Page 283 of Unexpected Hero

No. No. No. Fight, Lettie.

I may bend, but I will not break.

When the door closes, I face Tasha with renewed determination. I won’t hide my name anymore — that’s the surest way to forget who I am.

“My name is Violet Holt. I will get out of here and take my life back one day.”

A sad yet determined smile graces her face. “I will get out too, Violet Holt.”

We sit together, sharing a brief moment of unity that fortifies our inner strength.

We will not break.

She tips her head toward the bedroom closet. “Come. I show you my secret place now.”

I follow her, both of us crawling into the empty, narrow closet. She turns to ensure I’m watching, then glances over her shoulder toward the other two girls. I do the same. They’re both out like a light.

Tasha runs her fingertips over the wood paneling that lines the closet walls. “See here?” She works her fingertips into a groove and pops out a part of the panel.

I gasp in shock, quickly covering my mouth so I don’t squeal and wake up the others.

She shushes me through a grin, then moves aside and waves me closer to the small opening. I peek into the hole.

Silky strands of hope branch out from the bottom of my chest.

Although the opening is small, inside the wall is a larger place of refuge, roughly six feet long and three feet deep. It’s as tall as the ceiling. The wood framing of the interior walls is still present. I suspect it was originally a deep closet that they made shallower to create this hidden alcove.

“Savin say this was used to hide guns and drugs.”

How sweet. Ugh.

Despite having a construction-in-progress feel, the hidden space is cozy and inviting at first glance. There’s a battery-operated reading light taped onto the wall. Tasha reaches over my shoulder to click it on.

A soft blanket covers the floor, the fluffy kind. I can’t help but run my hand through it, luxuriating in the feel of something comforting. There’s a pillow too. My hand is drawn to it next. Heaven. Can’t believe how much I miss a simple pillow after only a few days. Wait. Has it been a few days? More? Less? I don’t know. Feels like I’ve been here forever.

“Give me that,” she whispers, pointing at a shoe box along one side.

I remove it and pass it to her. She opens the lid, revealing a book written in Russian and a small stash of granola bars, cookies, and candy.

Not just any candy. It’s chocolate.

Yummy.

My mouth waters.

In this hell, it’s easy to forget how hungry you are. Now that I see food, my stomach churns and growls.

An image of the Homer Simpson meme where he’s drooling flashes through my mind. That’s me now. Drooly Homer.

She distracts me from my food fantasies by removing an oddly-shaped container from the box. “Nose spray. For overdose.” She puts the white plastic tip near her nose, positioning her fingers along the plunger to mime how to administer it. “If you see girl in trouble and her breathing almost stop, then you can use on her. Save her.”

Narcan. The stuff they give to people who overdose. I saw it on that paramedics show once.

“Thank you for showing this to me.”

Before she closes the space, she teaches me how to close the panel from the inside and then pop it open when I need to come back out.

We shuffle back to our original spots against the bedroom wall and wait. Wait to sleep. Wait to be yelled at again. Hit or worse.

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