The sound of feet shuffled softly, each girl moving in perfect formation—arms-length apart, eyes forward.
Riley looked at the hallway, not a traditional corridor, but a chain of dorm rooms connected by doorways cut directly through the walls. The place still carried the bones of what it once was—an old motel—now stripped down and repurposed.
When the line reached the final room—Riley's—the formation stopped.
A heavy-set woman with a thick Southern drawl stepped forward. Her name was Mrs. Amanda, and everything about her—from her stiff maroon polo to the clipboard tucked under one arm—screamed authority.
"Head count!" she barked.
The girls responded like well-oiled machinery. One by one, they turned their heads sharply to the left, called out their number, and snapped their gaze forward again.
.....
"Twenty-seven."
"Twenty-eight."
"Twenty-nine."
Mrs. Amanda glanced down at her clipboard, then called out, "Dismissed!"
Without another word, the girls broke from the line and entered their assigned rooms.
Tayla called out, "Amy!"
A girl with sandy hair and a quiet stare stepped forward.
"This is Amy," Tayla said, motioning between them. "She's your HOPE Buddy. She'll teach you the rules. Good luck."
Amy gave Riley a nod but said nothing.
Before leaving, Tayla's eyes caught on another girl in the hallway.
"Cat One rule violation for your shirt being untucked," she said sharply. "Self-correct or staff it?"
"Self-correct," the girl mumbled, tucking it back in.
Tayla pulled a small notepad and pen from her pocket and handed them to the girl, who began writing on the top sheet with practiced ease.
Riley looked over, confused.
Amy leaned in. "That's a consequence. Anytime you break a rule, you lose points. Category Ones aren't too bad—they're worth five points. You can earn them back during Reflections each night. We'll get to that later."
Tayla gave one last look around and walked off, leaving Riley with Amy.
"We just finished P.E.," Amy said, turning to her. "Now it's shower time. Highest levels go first. You'll go last for now."
She crouched down and slid a plastic bin from beneath their assigned beds—pulling out a folded white towel and a set of plain underclothes. Then she walked to the shelf by the sink and grabbed the small clear-lidded box marked with Riley's name. Inside were a bar soap, a travel-size bottle of shampoo, a stubby white deodorant stick with no label, and a black hairbrush.
"Only white. Towel, sports bra, underwear. No color, no logos. No lotion, makeup, or extras unless you earn privileges."
She tapped the brush with hair ties on the handle. "You'll need this. Everyone has to keep their hair in a ponytail, always. No exceptions."
Amy held up the stubby stick. "Plain deodorant. Scent-free. That's all you get for now. The good stuff's for upper levels—Level Four and up."
Riley looked around the room. Three wood framed bunk beds lined the walls—six girls to a room. Amy pointed to the bunk beneath Riley's.
"You're up top. I'm below you. There aren't any steps or ladders. You'll have to climb."
Riley blinked. "How do I get up there?"
"No one's allowed to touch each other. Even to help. It's a rule."
She said it plainly, like it was nothing unusual. Riley glanced at the frame, already dreading it.
Everyone got undressed and sat on their towel quietly until it was their turn to shower.
Finally Amy let her know it was her turn.
"You get five minutes," Amy added. "At one minute and thirty seconds, they knock to warn you. If you don't finish on time, they'll pull you out. Literally."
Riley swallowed hard.
By the time her turn came, the water was already cold. She stepped behind the curtain, teeth already chattering.
"One… two… three…" she counted loudly, as required while any stood outside the bathroom waiting.
Sure enough, a loud knock came against the wall.
"Minute thirty!" Amanda's gruff voice called.
Riley scrubbed faster, barely rinsed the soap from her skin before another knock hit—this time harder.
"Out!"
She shut the water off and stepped back into the room, dripping. Amy was ready with her clothes. "Two minutes," she said softly.
Riley dressed fast, her fingers trembling. The fabric was rough and stiff. Amy helped her shove the towel back into the bin and slide it away under the bed.
"Now your bed," Amy said. "Corners tight, three inches down, pillow centered."
Riley moved fast, copying the girl's motions as best she could.
Then the voice rang out again: "Line structure!"
The six girls in the room filed into formation. Amy took her place in front. Riley moved behind the others—last in line.
They moved through the connected dorms toward the common area and sat for reading block. Thirty minutes. No talking.
Amy passed Riley a copy of *Chicken Soup for the Soul*.
"You can talk to me for two weeks," she whispered, eyes on the page. "After that—quiet. There's no talking almost at all really. Your levels have to add up to four to talk."
"How am I supposed to know the other girls' levels?"
"I'm sure you'll hear in group, but you'll know. And right now, you can ask me."
One of the other girls smiled.
"Riley, it's important you don't try to indirectly communicate with the other girls through me. It'll be a consequence and you want to get Level two before you're off HOPE"
Riley opened the book.
"Got it "
She hadn't even made it to dinner yet.