’s niece killed herself many years ago. She was a seemingly normal, happy teenage girl. Little by little, things came to light that she was bullied relentlessly in school. I believe, without a shadow of a doubt, this is the answer to the why in this puzzle. The how the hell this is being allowed is baffling, to say the least. I am working on getting this moved to family court. The problem is, it can take up to three months for that to happen. Then we face that judge with all the evidence pointing to you being the one who posted that video.”

  “I didn’t,” I defend. “I didn’t, I swear to you.”

  “Whether I believe you or not is a moot point. I am your lawyer. I will be behind you one hundred percent. But, if a judge finds you guilty of manslaughter, then you could be in here for at least a couple of years.”

  He pulls out a piece of paper and pushes it toward me. “I have managed to strike a deal. One year. You plead guilty, and they let you out in a year. If not, we take this to court on a wish that it’s family court and a prayer that the media frenzy behind this case dies down, and we have a judge who is sympathetic.”

  While I sit silently, trying to convince myself that the truth will come out, media frenzy rattles my brain.

  “So the entire community is against me?” I ask quietly, afraid speaking the words will make it even more real.

  “The entire community is supporting a grieving family.”

  “But they think I deserve to be in here, that I
wanted my best friend to overdose, to die?” Building tears threaten, feeling like they are suffocating me.

  “They think that bullying is a serious issue. The local news has broadcast this story every night. People are coming out in droves, telling similar stories. They all want to see an end put to this type of online bullying. Hadley, they are making an example of you.”

  I nod, whispering with my head down, “I see.”

  He watches me. “Look, kid, I want to know what happened. If you want Mrs. Keller to step out while you tell me your side, that’s fine.”

  “I’m not guilty.” I look up directly into his eyes. “I did not push send.”

  “All right.”

  “And you don’t believe me.” I knew he didn’t.

  “That’s neither here nor there. I am paid to represent you, and I will.”

  “If you don’t believe in me—”

  “I just don’t see how it’s possible.”

  “I dropped the damn phone when she screamed at me, and I fell trying to get out of the room. When I got her stepbrother—”

  “Paxton Jamison?” He flips through some papers in his file and stops.

  “Yes, Pax, he stormed in after he heard where she was. I followed. That’s when I found the phone. When I picked it up, I shoved it in my pocket before getting out of there and walking home. My phone was dead.”

  “He gave a statement, says you ran out of the house and followed him back in. He said you tried to break up what might have been a fight.”

  I close my eyes, remembering vividly what happened that night, how angry Pax was at me, at Lana, at Joey Freaking White. I had never seen him look like that, act like that, or treat anyone like that before.

  “It’s a very vague statement.”

  “I’m sure he’s hurting. He’s the one who found her. Dad and I heard him screaming.” I scrunch my eyes shut, remembering how horrifying it was to see her like that and how heartbreaking it was to see Pax shattering into pieces as he held her.

  “Your father has addiction issues.” He shuffles through more papers. “Prescription medication?”

  I look up at him, stunned.