FOREWORD: I wrote this back in 2017. I had the idea before then but ideas and motivation don’t always come at the same time. When I actually sat down and wrote this out, I was on a Black Mirror kick. I wouldn’t recommend that show if you’re a softie like me. But, if you’re familiar with it, I’m sure you’ll see some influence. This is part one and part two will be on a separate post. Hope you like it!

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“Betsy, what do you think?” Nancy asks, glancing at me. The opaque thought bubble flashes above her head, and it turns from green to blue: Please contribute something meaningful to this exchange.

I can’t help but grimace as I watch my friends’ faces while they read my thought bubble: What were we talking about? I laugh sheepishly. “Sorry, guys. I got distracted.”

“We were talking about our steady incline on the social ladder since the private thoughts upgrade was added on to our mental streaming app,” Blanche says in her textbook haughty way. Her thought bubble lights up blue, but I can’t make out any of the words. Must be directed to someone else in our small group of five.

“Oh,” I say, quickly switching my thoughts to private mode and only allowing Nancy to see them. “Right. Of course.” Nance, what the heck? I think, flashing her a quick look. Why are we friends with these people?

She shrugs.

“We know you guys are thinking about us,” Dorinda sneers. “We’re petty, not stupid.”

“You said it,” Nancy mumbles.

“Honestly Nancy!” Mariana exclaims. “Get over yourself.” Her thought bubble switches from blue to green, openly displaying a stream of insults toward Nancy, interwoven with various fruit.

The mental streaming app has a built-in dialogue filter. Profanity is replaced with fruit. It’s not hard to decode the thinker’s intended curse words, but more sensitive folks appreciate the filter.

“You know what Mariana, go starfruit yourself!” Nancy exclaims. We read the fruit expletives so often, we tend to slip them into actual conversation too…

“Oh, real mature Nancy! Real mature!” Mariana snaps.

“Ladies, please,” Blanche sighs. Her thought bubble lights up. It’s blue first, then it turns green. We’ve got to work together if we’re going to keep running this school. Our popular ancestors thought high school was rough, but they could choose to turn off their social media. We don’t have that luxury.

This is honestly, unfortunately, how most conversations are conducted nowadays. There’s little-to-no need for actual, verbal exchanges. Unless, of course, you’re in a neutral zone.

“We have to keep our circle of friends tight and trustworthy,” Blanche continues, clearing her pearl-adorned throat. “If we aren’t careful, some nice, non-pops could slip up the ranks and dethrone us. We’ve held onto our reign for the last three years. I’m not about to step down before graduation.”

In case you couldn’t already tell, Blanche is our Queen B. She actually makes us call her that from time to time.

“B’s right,” Mariana says with a sigh. She grits her picture-perfect teeth. “Sorry Nancy.” Her thought bubble flashes green: I’m not sorry.

“Same to you,” Nancy mumbles. Her thought bubble lights up: You stuck up, snarky banana.

“Naaaan-cy,” Blanche says in a patronizing tone. Her thought bubble turns blue over her head. Nancy’s lights up too, also blue. They exchange thoughts for quite some time.

I make the mistake of letting my mind drift. That’s always dangerous in open zones like the student lounge we’re in right now. I find myself staring off into space, thinking about Walter Williams, when Dorinda busts up laughing.

“Walter Williams!” she screeches. A few students in other parts of the room turn their heads and look at us.

I turn my thought bubble blue and direct it at Dorinda: Please don’t say anything, Dorinda. Pleasepleaseplease don’t.

She flashes blue and thinks: Fine, but you owe me. Walter’s such a nerd. What are you doing, thinking about him?

Nothing, I think back. It’s nothing. He means nothing.

She gives me an evil, knowing smirk and returns her attention to Blanche and Nancy, who have now kindly turned their thoughts back to public mode. They’re still going back and forth on appropriate behavior for the High Five.

Ugh. Okay. The High Five is a stupid name we gave ourselves back when our clique first formed. We were the Core Four until Blanche transferred here in 7th grade. That year, she somehow managed to climb the social ranks, worm her way into our group, and plant herself at the top of the hill, declaring that she was the social queen of Heppherd Hall, our lovely prep school. When we moved up from the south side of the hall to the north side (basically junior high to senior high), Blanche’s reign continued. And, somehow, through all of the dumb, popular nonsense, we managed to keep the name High Five.

It’s silly, right? I mean, a high five is a celebratory gesture used among peers. It’s not some glorified adolescent jargon meant to describe five of the most vapid creatures to ever walk the face of the planet. And, yet, here we are.

The bell chimes, signifying the end of 3rd hour. Thank goodness! Study period is my least favorite period for two reasons: The student lounge is an open zone and it’s the only class I have with all four of my silly, shallow friends.

Why do I hang out with them? you may be flashing in your own thought bubble right now. Well, if you’ve ever spent any time at a small school, you’ll know that when cliques form, they’re almost impossible to break. And I’ve lived at Heppherd Hall for the last six and a half years. The High Five clique is rock solid. Status quo is like a bad habit. It can die, but it’s hard to kill. You’d need a blood sacrifice, your first born child, and several sharpened stakes to start.

Nine times out of ten, I’ll be pretty “meh” when it comes to popularity. But, on holidays, birthdays, and around dances, it can be nice. I never want for anything socially. Need a date? At least five guys will be climbing all over themselves trying to ask me out. Need some coffee? A sad little freshman nobody will be waiting outside class with a hot cup of java. I have no intentions of peaking in high school, but I’m well aware that this may be the closest I ever come to royalty. I’m vain enough to enjoy it while it lasts, pointless though it may be.

As I stroll through the old, marble hallways, I switch on my auto-thoughts upgrade. I had to pay a pretty penny for that one, but it’s nice. It takes control of my thought bubble and runs through a list of pre-programmed thoughts. They’re all mindless little phrases like: Sunflowers are so yellow and One potato, two potato, three potato, FOUR. They veil my actual thoughts and give me some room to exist as a normal person.

I get that most people are obsessed with sharing every little detail of their lives, but I miss the days of only sharing things after typing them out and hitting a button. Having a constant stream of myself floating over my head almost 24/7 is not only terrifying but also tiring. I keep waiting for an upgrade that will let me shut the stupid app down for good.

My 4th hour class is in a small study, in the corner of Heppherd’s library. After weaving my way through the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, all crammed with leather bindings, I walk into the study and take my usual seat at the far end of the table. This class is a lecture-based literature course. The study, along with all other designated academic areas, are selectively neutral zones. This means that students cannot read other students’ thoughts, but teachers have the option of browsing our mental catalogs. Only the really masochistic ones dare to brave our sea of inattention. Bless their self-deprecating hearts.

Walter Williams comes in and sits down next to me. We’re kind of buds. He’s kind of the cutest smart guy at Heppherd. I kind of want to marry him one day.

Kind of.

“Hi Betsy,” he says, grinning at me. He has dimples for days, baby blue eyes that hide behind thick, tortoise shell glasses, and a mop of unruly brown hair that I just want to run my hands through. Okay. I love him. Straight up love him, no ‘kind of’ about it.

“Hi Walter,” I say, trying to reign in my own smile. Dating Walter wouldn’t be social suicide, but it would be about two steps down the drama ladder from that. It would definitely disrupt the status quo, and could lead to a song-and-dance number. Heppherd isn’t known for its theater program, so nobody wants that song-and-dance less than me. Hence: reigning in my smile and hiding my crush on Walter.

“Did you get a chance to read that book I lent you?” he asks.

“Cranberry!” I exclaim. “I completely forgot. I spent all weekend working on my history paper. It was a total bear. Do you need it back?”

“No,” he says with a chuckle. “I just wondered what you thought of it so far. Let me know when you start reading it because I really want to discuss the opening scene with you.”

“Okay,” I say, making a skeptical face. “Is it bad?”

“Oh…well…” he starts to say. He makes a thoughtful expression and my eyes instinctually flash to the space above his head. No thought bubble appears, though. Selective neutral zone. Meh. “I don’t want to ruin it for you,” he finally says. “So I’m not going to answer your question. Just-just tell me when you read it.”

I nod. “Can do.”

Mr. Robinson, the grumpy old dinosaur who’s probably been teaching English since Heppherd’s founding in the early 1900s, walks in and sits at the head of the table just as the bell chimes. He clears his ancient throat with several loud, coughing noises. Then, he starts us off on the discussion of George Orwell’s 1984.

After class ends, Walter follows me through the library and into the hall. He gently grabs me by the elbow and swings me around so I’m facing him. His thought bubble appears above his head and it turns blue. He thinks: Roger did it. He jailbroke the mental streaming app.

“Are you serious?!” I ask.

Walter nods, smiling. His thought bubble lights up again: He figured out how to turn it off. He’ll jailbreak anyone who’s willing to pay $50 in advance, or $25 if you’re a girl and you kiss him.

I scrunch up my face in disgust. Roger’s handsome and all, but that’s sleazy.

Walter laughs while he reads my thoughts. “Rodge is usually pretty sleazy,” he says. “Anyhow, I’m meeting him in the senior common room tonight. You’re welcome to come along and watch if you want.”

“He does it in the common room?” I ask. Jailbreaking isn’t exactly legal.

“No,” he says, shaking his head. “But we meet up there. 8 o’clock. You in?”

“For watching, sure. I don’t have cash on me right now so I’ll have to wait for him to turn mine off,” I say.

“Well, I could spot you,” he says. His cheeks start to turn red and he blocks me from his thought bubble. Lucky duck. He paid for the blocking upgrade.

“Walter,” I say in a teasing sort of voice. “Just what are you thinking about right now?”

He gives me a sheepish grin. “Just say you’ll come. We can go on a date and call it even.”

“Alright,” I say, no longer attempting to hide my smile. He’s just so peaching adorable!

~~~

I don’t see my friends again until dinner time. They’re all sitting around our usual table, in the center of the dining hall. It’s small, circular, and only technically fits eight chairs. We always make it a nice 10, though, so that Blanche’s top five favorite guys, affectionately known as the Guy Five, can sit with us. They’re hardly worth describing.

My friends, however, are. Blanche is your stereotypical cheerleader type. She’s small, hourglassy, and ferocious. She has short, curly blonde hair and she will cut you if you cross her. Her words, not mine. Mariana is a third generation Puerto Rican. She’s tall, slender, and has gorgeous brown hair that will make you want to jump off a bridge. She originally came to Heppherd on scholarship, but her father struck it big in the stock market during 8th grade. She’s richer than all of us now. Dorinda is African-American. She rocks an afro like it’s her job, and her fashion sense is impeccable (when she’s not stuck in the school uniform with the rest of us). She’s also on the slender side. We all are. Don’t hate us. And, last but not least, Nancy.

Nancy is an adorable, sassy Japanese girl. She keeps her hair cut short, in a trendy, not-quite-bob style. She, like Dorinda, has fab taste in clothing. Unlike the other three, Nancy has brains and actually wants people to know. We’re actually all super smart. We’re currently ranked in the top 10 of our class, but it’s only October and there’s still time to move up on the list. Nancy’s holding the coveted number one position. She should really be the Queen B, but, what are you going to do?

I…I’m pretty, or so I’ve been told my entire life. I have long auburn hair, a slightly fuller figure (in comparison to my stick-thin friends), and a keen sense for sweatpants. If I didn’t have to wear Heppherd’s gross navy blue sweater, white collared button up shirt, and black and gray plaid skirt, you can bet I’d rock sweatpants every day. If I ever get married, I’m going to wear sweatpants to the reception. They’ll be white and lacey and cute, but they’ll sweatpants all the same.

Anyhow, I digress. Join me now as we partake in scintillating conversation topics…

“And that’s why Randy dumped Sally,” Dorinda says, smiling with an air of satisfaction.

“That’s not at all what I heard,” Mariana says, scrunching up her nose. “I heard that Randy was caught thinking about Ms. Winthrop, and that that was why Sally broke up with Randy.”

“You’re both wrong,” Dominic says, shaking his head. Dominic is an American-Mexican soccer player that’s taken a few too many hits to the head. “Sally dumped Randy for me.”

“What?” Greg says, making a face. Greg plays water polo and has bleach blond hair. Supposedly it’s natural, but it turns green on occasion from all the chlorine. I think he dyes it because he wants to look tan. “Unlikely. Do you and Sally even hang out?”

“They hung out in the closet at David’s back to school bash last month!” Finn teases. Finn…well, he’s usually too baked to play sports, but if he still cared enough to try, he’d play rugby. He was once Heppherd’s most promising player. Then, after a bad knee injury, he was too scared to go out for the team again and decided to numb away the disappointment with any and everything he could smoke. I’m actually impressed that he’s still alive.

“How would you remember?” Dominic says. “You were higher than a kite at that party.”

Finn laughs his slow, sleepy laugh. “Beats me, man. I just have this clear picture in my head of…” His eyes glaze over and he stays that way for a few seconds. His thought bubble lights up, but no text appears. Great. Another drug-induced stupor.

“Anyway,” Blanche says, commanding the attention of everyone at the table. “Enough about Randy and Sally. We need to form a plan of action for the upcoming Halloween season. I want us to couple up and dress as sexy things. You know, sexy nurse and doctor, sexy cheerleader and football player. That kind of thing.”

“Last time I checked, I dress sexy every day,” Mariana jokes.

“Just unbutton your shirt two more buttons,” Dominic says, wiggling his eyebrows.

Mariana’s thought bubble lights up and displays a bunch of angry looking Spanish. Dominic laughs, most likely because he’s the only other one who understands what she’s thinking right now. Blanche clears her throat, trying to regain our attention.

“I’m pairing up with Dexter,” she announces. Dexter isn’t here right now, but he’s a wide receiver on the football team. He’s also hot. Like, Death Valley hot. Like, the temperature of the sun hot. Like, melt your face off if you’re blessed to make physical contact hot. He and Blanche have this toxic, on-again-off-again thing.

“We’ll be dressing up as sexy lifeguards,” she adds

“Any chance to show off your navel,” Nancy mumbles.

“Nancy will be a nurse, of course,” Blanche says.

“I resent that,” Nancy says. “There are plenty of female doctors and male nurses. Gender stereotypes are so disgusting.”

“Well, Finn’s your partner so figure it out with him.” Blanche says.

“It’s because I’m the only other Asian, right?” Finn jokes. Blanche glares at him from across the table and he bursts into loud laughter. Greg and Dominic both laugh along with him.

Blanche sighs. “Whatever. It’ll be cute. Dorinda and Dominic should be an angel and a devil.”

“Of course!” Dorinda agrees, practically squealing. “And I’ll be the angel, right?”

“No, you should be the devil,” Blanche says. “It’s hotter when you’re bad.”

“What if I don’t want to pair up with Dorinda?” Dominic asks. “What if I already have better plans? Sally plans?” He laughs and elbows Greg playfully.

Blanche’s thought bubble lights up and it turns blue. She glares at Dominic for a long time. His face transforms from cocky grin to deflated waterbed. And that right there is Blanche’s scariest super power. She’s the most manipulative little…raspberry.

“Fine,” Dominic grumbles, crossing his arms over his chest. “But I’m still going to make out with Sally.”

Blanche waves her hand dismissively and then turns to me. “Betsy, you’re the most challenging one. We all know you’re not skinny enough to pull off any midriff outfits an-“

“What?!” Finn shouts, interrupting Blanche. “Betsy is super hot. I’d love to see you all dressed up!” He turns to me and grins.

My thought bubble must be showing how grossed out I am, because Finn’s smile quickly melts away.

“It’s not happening,” Blanche says. “But feel free to show off some cleavage.”

“Or I could be something else entirely,” I blurt. Oh shoot.

Blanche examines me from her spot across the table. She tilts her head to the left, a sign that she’s about to explode. “What did you say?” she asks with measured patience.

“I just…I don’t know if I’m up for something sexy. Or Halloween at all, really,” I say.

“You’re not…’up’ for it?” she repeats.

“It’s not that big of a deal,” I say. “It’s just a stupid dance.”

“A stupid dance that we’ve been planning since August!” Blanche snaps. “Grape! You saw Dominic try to change my mind, right?! That didn’t work! And it won’t work coming from you either. We’re going to look hot. Or you’re going to die a slow and painful social death.”

I freeze, unsure of what to say. Everyone else is looking at me with intense interest. No one challenges Blanche, not even about something stupid like this. They’re all thinking I’ve either lost my mind or that Finn slipped me some drugs. Like, they’re actually thinking that. I can read it in their thought bubbles.

“Okay,” I say quietly. “Fine. But can I pick the sexy thing I dress up as?”

Blanche smiles. “Of course you can,” she says sweetly. “Pick whatever you want.”

The others resume normal conversation. Dexter shows up and sits down next to Blanche. They share an uncomfortably passionate kiss. Solomon comes over, too. He’s the fifth guy in the Guy Five, but he actually jumps around between social circles. When he’s not with us, he’s with the Nerd Herd or the Choir Boys. I don’t know how he successfully navigates the treacherous world of high school cliques, but he’s been doing it for four years.

Solomon takes a seat next to me. “Hey Bets,” he says. “How’s it going?”

“Um…” I turn my thought bubble to private and direct it to him: Weird. Peaching weird. Blanche is on another infamous power trip, so watch out.

Solomon laughs. “You should come eat with the Nerd Herd sometime,” he says quietly. “They don’t have any power trips and they discuss more than breakups and costumes.”

“How did you-“

“I read your thoughts from the line,” he says, cutting me off. “I wanted to know what I was getting myself into before Dexter and I came over here.”

“Smart move,” I say, nodding with approval. “I’m impressed.”

He smiles. “I’ve learned a thing or two from hopping around between pops and non-pops.”

The rest of dinner goes by without a hitch. It’s funny how calm Blanche can be when Dexter’s got his tongue down her throat. After we all finish and decide to leave, Solomon grabs me by the arm and pulls me to the back of our group.

“So Walter invited you to the common room tonight, right?” he asks.

“Yes…” I say, raising a curious eyebrow. “Is that a problem?”

“No,” he says. “He just told me to tell you that we’re meeting earlier.”

“How much earlier?” I ask. I start mentally listing all of my assignments that are due tomorrow.

“Don’t worry,” Solomon says. “Roger has homework too. That’s why we’re meeting now.”

“Now as in now?” I ask.

“Yes,” he says, stifling a smirk. “Come with me.”

He leads me across the dining hall, to the set of doors that head into the junior high. After we cross through them and turn down a hall, Solomon stops at a fire escape that leads into the back fields. He looks left and right, disables the alarm, and opens the door.

“After you,” he says, motioning for me to go outside.

I step through the door, instantly regretting the decision to take off my sweater before dinner. A cold October wind blows through me, chilling me to my core. I fold my arms across my chest and wait for Solomon. He resets the alarm and comes outside. After slinging an arm over my shoulders, he leads me through the back fields and toward the woods.

We’re not really supposed to go into the woods. They’re technically part of school grounds, and the junior high hikes around during the botany unit in the springtime. But the administration doesn’t like us to leave approved areas. The woods are too far to receive good Wi-Fi signal. If there’s no Wi-Fi, there’s no mental streaming app. And if there’s no mental streaming app, there’s no way to regulate what we’re thinking about. The woods are a popular destination for hookups and burnouts.

“Why are we here?” I ask, looking at Solomon.

“You know jailbreaking is illegal, right?” he asks, looking down at me. He pulls me closer to him. “We won’t get caught out here.”

After stumbling around in the darkening forest, we finally come up on a fire. Roger, Walter, and a few other members of the Nerd Herd are standing around, talking. Roger has his laptop and several other gadgets laid out on a blanket. They must hear us coming because they all suddenly turn and look at us.

“Solomon!” Roger greets, smiling. “Glad you could make it. Who’s that you brought along?”

“It’s Betsy,” Walter says. He looks at Solomon’s arm around my shoulders and frowns.

“Hi guys,” I say. Did I just shrink a little bit? I think I just shrunk a little bit.

“Do you have money?” Roger asks, examining me.

“I…uh…” I look at Walter, feeling helpless.

“I’ve got it covered,” Walter says, turning to Roger. “She came here with Solomon, but I invited her.”

“Okay, whatever,” Roger says. “So now that we’re all here, let’s get this party started.”

Roger instructs Walter to lay down on the blanket. He moves a few of his gadgets out of the way. He lights a large lamp that plugs into his laptop through a USB and places it near Walter’s head.

“Turn onto your stomach,” Roger says. “Hey Betsy, come hold Walt’s hand. He’s going to need the moral support.”

I leave the warmth of Solomon’s arm and sit next to Walter. The ground is damp and it takes about half a second for the cold to seep through my stockings and freeze me. I try to hide my shivering as I take Walter’s hand.

Roger takes a scalpel over to the fire and holds it in the flames.

“Um, what?” I ask, looking at Roger skeptically. “Why do you have that?”

“I have to get to his implant if I’m going to hack the app,” he says. He seems content that the scalpel is sanitized, and he comes back over and kneels next to Walter.

The other nerds all crowd around us, watching Roger intently. As a member of the High Five, I’m used to being the center of attention. Right now, though, in the darkening woods, in the freezing October air, I feel really uncomfortable. They’re not even staring at me. I move Walter’s hand so that I’m holding it in both of my hands. An involuntary shiver runs through me.

“You okay?” Walter asks.

“Never better,” I lie, flashing him a fake smile.

“I’m glad you could make it,” he says quietly. “And you don’t have to do this tonight, if you don’t want to.”

“We’ll see,” I say.

“Alright,” Roger says. “It’s time. No more talking.”

All of the nerds lean in as Roger makes a small incision on the back of Walter’s head, about where his occipital bone is. Walter winces and bites down on his lip. I give his hand a supportive squeeze and he smiles up at me.

Roger then takes a tool that resembles an eyelash curler and uses it to pull open the incision. With a pair of long, thin tweezers, he slowly pulls a wire out of Walter’s neck. Walter’s eyes roll to the back of his head.

“He passed out!” I exclaim. “Walter, wake up! Are you okay?”

“He’ll be fine,” Roger snaps. “Shut up!”

He pulls the wire out a little farther, then hooks a small, metal clamp to it. The metal clamp is attached to a cord that runs into a USB port on Roger’s laptop. He puts the tweezers down and presses a button on his laptop.

“It takes about three minutes to upload the code,” Roger says. He leans over Walter so he can see his face. Then, gently, he pats Walter’s cheek a few times. “Wake up, buddy,” he says. “I know it hurts but you gotta wake up.”

Walter’s eyelids flicker a few times, and then stay open. He looks up at me. “Betsy?” he says, confused. “What happened?”

“You passed out for a little,” I say. “Roger’s uploading the code now.”

“Oh,” he says. “How much longer? My head hurts.”

Roger looks at his laptop. “It’s already at 23%. This is good. It’s uploading well.”

“So how are you going to get the wire back into his neck?” one of the nerds whose name I don’t know asks.

“I’ll just slowly push it back down,” Roger says. “I didn’t pull it all the way out so it should just slide back into place.”

“How did you do this to yourself?” Solomon asks.

“Uh, lots of mirrors,” Roger says, laughing. “And a sock to bite on.”

“Did you feel woozy at all?” Solomon asks.

“Nope,” Roger says, shaking his head. “I was fine. I, uh, tested this on a few freshman before testing it on myself. Only one of them passed out and it was quick, just like Walter.”

“Are there any side effects to turning it off?” I ask.

Roger smiles and nods. “Peace of mind,” he says. “The ability to think freely. It’s all good, Betsy. I think you’ll like it.”

“Won’t people be more likely to notice if Betsy’s is off?” asks the nerd whose name I still don’t know. “I mean, people actually pay attention to her. They care about her thoughts.”

“She already uses an auto-thoughts upgrade,” Roger says. “People will probably just assume she bought the blocking upgrade. If you pay enough money, you can block up to 200 people at a time. That’s a good portion of the student body right there.”

“I guess…” the nerd says, giving me an uncertain glance.

Roger’s laptop dings. “All done,” he says. He picks up the tweezers again and begins to slide Walter’s wire back into his neck.

Walter makes a disgusted face and grips my hand tightly. After Roger has the wire back in place, he removes the instrument holding open Walter’s skin and picks up a needle and some clear thread. He pokes it through Walter’s skin, just above the incision, and Walter lets out a low groan. He continues to groan the entire time Roger is stitching him up. I guess Walter has a low pain tolerance.

“Alright,” Roger says, looking up at everyone. “Who’s next?”

Another shiver runs through me. Walter starts to sit up, but he suddenly tips to one side and grabs at my shoulder for balance. After righting himself, he flashes me a sheepish grin.

“Sorry,” he says. “I guess I still feel a little weird.”

“You will for a while,” Roger says. “Just sit with your arms over your head and you should be fine. Betsy,” he says, looking at me, “what do you think? You in?”

“I don’t know…” I say. I glance at the dirty scalpel, tweezers, and USB cord. I doubt Roger has any way to clean them. And, if something were to go wrong, I could probably face some pretty severe damage to my health. Is the privacy of my own mind really worth risking my life?

“It’s really not that bad,” he says. “Walt’s just a pansy. Don’t let him fool you.”

I look at Walter again. He’s taking deep, slow breaths and sitting with his arms crossed over his head. He looks back at me and winks. What is that supposed to mean?

“C’mon Betsy,” Solomon says, sitting next to me. “I’ll hold your hand. You can look at me the whole time.”

“I’ll even let him talk to you,” Roger adds.

For some insane reason, I agree.

Walter passed out after Roger began to remove his wire. I pass out as soon as the new scalpel touches my skin.