Within These Walls

Chapter 8

"Hey, look—isn't that your roommate, Carson?" Alec asks.

Baxter. I've only seen glimpses of him all day. He was at a back table during lunch, mingling with a quiet group that reminded me of the smart crowd at school. Now he's on the floor about ten feet from us, halfway between the stairs and the doorway.

He's facedown. Not moving. A few feet from him are a couple of other kids who didn't make it. Alec steps closer, his feet almost at the threshold. "Baxter! Get over here!"

Baxter moans and lifts a trembling hand in our direction. His bracelet is beeping, but he's not moving. "He can't get up," I say to no one.

"Like I said," Marcus says. "Survival of the fittest. And he's not exactly the killer beast type, is he? He's more like an injured gazelle."

Alec snorts. "You've been watching too many wildlife documentaries, dude."

The beeping stops. A second later, Baxter's body jerks. It's weird seeing someone under the effects of the bracelet. The way his body turns stiff as a board, his clenched fists, the harsh sounds coming out of his throat. It lasts all of two seconds before his body relaxes again, but I know it feels like a lifetime. He stays motionless once it's over.

"You think they'll stop doing that to him?" Alec asks.

"I don't know," Carson says. "Maybe we should help him."

Marcus scoffs. "You want to be stuck in his place? Be my guest."

That's the last thing I want, but leaving Baxter out there doesn't sit well with me. I fold both arms over my chest. It's funny in a not-so-funny way. I've spent the past seventeen years of life surviving alone. Depending on myself and no one else. Mom stopped taking care of me when Sam came into our lives. He gave me the bare minimum to exist. Not much of a coddler, that guy. He taught me to look out for myself and no one else.

And then I'm thrust into a world filled with people. People who need me.

Whom I might need. It's a heady feeling.

"We have to bring him inside," I finally say.

"How?" Carson asks.

"We need a rope." I turn around and head for my room.

The light is on. Camille is in there rifling through the bottom drawer of the dresser. She sees me and says, "The top one is yours."

First thing I see when I open it are clothes. More sweatpants and t-shirts. Socks, underwear, toiletries, tampons, a small first aid kit, and a case, long and slim and silver. It has my name on it. Frowning, I take it out and try to open it. There isn't a visible seam. I'm dying to know what's inside it, but Baxter doesn't have time.

"I need all of your sweatpants," I say to Camille as I grab my three pairs.

She crinkles her cute button nose. "What?"

"I need to make a rope. To pull Baxter in."

Carson is hovering by the door. "I'll get mine," he says and disappears.

"Isn't that going to ruin the pants?"

"Maybe, but being out there will do worse to him," I reply. She gives me a blank look. I feel impatience in my bones. "Are you going to help him or not?"

"It's not like he's dying."

"He could very well be. Constant electric shocks can't be good for the body."

"Well, Marcus was right, you know. It's survival of the fittest. I can't give away the little I have for someone who can't even run up a simple set of stairs."