Winter (GxG)

Chapter 1: New Intake

The gym floor was cold through the thin fabric of the girls’ uniforms. The basketball hoops were raised to the ceiling, off limits at this time, while fluorescent lights buzzed overhead.
Along the far wall, treadmills and weight machines stood in a straight line, unused for now.

The girls sat in a wide circle at center of the indoor court. Some were leaning back on their hands, others were hugging their knees. A few whispered back and forth to each other until Ms. Harlow cleared her throat.

The girl sharing today was Deja, she sat stiffly, hands twisted together in her lap.
“My mom’s been coming to the meetings,” she said, staring down at the floor. “She’s doing better. She’s clean. She signing me out for today.”

A few heads lifted at that.

“You're going out today?” someone asked.

She nodded quickly. “Yeah. I have to be back before curfew, but we’re going to get lunch, and maybe go to the park.”

There was a mix of reactions. A couple girls smiled softly, genuinely happy for her. Others looked away, trying not to show jealousy and resentment.

In this facility, temporary sign outs weren’t rare. Parents or guardians could sign the girls out for a few hours if they were approved. Some girls used it to work shifts at grocery stores or fast food places. Others went to mandated counseling or family visits. But it still meant fresh air. It meant leaving the gates, even if only for a while.

Ms. Harlow nodded. “And how does that make you feel?”

“Nervous,” the girl admitted. “But good. I think it’s going to be okay.”

“Good,” Ms. Harlow said. “That’s progress. You’ve earned that trust, and now your mom can try to earn yours.”

The circle stayed quiet for a moment. Nina sat two seats away from Amari, her arms resting on her knees. She watched the her friend carefully, wearing a neutral face. Amari looked bored, gaze drifting toward the far wall.

“Does anyone else want to share before we end?” Ms. Harlow asked.

There was a pause.

Then a small voice spoke up.

“I heard there’s a new girl coming.”
Heads turned instantly.

The voice belonged to Lacey. Thin, small, nervous, always hovering at the edge of the bigger personalities. Like a little mouse shivering under the gaze of cats on a constant hunt. She kept her eyes down as she spoke, fingers picking at her sleeve.

“Who told you that?” one girl asked.

“No one,” Lacey said quickly. “I was working my office hours yesterday. Filing. And the warden had a new intake folder on his desk.”

The circle leaned in.

“And?” someone pressed.

“There was a photo clipped to it,” Lacey said. She swallowed, then added, “It was hers.”

“You saw her?” another girl asked. Lacey nodded, her eyes flicking up for a moment to meet the other's gazes.

“She looked like…” Lacey hesitated, then forced a small smirk. “Like a princess.”

A few girls snorted.

“What, like crown and everything?” a laugh breathed out.

“Blonde,” Lacey twitsted the hem of her sleeves more. “Glittery blue eyes. Perfect skin. She didn’t look like she belonged here.”

The laughter grew louder.
“I wonder if she'll cry when intake takes her shoelaces,” a voice seemed to flutter through full of humor.
“I wonder if she'll be a good fighter,” another inquiry.

Lacey gave a tiny shrug, encouraged by the reaction. “She just looked… pretty.”
The way she spoke that time had a slight edge, like she was mocking the idea before anyone could accuse her of admiring the new intakes looks.
For once, she had information the others didn’t. For once she could try to keep their attention.

Nina tilted her head after a yawn. “Pretty doesn’t mean soft.”

The laughter dipped slightly hearing Nina's voice.
Amari finally looked engaged as well. “It doesn’t matter what she looks like.”
A few girls went quiet. When Amari spoke, the room shifted. Amari was top dog here, the head girl, and Nina was her best friend. When these two spoke, it was best to listen. They wont repeat themselves.

“She’ll learn the rules either way,” A girl next to Nina seemed to mutter.

“Yeah,” another chimed in. “Nobody gets special treatment.”

Lacey’s shoulders started curling inward again now that the spotlight was moving on. She glanced around, checking for signs that she had overstepped. Said too much. Drew too much attention.

“What’d she do?” Curiosity still seemed present by others.

“File didn’t say,” Lacey answered quickly. “I didn’t read it. Just saw the picture.”

“So she could be crazy.”

“Or rich.”

“Or both.”

Speculation started flying. Shoplifting. Assault. Running away. Didn't get a new car from her rich daddy. Something dramatic. The tone shifted from teasing to curious, edged with anticipation.
Ms. Harlow's hand rose. “That’s enough.” She found she allowed this topic to go on for too long.

“We don’t gossip about new residents,” her voice came out absolute. “You’ll meet her when she arrives, and she will be treated with the same expectations as everyone else.”

A few girls rolled their eyes but didn’t argue with Ms. Harlow.
She rose to her feet and patted down her skirt lightly, “Session dismissed.”

The circle quickly broke apart, many of them stretching and yawning. They found the group therapy to be quite dull most days, but the topic of the new intake had been entertaining to say the least.

Was she arriving today? Tomorrow? Who knew. But fresh meat was always the most exciting topic.

Small groups formed as the girls moved toward the locker rooms and hallways. The buzz of conversation picked back up  as they dispersed.

Nina stood and stretched her arms over her head. “You think she’ll be as soft and fragile as Lacey made her seem?” she turned to Amari quietly.
Amari shrugged. “Doesn’t matter.”

Nina glanced down the hallway where Lacey was already disappearing, shrinking back into her usual invisibility.
“What matters,” Amari continued, “is how she walks in, and how she'll fall in line.”

Nina blinked slowly, almost lazily, as she nodded.

Across the facility, the rumors kept spreading. A psycho. A spoiled brat. A druggie.

Only one girl had seen the photo, and her description made everyone else want to see for themselves.