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“Jeez, Mom. You run this place, sit on all those fu… darn committees, set up for the parent and toddler group and clean the church? You should ask God for a raise.”

“Don’t be flippant, and hold the blasphemy,” she said, but I caught the smile in her voice, too. “You could help me, you know.”

I rolled my eyes. “Fine. Just so long as you know that cleaning is against my religion.”

She laughed. “I’ve noticed. Just tell yourself it’ll be good for your soul.”

“Whatever. What needs doing?”

She pointed me in the direction of some rags, a can of polish and a darn large pulpit that needed to glow in honor of God’s glory, or some such.

Grimacing, I slathered some polish on a cloth and got cleaning.

“So, what’s so urgent that you deigned to set foot inside our church?” she asked, her voice amused.

“It’s about Jordan,” I replied, diving right in.

“I thought it might be,” she said, quietly.

“Someone slashed the tires on his truck last night. And if that wasn’t enough, they sprayed paint all over it. Also, I’m pretty sure that the same someone tried to run him down this morning. You saw how banged up he was. He wouldn’t tell me about it, but it’s obvious he’s being victimized.”

“Did he report it?”

“No, and that’s part of what bothers me. He refused to involve the police. I mean, I get why he wouldn’t want to—he’s kind of allergic to the boys in blue—but if he doesn’t do something, I’m worried it’s just going to get worse.”

“I’m afraid you’re right,” she said, tiredly. “I’ve been preaching about tolerance and forgiveness until I’m blue in the face: ‘With all humility and gentleness, with patience, bearing with one another in love,’ but it doesn’t seem to have made much difference.”

She sounded despondent—that wasn’t like my mom.

“I was hoping you’d have some ideas,” I admitted.

“Honey, Jordan’s problems aren’t your responsibility.”

“I know that, Mom, but it’s totally shit the way people around here treat him. They painted the word ‘murderer’ on his truck. Is it true?”

She shook her head immediately.

“Not in the eyes of the law.”

“But in your eyes?”

She sighed and looked down.

“Jordan is responsible for the loss of a life. It’s not for me to say more: I believe he’ll be judged by a higher power when the time comes, as will we all.”

Her answer was only partially satisfying.

“He’s really trying, but no one will give him a chance,” I said, quietly. “Even his own parents act like they hate him.”

“I didn’t know you’d met them.”

“Well, only his mom, this afternoon when I gave Jordan a ride home. She didn’t even manage to say ‘hello’ before she was asking me what trouble he’d gotten into now. He says himself that they hate him, and he has to live with that twenty-four/seven.”

She sat down heavily on one of the chairs.

“I was afraid of that. I thought having Jordan home would help them work through their problems together, but from the sound of it, that’s not happening. I don’t think they’ve even grieved properly. They’re stuck in the anger stage. They can’t seem to get past that. I tried to get them to go to counseling but they refused.”

“Jordan said he had a counselor in prison, but he didn’t say what they talked about. It might not even have been that sort of therapy.”

Mom shook her head. “As I understand it, Jordan received the kind of counseling that’s designed to help a prisoner readjust into society prior to being released. He may have had some grief counseling at the time…”

She didn’t sound very certain.

“Could family therapy help them?”

“I’d really like to think it could, honey, but getting them there is the problem. I’ve even offered to help them from the church’s hardship fund, but the Kanes are proud people.” She looked up at me. “Sweetheart, I know this isn’t something you believe, but will you join me in a prayer?”

“Mom…”

“Just listen, you don’t have to say anything.”

She got on her knees and faced the altar.

“Lord, I ask for your divine help to shine on the faces of your children, Gloria, Paul and Jordan Kane. Bring peace in their hearts and light into their darkness. I also pray for my daughter, Torrey Delaney. Show her the path, Lord, and help her make the right choices. You have turned my mourning into dancing; You have put off my sackcloth and clothed me with gladness. To the end that my glory may sing praise to You and not be silent. O Lord my God, I will give thanks to You forever. I ask for these things in Jesus’ name. Amen.”

I didn’t know what to say, so I made a joke of it.

“Hey, you’re getting pretty good at this, Mom!”

She clambered off of her knees and raised an eyebrow. “Well, gee! Thanks, honey! Good to know. Do I get a sticker with that?”

Okay, so maybe I got some of my sarcasm from her. It was kind of cool to find that I didn’t mind so much.

“Funny, Mom. You could do stand up.”

“I do, honey, every Sunday. You should come.”

“Um, no!” I shook my head vigorously, and she laughed.

My thoughts drifted back to Jordan again.

“Seriously. Do you think you could maybe talk to his parents so they don’t give him such a hard time?”

She sighed. “I’ll try, but I can’t guarantee anything.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

We finished the cleaning in silence, each lost in our thoughts.

 

 

Torrey

 

Mom woke me ridiculously early.

“I’m sorry, honey, but I have to head on out to a meeting with the bishop in Houston. I just wanted you to know that I’ll be contacting the Kanes to see if I can meet with them. I’m going to try and do it on the way back, so I might be pretty late.”

“And you couldn’t put that in a note?” I asked, grumpily.

“Yes, I could, but I wanted to see your smiling face,” she smirked at me.

“Okay, Mom. Drive safe.”

“Will do, honey. Oh, one more thing … you said Jordan’s tires were slashed?”

“Yeah?”

“Well, I remembered that there’s a junkyard over toward Corpus, about eight or nine miles out of town. I left the address on the kitchen table for you. I thought you could take Jordan over there and see if there’s anything he could get for his truck that wasn’t too expensive.”

I sat up in bed, pushing a tangle of hair out of my face.

“That’s really nice of you, Mom, but I don’t think he has any money at all.”

“If you can get something for $50, I’ll take the money from the hardship fund. That’s what it’s there for. Just make sure you get a receipt.”

I think we were both surprised when I pulled her into a tight hug. We didn’t have a touchy-feely relationship, but I thought this definitely warranted a show of affection.

“Thanks, Mom. You just keep on surprising me—I like it.”

“Oh you too, honey. I’m so proud of the compassionate young woman you’ve become.”

“Yeah, don’t overdo it, Mom.”

She laughed and stood up straight. “Don’t wait up!” she called over her shoulder.

I was wide awake after that, so I decided to ignore what Jordan had said and go pick him up. Then we could drive straight to the junkyard and get him some new tires. I hoped.

And I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to get four truck tires in the Princess, so we might have to make two trips. Better get started.

I admit that I had an excited bubbly feeling in my stomach at the thought of having a whole day to spend with Jordan. I wanted to help him, for sure, but there was more to it than that. And not just the fact that the guy was seriously hot. I wanted to know him, and I wanted him to have the chance to be the person he was meant to be, not just the shadow of a man he was right now.

And hell, if I had to stay in this small town another four or five months, I may as well do someone a good turn if I could. Jeez, I was turning into my mother. Was that like some kind of curse? We all end up turning into our parents no matter how much we fight it?

I took my time in the shower and pulled out my favorite jean shorts for my non-date with Jordan. I wasn’t hungry, but I was desperate for coffee so I made a full pot, drank two cups and filled a thermos with the rest to give to Jordan.

I was a bit apprehensive driving to his house, especially after last night’s little scene with his mom, but I struck lucky. I spotted him jogging down the road, his backpack thumping against him with every stride. I took a moment to appreciate the smooth glide of his gait despite the thick scab on his left knee, and took pleasure in watching the muscles lengthening and contracting in his strong thighs.

He looked surprised and slightly worried when he saw me. That was okay, it was his default setting—one I was determined to try and change.

“Hey, cowboy! Did ya forget your damn coffee?” I yelled out of the window, waving the thermos at him.

He cracked a smile and leaned against the car, one arm on the roof.

“Thanks! I could definitely use it. Are you headin’ out for the day?”

“Sure am. Hop in.”

“That’s okay. I can make my way on over to your momma’s place—you don’t have to give me a ride.”

“Get in, doofus, we’re going shopping.”

He was half in the seat when he honed in on the word ‘shopping’.

“Um, pardon me, but what did you say?”

“You heard—shopping! There’s nothing wrong with your hearing, cowboy.”

He clipped his seatbelt into place and watched me as I put the car in drive.

“Why are we shoppin’, Torrey?”

I liked the way my name sounded when he said it.

“Waaal,” I said, drawing out the word the way I’d heard him pronounce it, “my mom is one of those Christian types who likes to do good deeds…”

“I’ve noticed,” he said, his voice toneless.

“Yeah, and she’s decided that I can be her sidekick, like…”

“SpongeBob and Patrick Star?”

“Oh, boy! You watched waaaay too many cartoons in prison. No, I was thinking something cooler like Batman and Robin.”

“You think Robin is cool?”

“Fair point. Well, maybe not the Burt Ward version…”

“Not any of them.”

“Okay, well Catwoman then.”

“Catwoman was Batman’s arch enemy.”

“I know, but the outfit was cool.”

“I thought it was hot,” he said, raising one eyebrow.

I liked the way he looked when he did that.

“Yeah, but that’s not the point…” I reminded him.

“So there is a point?” he smiled.

I loved seeing his smile, too.

“There was when I started, I’m not so sure now; I keep getting interrupted by a giant know-it-all.”

“Sorry.”

“Apology accepted.”

“So, where we goin’ again?”

“I told you: shopping.”

“Shoppin’ for what?”

“You’ll see.”

He huffed, looking irritated. Yay! At least he didn’t look anxious or scared—progress!

I patted his leg.

“Just sit back and enjoy the ride.”

“Can you go back to the bit where you were sayin’ your momma liked to do good deeds?”

“I don’t know, are you going to interrupt me again?”

“Nope.”

“Promise?”

“Yep.”

“Hmm…”

“Hmm?”

“No, I’ve changed my mind.”

He ground his teeth with frustration and shot me a dirty look.

I couldn’t help laughing out loud and watched from the corner of my eye as he cracked another smile. If he kept this up, smiling would become a habit.

It took nearly 30 minutes to drive the nine miles to the junkyard, mostly because I took a wrong turn out of town. Then I realized I was getting near Jordan’s ten-mile limit, and had to turn around and start from the beginning, turning the whole trip into a 35-mile drive.

Jordan didn’t seem to mind. We chatted about random stuff—films he’d liked as a kid, a few that he’d seen while in prison.

I should probably have asked him the way to the junkyard, seeing as he’d lived here since he was born, but I wanted to surprise him.

When I turned into the dusty lot, he was definitely surprised.

“We’re at the junkyard,” he said, flatly.

“Yes, Captain Obvious. We’re looking for truck tires,” I explained, climbing out of the car.

A look of disappointment crossed his face.

Darn. Maybe I should have told him earlier where we were going.

It was a pretty depressing place. Wounded cars and trucks littered the whole area, the aluminum and steel glittering under a layer of fine, brown dust. The dead had been heaped into pyres of crushed metal, waiting to be taken away and recycled—the Soylent Green of the auto world.

A mountain of rubber tires stood out darkly at the rear of the lot. It was a grim reminder of where cars came to die. I swear my Firebird quivered in terror.

“Um, good surprise?” I asked tentatively, risking a glance at Jordan’s blank expression.

He frowned slightly and shook his head.

“Torrey, this is real nice of you, but I don’t have money for new tires. I told you this.”

“True, but you weren’t thinking of God’s bounty.”

“You’re gonna have to explain that.”

“Mom gave me fifty bucks to get you some new tires. And before you argue, it didn’t come out of her own pocket, so don’t start bitching about it.”

He crossed his arms, a move that made his biceps look lickable, I mean, likeable—whatever—and he leaned back in his seat.

“You mean the money came from the community hardship fund, don’t you.”

“Aw, you guessed,” I said, pretending to look disappointed.

“I cain’t accept it,” he snapped.

“Sure you can.”

“Folks around here won’t…”

“Folks around here won’t know. And guess what, even if they did know, it’s not their call. That money is Mom’s to dispense as she sees fit. Besides, don’t you find it an interesting paradox that it was people from the community who slashed your tires, but that the same community will pay to replace them? Some might call that serendipity.”

“Or ironic.”

“Both work,” I agreed, happy that he understood.

“I don’t know…” he began, biting his lip.

I want to do that. Jeez, my inner monologue is a horny harlot.

“I do know, so get out of the darn car and help me find what we’re looking for, Auto Boy.”

He scowled but unclipped his seatbelt. “You sure have a lot of nicknames for me.”

“I know. I’m creative like that. You should hear the ones I’ve got for my new step-mom.”

“I didn’t know you had one?”

“You don’t know everything about me,” I said, raising an eyebrow.

Before he could reply, we were approached by an enormously hairy guy, the size of a WWE wrestler. I was very glad that Jordan was with me, because this guy was seriously scary.

“Well, well,” he bit out, in a deep baritone voice. “If it ain’t the notorious Jordan Kane.”

Ooh, hadn’t counted on that. I hope things aren’t about to get violent.

“How you doin’, Hulk?” Jordan asked, quietly.

Oh wow! Winding up a 400 pound monster is not my idea of smart.

“Better than you, boy, that’s for sure.” Then the monster-man held out a meaty fist. “Good to see you, kid.”

They shook hands in some complicated man-moves and slapped each other on the back. Jordan coughed slightly and I wouldn’t have been surprised to see his spine sticking out through a lung.

Then the Hulk turned to me. “And who’s the purty lady, you dawg!”

“Give me a break,” Jordan muttered, looking and sounding embarrassed. “This is Torrey Delaney. She was nice enough to give me a ride.”

“Was she now?”

“Hi!” I said brightly, proud that my hand didn’t tremble as I held it out.

The Hulk took my fingers gingerly and gave my hand a gentle shake, as if afraid I’d disintegrate if he held on any tighter. His eyes flicked up and down me then turned back to Jordan.

“So, what are you doin’ over this-aways, kid?”

“Need me some tires for Mikey’s truck, Hulk.”

Oh, so ‘Hulk’ is his name, not an insult. And Jordan has been ragging on me about nicknames.

“Yeah? How many you need?”

“Four.”

Hulk looked surprised. “What the hell you do?”

Jordan didn’t reply, suddenly finding the dirt at his feet utterly fascinating, so I stepped in with the answer. “Some asshat slashed them.”

Hulk looked back to Jordan who was still staring at the dusty ground.

“Think I might have what you need, kid,” Hulk said. “Grab ahold of that tire iron and follow me.”

Hulk led the way and I trailed at the back.

“Hey!” I hissed at Jordan. “How well do you know this guy?”

“Pretty well, why?”

“Just wondering. I didn’t want to end up in his car crusher.”

Jordan grinned at me. He had nice teeth.

“Nah, you’re safe. Hulk is a pussycat.” Then his smile faded. “Me and Mikey learned all we knew about cars from him.”

Hulk led us past a small mountain of mangled metal, to the truck area of the junkyard, where the maimed and three-wheeled had limped to a halt, the spare parts huddling together for comfort.

“Help yourself,” he said, waving his arm at the plastic and aluminum carcasses.

He started to walk back to the office.

“Um, Mr. Hulk?” I said, a little nervously. “We only have fifty dollars…”

Hulk looked amused. “There’s no charge.”

“Oh, really?”

“Nope.”

And he turned away again.

“In that case…?”

He looked over his shoulder, his expression patient.

“What is it now, girl?”

I don’t like being called ‘girl’ but right now I need his help—plus I don’t know if he turns green and doubles in size if he gets mad.

“I was wondering if you had any spare car paint. Jordan’s truck kind of got redecorated, too.”

“That right?”

His eyes flicked across to Jordan who shrugged.

“I’ll see what I can find. This a-way.”

I trotted behind Hulk and he led me to a shed behind his office. It was a cornucopia of metal paints. Cans of all colors and all sizes were scattered around. Some had dried to powder, but there were enough that were still usable.

“Wow! This is great! Thanks, Hulk.”

He nodded then frowned at me.

“You ain’t from around here.”

It was a statement, not a question.

“No, I’m just passing through.”

“He don’t need no woman trouble.”

I rolled my eyes.

“Not all women are trouble.”

“Sez you.”

“And your point is?”

“Jordan’s not a bad kid.”

“I agree. In fact I’m sort of surprised to find anyone other than me and my mom who’ll actually talk to him.”

Hulk studied me steadily. “You’re that preacher lady’s girl, ain’t you?”

“Yep, that’s me. Guilty as charged.”

“Huh. So, Jordan is your charity case—that right?”

I stared back coldly. “There’s nothing wrong with charity. But as far as I’m concerned, I’m just helping out a friend. What’s your excuse?”

He barked out a loud laugh that made me jump. “Well, ain’t you a lil’ firecracker! I’m glad to see Jordan done got hisself a good ‘un.”

Then he ambled back into the office, still chuckling.

I was left alone with the paint stash, feeling a little confused.

By the time I’d sorted out which ones Jordan was most likely to want, I was very dusty and sweaty. I collected the thermos of coffee from my car and went to find him.

He was even sweatier and dirtier. I guess wrestling four truck tires would do that to a man. He’d abandoned his t-shirt and was standing in just his sneakers and those baggy cut-offs. They ought to come with a health warning, because I was sure I was going to stroke out watching him hitch them up at regular intervals.

“Hey, cowboy! You forgot your damn coffee again!” I yelled.

He turned and gave me a big smile then walked over and flopped down next to me in the shade of the building.

“Did you find what you needed?” I asked, passing him the cup of coffee.

“Yeah, four good tires.”

“Excellent. The question is, do you think we’ll be able to get them all in the Princess?”

“We should be able to get three in the trunk.”

“Oh, goodie, because so many trucks run on three wheels.”

“Yeah, who knew?”

I slapped his arm and he leaned away, dodging as I swung again.

“You play rough!” he said.

I raised one eyebrow and watched with vindictive pleasure as his cheeks pinked up again.

“So, cowboy. Wheel number four goes where? Or do we have to make another trip?”

“Well, we could. But if you don’t mind, we could fix one on the roof.”

I looked at him suspiciously. “Won’t that dent it?”

“Not if we’re careful. All we need is that blanket you’ve got in your trunk so the paintwork don’t get scratched. And I’ll borrow some rope from Hulk.”

“Well, all right then. But if there’s one single scratch or tiny dent, I can’t promise that I won’t get violent on your ass.”

He smiled and winked at me. He actually winked! Yay!

About 15 minutes later, after much sweating and swearing from Hulk and Jordan, the tires were all loaded into and onto my car. I wasn’t very happy about it, and the Princess looked very unhappy, but both men had promised that my car would survive unscathed.

The journey back was quicker, mainly because I let Jordan give me directions. He’d been delighted with my color selection and promised that he’d paint something memorable to cover up the ugly red mess.

Back at his house, he got to work straight away. He still hadn’t commented on the wording he was painting over, although I kind of felt like he might be waiting for me to speak first. Unusually for me, I wasn’t keen to start that conversation right then and there.

“Um, Jordan, I really need to use the bathroom. I’ve got my legs crossed, my eyes crossed and if I had a tail, that would have a knot in it, too.”

“Sure, no problem. There’s a key under the mat.”

“That’s not very secure!” I complained.

He shrugged. “They’ve always done it that way. Came in handy when we were kids.”

“What, sneaking girls into your room?”

He smiled.

“Nope. Never had a girl in my bedroom.”

“What? Not even a friend who was a girl?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

He sat back on his heels, thinking about his answer.

“Well, I guess it’s because I went from thinkin’ girls were lame, to playin’ spin the bottle over night. Momma read us the riot act, and me and Mikey were both forbidden to have girls in the house—ever.”

“Oh, figures: two teenage boys. They were probably worried about becoming grandparents before their time. They did know that banning girls from the house wouldn’t necessarily guard against that?”

He smiled wickedly. “I don’t think they wanted to know, which was just as well as far as me and Mikey were concerned.”

“Hmm, there’s a story there, Jordan Kane, and I intend to find out what it is. But first I need to pee!”

After I’d finished in the bathroom, I couldn’t help taking a peek into the other rooms. There were three bedrooms upstairs. One was obviously his parents’ room so I didn’t go in there; the next I assumed was Jordan’s.

The bed was made and there were posters of various football teams tacked to the walls. It was messy, with several pairs of jeans and a couple of plaid shirts heaped up on the single chair. Paperbacks were stuffed into the narrow bookshelf, and when I looked closer I was surprised to see that most were high school textbooks.

I jumped when I heard Jordan’s voice behind me.

“What are you doin’ in here?”

“I couldn’t help wanting to violate the ‘no girls in your bedroom’ rule,” I said, smiling at him.

He frowned. “This is Mikey’s room.”

“Oh!” Color flooded my cheeks. “I’m so sorry! I just assumed…”

I looked around again, this time seeing the signs that I’d missed before: the layer of dust over everything, the slightly dated feel of the posters and pictures.

A cold tremor passed through me. This room was a shrine. Nothing had been touched. Now that I looked closely, I could see that even the sheets on the bed were covered with a film of dust. It was unbearably sad—but also a little creepy.

“You still want to see my room?” he asked, cocking his head to one side.

“You don’t have to. I was just curious.”

He jerked his head toward the next door, and pushed it open.

This room couldn’t have been more different. In fact, if I were looking for comparisons, I’d say it looked like a cell. There were no pictures on the walls, and the bookshelf held just two books: a tattered paperback that looked like it might have come from a yard sale, and the Holy Bible.

There were no personal possessions at all.

I looked around, searching for something, but there was nothing. I stared at him, confused, wanting to ask, but dreading his answer.

“Go ahead,” he said. “Ask me.”

“What happened to all your stuff?”

“They burned it.”

He turned and left me gaping into the empty room.

I felt horrible that I’d invaded his privacy in that way, even though he had nothing to hide. Well, he had nothing at all, which was sadder.

An overwhelming feeling of grief pressed on my body as I followed Jordan down the stairs. What would it do to a person, living day in and day out surrounded by nothing but memories and hatred? In so many ways, his home life resembled a prison, and I began to understand the extent of the problems he faced, as well as the reasons for the walls he’d erected around himself.

But perhaps this was worse? In prison, you don’t expect anyone to give a shit about you. But shouldn’t he have had an expectation that he would be loved by his parents no matter what? Isn’t a parent’s love unconditional? I guess not.

I wondered again what Jordan had done to suffer such hatred from them. I really hoped he’d tell me.

I tiptoed down the stairs, almost afraid to breathe in that haunted house, and sat on the porch, watching him silently work to replace the slashed tires on his truck. I offered to help but he refused, saying it would go quicker if I just stayed sitting.

“Where do you think you’ll go—I mean, when your parole is finished?”

He fidgeted with the tire iron.

“It’s all right, you don’t have to tell me,” I reassured him. “We can talk about something else if you like.”

“No, it’s fine. I like talkin’ about it with you. It’s just a little strange for me. I feel like you’re a dream and I’ll wake up and find that my life really is totally shit after all.”

My heart ached to hear him sound so unhappy.

“Jordan, you’ve got a few months left then you can leave this place and never look back.”

He sighed and closed his eyes.

“It’s not that easy.”

“Sure it is. You say, ‘to hell with this small town’. And then you get in your truck and drive away.”

“Maybe for you it’s easy…”

“No, if it’s what you want—you just leave.”

“I don’t own anything, Torrey. Not even this broken down old truck. It … it belonged to Mikey, and there’s no way my old man would let me have it. It just about kills him that I drive it—well, when folks aren’t slashin’ the tires. I’d have to walk outta here and beg for food like some hobo.”

“But at least you’d be free.”

“Free to starve? Anyway, I’m not so sure about being free. My real prison is in here,” and he tapped a long finger against his head. “‘Men are not prisoners of fate, but only prisoners of their own minds.’ Franklin D. Roosevelt. Guy knew what he was talkin’ about.”

I was impressed. “How do you know this stuff? I was a History major and I don’t know half the things you do.”

“University of life,” he said, offering a small smile. “I had eight years to do nothin’ but read. Read every book in the damn library—twice.”

“See! I knew you were smart!”

Jordan looked sad. “Mikey was the clever one. He had a full scholarship to go to UT at Austin. I was just his dumb little brother, draggin’ my sorry ass in the mud and ruinin’ the family name. Everyone said I’d amount to nothin’—guess they were right.”

“You’re not nothing,” I said, sharply. “Say that again and I’ll really hurt you.”

I saw a small, painful smile twitch at his lips.

“Did you have any friends come see you in prison?”

He shook his head.

“Nah, no one wanted to know.”

“And since you got out?”

“Nope. Cain’t say as I blame them. I don’t think I’d even recognize any of them now. Besides, Mikey was my best friend…”

“And you didn’t make friends in … in prison?”

He shrugged.

“Maybe one guy in juvie, but no, not really. Some cons did—someone to watch their back, ya know. I preferred keepin’ to myself.”

“It must have been lonely.”

“Yes and no. Do you know anything about Japan?”

“Whoa! Random, much?”

“I read a book about Japan once. It’s one of the most populated countries on the planet; all those millions of people crowded onto four small islands. So they all have to live in each other’s pockets, ya know? And they have those slidin’ doors made from paper to divide the rooms up. There’s not much privacy. So they get alone time by being inside their heads. That was what it was like for me.”