Graceful Waters

DAY ONE

The parking lot was full of upset parents waiting for the corrections officers to take their teenage daughters away to the Sapling Hill Youth Facility for Girls, better known as the Girl's Boot Camp. Grace had spent the two weeks since sentencing at Crestwood, unable to see her mother. Now she had only a few minutes before she would be put on the bus and sent north to what other teens had described as "hell with lots of trees." To her annoyance, Edna Waters spent those minutes crying at the sight of her daughter in an orange jumpsuit and shackles.

"That's right, make a scene," Grace said, rolling her eyes as her mother pulled out another tissue.

"I'm supposed to be happy that my only daughter has been incarcerated?" her mother said, dabbing at the tears that spilled out of her eyes.

"It's six months, Ma. I can do that standing on my head." Grace turned her head to let the wind blow the pink bangs out of her eyes. "Look at it this way, you're always complaining you don't know where I am or what I'm doing. Now you'll know."

"Shackles," her mother said, referring to the restraints keeping Grace's wrists pinned to her sides. "If your grandfather had lived to see this."

"Yeah, yeah, I know I'm a huge disappointment and a disgrace to the family," the teen said, drawing a look from a nearby guard.

"If you would just realize how much better things could be," her mother said. "If you would just get some direction in your life."

"I've got direction." Grace turned back to her mother, her fists clenched. "I don't need you or anyone else telling me how to act and what to do. I can handle everything just fine by myself."

The corrections officer grabbed her arm. "I think you'll sit up front with me," he said. "Mrs. Waters, did your lawyer explain the visitation to you?"

Grace's mother nodded and pulled out another tissue. "He said maybe after the first two months."

"They'll send you a letter to let you know," he said. "Let's go, you smart-mouth punk."

"What's the matter? Can't get any unless you chain them up?" Grace taunted as he pulled her in the direction of the bus. "Then again, maybe you ain't got one to get up in the first place."

"Oh yeah, that big mouth of yours will be real welcome at Sapling Hill," he said, jerking her to stop in front of the bus where another officer stood with a clipboard in hand. "This is Grace Waters," he said. "She's going up front."

Grace was furious by the time the bus pulled through the high gates of Sapling Hill. A well-aimed glob of spit had earned her a gag that brought laughter and comments from the other teens. Now the bus had stopped and everyone was off except her. The guard who put her on the bus, and whom she had spit upon, was now talking to a tall woman with short black hair and wearing military fatigues. The woman nodded several times, then stepped onto the bus.

"Well, Waters, it seems you're going to be this group's hard case." The imposing woman stood in front of Grace and towered over her. "You listen up and you listen close, little girl. Playtime is over!" she shouted into Grace's ear, startling her as the shackles that held her to the seat were removed. "Now you get your ass off this bus and line up. Move it!" Grace ran off the bus, the screaming woman right on her heels. "Move move move!" When the teen reached the end of the line, she turned and stood facing the bus.

"All right, ladies," the tall woman said. "Welcome to Sapling Hill Rehabilitation Facility. I am Instructor Carey. You will refer to me as Instructor Carey or ma'am." Carey paced back and forth in front of the three dozen girls. "Nothing else will be tolerated. Do I make myself clear?" She was met with a chorus of "Yes, ma'ams" and "Yes, Instructor Carey," except for Grace, whose mouth was still gagged. Carey walked down the line until she stood in front of Grace. "This is Waters," she said in a loud, clear voice. "Waters didn't know enough to keep her mouth shut. As you can see, she was punished." Reaching around Grace's head, Carey untied the knot and removed the gag. "This is Sapling Hill. You have a chance here to turn your life around. The other instructors and I are here to help you. If you accept that help, you will leave here a different person. If you don't," she stared directly at Grace, "this will be the saddest five months you've ever had."

"This is bogus," Grace said to the girl standing at the next cot.

"Word up," the girl said. "I'm Latisha Jones." She held out her hand.

"Grace Waters." She reached out, shaking the hand in dark contrast to her own. "What'd you do to get here?"

"Set fire to the school library," Latisha said. "You?"

"Threw a chair at a teacher," Grace said. "He had it coming, though."

"You get five months?"

"Six," Grace said. "After I get out of here I have to serve another month, probably at Crestwood."

"I'm done after here," Latisha said. "Girl, that's one funky 'do."

Grace ran her fingers through her multicolored hair. "Works for me. Better than dreadlocks," she said, referring to the style Latisha was wearing.

"Jones."

They turned to see the imposing Instructor Carey approach. "This is not macramé class and your head isn't a planter. Get those beads out of your hair now. Waters, let's go."

Rolling her eyes, Grace put her hand on her hip. "Where?"

"Drop and give me ten pushups, now!" Carey yelled, causing Latisha to jump back and the other girls in the barracks to stop what they were doing to see what the commotion was about. Grace lowered herself to the floor, though not as fast as she knew the streaming woman would have liked. "When I tell you to do something, you say, yes, ma'am or yes, Instructor Carey!" she hollered. "Four, five, six, keep going. Seven, eight, nine, ten. Stand up."

Grace felt the anger rise in her along with the embarrassment of being reprimanded in front of the other girls, but knew enough to stay quiet this time. Clearly Instructor Carey was not someone to mess with.

"Now let's go."

Grace remained quiet as Instructor Carey led her to the administration building, not wanting to draw any more pushups. "We're going to do something about that hair of yours," Carey said as she unlocked the door labeled "Barber."

"No way," Grace said. "You're not fucking touching my hair."

Carey was immediately at her right side. "Did I ask you a question?" she yelled into Grace's ear. "Drop and give me ten! You don't get to make the decisions around here, do you understand? Do you understand?"

"Yes, ma'am," Grace said as she pushed up with her arms.

"What do you think people think when they see that rainbow on your head? They see a freak, not someone to take seriously. Is that what you want people to think of you?"

"No, ma'am."

"I don't care what trash your parents let you get away with, you don't swear at the instructors here. Do you understand?"

"Yes, ma'am." Bitch.

"All the way up, all the way down, Waters. You don't take shortcuts here," Carey said. "Nine, ten. Stand up." Grace did as she was told, giving the instructor a dirty look for making her do pushups. "Get your ass in that chair, and I don't want to hear one word from you unless I ask a question, got it?"

Grace rolled her eyes and slowly moved into the chair. "Yes, ma'am," she said, doing her best to be as disrespectful as she could with the word.

"We can do this easy or we can do this hard, it's all up to you, Waters," Carey said. "You can follow the rules and do what you're told, or spend all day doing pushups and being yelled at. You make your own bed here." She put a short length guard on the electric clippers. "Now you're going to sit still, and that smart mouth of yours isn't going to say a word unless I ask you a question." Grace gave her a murderous look as the clippers were turned on. "What you're thinking is written clearly on your face." Carey shut the clippers off. "You think I'm the biggest bitch living and you'd love to take a shot at me." The dark-haired woman gripped either side of the barber chair, her face only inches from the teen. "Do it and you'll never be that unhappy again. Now wipe that look off your face and sit up straight."

Grace clenched her jaw and stared hard at the door opposite her as Instructor Carey wrapped a plastic robe around her neck. Damn bitch. She became even angrier as multicolored locks of hair fell to the floor. "You wanna leave some?"

A firm hand clamped down on her head, keeping her from moving it. "Move your head again and I'll shave you bald," Carey said. "And when I'm done, you're dropping for ten for that smart mouth of yours. Want to try for twenty?"

"No, ma'am."

"Then sit still and keep quiet."

Walking back to the barracks, Grace ran her fingers through her now short blonde hair. "Fucking bitch," she said, rubbing arms sore from all the pushups. Seeing Latisha standing with several other girls just outside the barracks, Grace headed over to join them.

"Damn, girlfriend, you got chopped," Latisha said.

Grace self-consciously rubbed her hair. "The bitch wasn't happy until she damn near scalped me," she said. "What'd I miss?"

Latisha shook her head. "Nothing. See that girl over there? She got into it with the short instructor."

"Yeah," one of the girls standing next to them said. "And Gage started screaming and yelling at her and the wimp started crying like a baby." The girls laughed at the incident and Grace joined in, knowing full well that no one could make her cry.

"All right, girls, let's line up," Instructor Gage said as she approached. "Arm's length apart, I want to see you nine across and four deep." Other girls began to assemble and Grace quickly made her way to the back row. Suddenly she felt a firm hand slap down on her shoulder. The look from the girls around her left no doubt as to who it was.

"You're going up front where I can keep my eye on you," Instructor Carey said. "Let's go." Grace knew better than to object. Now up front, Grace had an unobstructed view of three of the instructors. Carey was the tallest; her short black hair barely peeked out beneath the olive drab cap, while mirrored sunglasses kept her eyes hidden. Next to her was Gage, her complexion several shades darker than Latisha. Standing slightly behind the other two was Donaldson, a tall, short-haired blonde with an angular face, whose light blue eyes were in constant motion, moving from one girl to the next.

"Quiet," Carey said, causing a silence to fall over the group. "As you know, you were not allowed to bring any personal effects, other than what you're wearing." The mirrored sunglasses turned in Grace's direction. "This is the last time you will wear those clothes. You will be provided with everything you will need to wear while you are here. And before any of you get any ideas, bras and panties are required, not optional." Grace wondered how they were going to enforce that rule; not that she would ever violate it. Ever since she had started to develop, her nipples had been too sensitive to rub up against a shirt all day.

Instructor Gage stepped forward, the petite woman barely coming to Carey's shoulder. "You will be divided into four squads. Count off and line up with your squad. You will be known as Alpha, Bravo, Charlie, and Delta squads in that order," she said over the counting. "Let me explain how your days will go, ladies. At 0600 you will wake up. You'll have half an hour to shower, dress, and make your bunks. At 0630 you will report here for inspection. Whenever you are told to report to formation you will come here and assemble with your squad. You will have morning mess between 0700 and 0730. At 0735 there will be barracks inspection. From 0800 until noon you will participate in physical training or field training. In the future we will refer to these as PT or FT. After lunch you will have classes, mentoring sessions, or studying time until dinner. After that, you'll have three hours for studying or rec time. Lights out is 2100 hours. That's nine p.m. for those of you unfamiliar with military time."

"You will attend classes and training according to your squad assignment," Instructor Carey said. "The schedule will be posted on the bulletin board outside the mess hall. You will have one-on-one counseling sessions with your assigned mentor. That schedule will also be posted on the board. There are no weekends here, ladies. Monday, Wednesday and Friday are Schedule A and Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday are Schedule B. Sunday is not a day of rest. On Sunday your mornings will be the same as they are on A and B schedules with the exception that you may be excused from the morning run if you wish to attend chapel. The afternoons will be spent in studying or doing your homework unless you receive privilege."

"Privilege," Instructor Gage said, her voice much higher than Carey's. "What do you think privilege is? Just like the real world, privilege is something you earn. If you are on privilege, you will be allowed to spend your free time in the rec room or at the athletic fields. You'll be allowed to have visits from your family."

"No way," Grace said when she saw the khaki dress uniform. "We're not in the fucking army."

"You got a problem?" Instructor Gage said, approaching rapidly.

"No, ma'am."

"Then cut the chatter and keep moving."

Grace filed forward, stopping at the counter where Inspector Carey was waiting.

"Name?" the dark-haired woman asked without looking up from her clipboard.

"Waters, ma'am."

The instructor turned around and grabbed a neatly folded stack of khaki slacks and shirts with Grace's name patch already sewn on. "Shoe size?"

"Eight, ma'am." Instructor Carey pushed the clothes into Grace's arms, then added a pair of black boots and white canvas sneakers with thick soles. "Move on to the next station." Moving on, Grace found herself in front of Instructor Donaldson.

"Bra size, panty size."

"Thirty-two C, four, ma'am." Two sport bras and three pairs of panties were added to her pile.

"Into the next room, strip and shower, then change into your dress uniform and report to formation. Make sure you stand with your squad," the blonde woman said. "Next. Bra size, panty size."

Grace entered the next room where Instructor Mitchell was waiting.

"Strip. Clothes go in this bag, footwear in the box. What's your name?"

"Waters, ma'am," Grace said as she put her foot on the bench and began untying the laces.

"Let's go, Waters. You don't have anything I don't."

"Listen up," Instructor Carey said. "You've received two sets of tee shirts and shorts. The blue set is for PT, the white set for sleeping." She stopped in front of Grace. "Waters, when would you wear the blue set?"

"PT, ma'am."

"You have been issued several undershirts," Carey continued, moving on down the line of bunks. "When you report to morning formation you will wear your dress uniform. That consists of the following: your boots, neatly polished with the laces not touching the ground, one pair of white socks, panties, bra, one pair of khaki slacks neatly creased down the front and back, one khaki web belt with the buckle polished, your khaki cap, one undershirt and your khaki shirt with the sleeves neatly pressed." Reaching the end of the bunks, she turned around and began walking back. "When you are told to report to FT, or field training, you will report in your BDUs. BDU stands for battle dress uniform. That's the camouflage shirt and pants with the olive undershirt and olive cap. Classes and meals will be attended in your dress uniform only." Once again she stopped in front of Grace. "Waters, what makes up the dress uniform?"

"Khaki shirt and pants, ma'am."

"Drop and give me ten," Carey said. "Anyone else want to try?"

I hate you. Grace lowered herself to the concrete floor and began to count pushups.

"We survived day one," Gage said, opening a can of soda and leaning her hip against the desk.

"It's going to be a long term this time, Sue," Carey said, leaning back in her chair. "I just feel it." She looked at the stack of folders on her desk. "We still have to finish up the mentoring assignments."

"How many are left?"

"Twelve," Carey said. She sighed and reached for the top folder. "All right, Jennings, Christine. Sixteen, assault with a deadly weapon, declared PINS after cracking her father's skull with a lug wrench. Psych eval suggests sexual abuse."

"I'll take her," Gage said. “All right, that's one down, eleven to go," Carey said, reaching for the next folder. "Bowen, Jan. Seventeen, oh this is nice, armed robbery, possession with intent to sell, assault, three different trips to Crestwood. Sent to a foster home after step-father arrested for sexually abusing minors. Psych eval incomplete?" She flipped the top page to see the supplemental information. "She attacked the psychologist at Crestwood but has a long history of receiving counseling." She looked at Sue. "Wonder what that shrink said to tick her off." Running her thumb along the corner of the rest of the pages, Carey let out a low whistle. "Seems like everyone has something to say about her."

"Three trips to Crestwood says a lot by itself," Gage said. "Let's set her aside for now. Who's next?"

"Lopez, Maribel."

The two instructors went back and forth selecting the girls they would be responsible to mentor and counsel. Carey picked up the last folder, surprised by its thickness. "Waters, Graceful." She raised an eyebrow and looked at Gage.

"You have to admit her mother was clever," Gage said.

Carey smiled and shook her head. "Her mother should have called her Stormy. I thought I was going to have to strap her into the chair to get that clown hair off of her. All right, let's see the distinguished record of Smart Mouth. Seventeen. Assault, vandalism, possession of drugs on school property, the list goes on." She flipped through the pages. "Look at this transcript. A's and B's freshman and sophomore years, then she went right to C's, D's, and F's first quarter of her junior year."

"What's the psych eval say?" Gage asked.

"Incomplete. Don't tell me she attacked her shrink too." Carey looked through the pages until she found the report. "She refused to say anything to the psychologist." She closed the folder and set it on her stack. "I'll take Waters, you take Bowen."

"You sure?" Gage asked.

"I'm sure," Carey said. "I have a feeling about Waters."

Grace draped the towel over her shoulder and picked up her toiletry kit. "This is so bogus," she said.

"Word up," Latisha replied. "What do they think we're going to do with a Bic?"

“Nothing,” Jan said. “Gage just wants to get a look, that’s all.” They stepped into the changing room and opened their assigned lockers. "Gets a thrill figuring out who's a natural blonde."

“How am I supposed to shave my bikini area if she's right there watching?"

"Turn your back to her," Grace said, kneeling down to unlace her boots. "Then all she'll see is your ass."

"Yeah," Jan said. "That's wide enough to keep her from seeing anything."

"Bite me, Bowen," Latisha said. "I'm not the one who had to go back and get larger-sized pants."

"That's not my fault," Jan said. "Crestwood gave them the wrong size. I told you that before."

“Uh-huh, sure," Latisha said.

"Are you girls going to stand there and chatter all day?" Instructor Gage called out from the shower room.

"No, ma'am," Grace said, pushing her pants and panties down together, then sitting on the bench to pull them off. "Babysitting in the shower," she added in a lower voice. "Way bogus."

“Well,” Jan said. "Let's go show Short Shit what we've got."

As they entered the large shower area, Instructor Gage stood near the entrance with a clipboard and a box of safety razors by her side.

"Name?"

"Bowen, ma'am," Jan said. Gage looped a plastic tag on a razor, then labeled it with permanent marker. "Shaving allowed only in stations one through four," she said as she handed Jan the razor. "Name?"

"Waters," Grace said, looking around the tiled room, ten showerheads spaced along three walls, while a towel rack and privacy wall took up the fourth. She rolled her eyes. Of course, pukey green with little windows way up high that no one can squeeze out of. Like anyone is going to try and run away while buck naked in the shower.

Setting her towel on the rack, Grace walked past Jan at station one and took station two while Latisha took the one next to her. "Hot water?"

"Lukewarm," Jan said, soaping her underarms. "So what's the deal with having to shave right here?"

Grace turned on the water, setting it as hot as it would go. "Guess they don't want us to slit our wrists or something."

"With these little things?" Jan asked, holding out the blue razor.

"Next thing you know they'll take away bar soap for fear we'll carve it into a gun."

Grace rinsed her hair, then reached for the shampoo dispenser mounted on the wall between each shower station. "No hair dryer, no makeup, no nail polish, can't even wear jewelry."

“Word," Latisha said. "My holes are going to close up, but they don't care."

"I'm surprised they let Hathaway keep her glasses," Grace said. "Don't they know they have metal screws?"

"You have a commentary, Waters?" an authoritative voice asked.

"No, ma'am." Grace said, sharing a look with Jan and Latisha. I have got to learn to watch what I say when the Goon Squad's around.