The teachers heard the commotion at the door and hurried over to smooth things down.
My father, his face a livid gray, forced out a smile uglier than tears. “I'm so sorry. What a scene for you all to witness.”
Just then his phone rang, and Grandma Valerie Swanson's voice leaked out of the receiver.
“This is all your doing, spoiling that daughter of yours! If anything happens to my precious grandson, I won't go on living either.”
“This morning Bob Lambert's mother sent a matchmaker over. I think that Bob's a fine boy, knows his own mind.”
“Marry Daniela off to him. I don't believe she'll stay defiant then.”
My father was silent a moment, then answered, “All right.”
This Bob Lambert they kept talking about, he'd bullied me all through elementary school. Had they really forgotten that?
“You sit in there and reflect on yourself.” My mother shoved me into the room and locked the door.
I'd actually learned my lesson this time. I thought if I said nothing about my scores, the worst they'd assume was that I hadn't gotten into college.
Just then my phone rang first.
The caller ID read: unknown number. The university admissions office.
I swiped up and pressed the green answer key.
One door between us, and the crowd on the other side didn't lower their voices at all. I could hear every word.
“That's what I always say. You can't spoil a girl. What good is all that studying? She still has to get married in the end.”
My aunt lifted her chin, smug all over her face.
“Look at our Ellie Pope. Finished middle school, went straight into the factory, six thousand a month now.”
“Couple more years, that'll go up too.”
“Hey, how much is Bob putting up for the bride price?”
Earl flashed a hand signal.
“A hundred eighty thousand. Mom already said it. Every cent stays with me.”
My aunt paused. “I'm guessing she won't go along with it.”
“That little brat's stubborn. What if she kicks up a huge fuss? Aren't you afraid somebody ends up dead?”
......
The other side of the door went dead quiet, until Earl spoke again.
But his voice dropped low, too low for me to catch a word of it.
It didn't matter. I'd already booked my bus ticket for tomorrow night.
My bag was packed in no time. One small twenty-inch suitcase held everything I owned.
I took one last long look at the little room where I'd lived for eighteen years.
My mind slowly went hazy, and I sank into a heavy sleep.
Late that night, a black sedan lurched to a stop in the alley outside our door.
Four burly men climbed out, hauled me straight off the bed, and shoved me into the car.
I screamed as hard as I could, but not one person in that house came out.
A few seconds later it all came clear to me, and I stopped wasting a scrap of strength.
Before long they'd brought me to the “Mingde Reform Boot Camp.”
Concrete walls over ten feet high ringed the place, topped with a coil of electrified fencing.
Below the wire, jagged shards of glass stood packed thick along the top.
The car hadn't even fully stopped when I heard the chanting drifting out from inside, echoing like something wailing.
【The obedience codes, taught by the sages.】
【Above all comes honoring your parents.】
【Your body, your very skin and hair, all of it granted by your parents.】
Two thick-shouldered instructors swaggered up to me, grabbed an arm each, and dragged me inside like a bag of garbage.
The dormitory building reeked of mold and disinfectant.
They flung me into an eight-bunk dorm.
“New girl. Behave yourself!”
Behind me came a heavy clang as the lock dropped.
That sound jolted me clean out of my sleep.
I looked around at everything, the room dim, the iron frames of the bunks scabbed with rust.
A few girls about my own age raised their eyes to me, their gazes dull, bruises scattered somewhere on every face and body.
I struggled to my feet and glanced at the four big yellow characters on the red banner on the wall, 【Be Grateful to Your Parents】, and a cold smile tugged at my lips.
Half an hour later, those same two instructors dragged me out of the dorm again.
They threw me into a room with a sign hanging on it that read “Psychological Correction Room.”
