26

Some guard used his Importance Stick, the tool all guards used to make it seem as though they were in charge, against the door of my cell. I picked up my head politely, just for a change of pace. I had played this game for years (most notably with murders at the end) just to see if it would ever become fun. At least it was something to exercise my brilliant mind.

He looked gruff and surprised, like he hadn't shaven in a few days. It was likely he was losing his job. "Get up," he barked. "Grab your stuff. We're leaving now."

I rose in my regulation clothing and slipped into my boots. Then I walked out the door.



I did not completely realize that the best part of my life was about to begin. I understood somehow that the new jails would be better, even though I had a limited knowledge of how things were going to work. But anything different was better, simply for some different stone walls to look at for a while. The new jails turned out to be something better than I ever imagined.

I did not know that I was walking out of that cell to my coronation.

The guard looked at me and asked, "You don't want any of your stuff?" I stared at him unblinkingly. He rolled his eyes at me, poked around for a second until he found, underneath the bed, the bag of clothes I'd been wearing when I'd gotten arrested. We'd been given our street clothes back a few weeks earlier, and some of the inmates had started wearing them right away. By now, most everyone had dingy, dirty clothes. I hadn't bothered to change.

The guard shoved the bag into my arms with a blow so hard it was nearly a punch in the stomach. My arms clasped around it and my middle instinctively, but I kept my face blank. The guard winced, looked at the ground, and mumbled, "You have to give your uniform back."

Maybe they were giving the uniforms to students, also.