(Present day)


Two weeks. Two weeks I’ve spent like this.

I have not felt the sun on my face or the wind in my hair for half a month. I have not seen another human being or heard any voice but my own for fourteen endlessly long days and nights.

Sometimes, I sing to myself, just to break the oppressing silence. It is quite likely I am going insane.

Every day since the promise of twenty-four inches I have woken to a freshly-stocked tray of food. I receive my daily allotment of eggs, toast, and celery, too. I eat that on the far side of the pillar to temper temptation.

My body is shriveling up. I am always cold. The smallest movement is a burden. I reek.

At this point, I am starting to doubt the wisdom of my resolve. The battle that goes on deep inside my mind is one of my own making. The clarity of purpose required to resist is becoming muddy.

If I sign the contract, I sign my life away. But, if I do nothing, am I not giving my life away, too?

I am so lonely. My only friend is the crater in the pit of my stomach.

Hunger, at least, lets me know I’m still alive.

What a sad existence this is. Grime and sweat is caked upon me like a second skin. Sometimes, I crawl to the edge of the border and stare at the food. If I stretch out my hand, I can almost touch it.

The only thing standing between me and it is that one piece of paper.

One little piece of paper, requiring one little signature.

Is this what a prisoner of war feels like? Is this the same sense of hopelessness that rules the lives of those at Guantanamo Bay?

Or, is this something much worse?

My stubborn refusal to wield a pen is killing me. I must have fantasized about what I might do a thousand times:

I scratch my signature on the paper. The lights come on. My captor reveals himself, and congratulates me for accepting fate. In my mind, he has no face. The range of the collar is extended. I get my food, and then—

No.

The idea of being someone else’s property, someone else’s pet, and continuing to wear this horrible collar is nauseating. It is the sticking point that my conscience cannot overcome. I will not serve as the passive vessel to the perverted fantasies of some sick freak.

It is quite ironic. The collar is the object that keeps me bound. But, were it not for the collar, I am certain that I would have signed the contract days ago.

A sharp stab of hunger pulses through my body, triggered by one unintentional breath drawn through my nose. I shiver and hold myself tight.

How much longer can I resist? My blood sugar is dangerously low. The slightest movement leaves me desperately dizzy.

I close my eyes and think back to the circumstances that brought me to California in the first place….

Chapter Thirteen

(Seven months ago)


It is March. The death-grip that winter has held over New Haven for the last three months is finally showing signs of relenting.

I’m sitting with my legs tucked under me on the red, circular rug in the common room of the dorm I share with two other girls: Fey and Sonja. We met during orientation week of our freshman year, when all three of us got stranded in the middle of a rainstorm and took shelter under the same willow tree. While our heavy workload and extracurricular commitments keep us from being inseparable, we are as close to it as anyone is going to get at Yale.

I have half a dozen textbooks spread out in front of me. Every page is marked up by my personal blend of pink, yellow, orange, red, and blue highlighter. Sonja calls my studying style OCD. I call it, “having a system”… although the specifics of that system seem to change every day.

I smile at the thought and get back to my books. Unlike Sonja or Fey, I’m on the hook for full college tuition. Sonja got a full ride; Fey has rich parents. I am in possession of neither, so every semester I spend here costs me dearly.

That’s why every term so far, I’ve taken the maximum four courses, then petitioned the administrative board to add a fifth. I was denied first term freshman year, but granted every term after. Since I managed to keep my GPA respectable, I finagled the administration into letting me add a sixth course this year.

While course number six has not exactly been the straw that breaks the camel’s back, it’s come damn close. I’ve been surviving on less than five hours of sleep for most of my junior year. Fey and Sonja have expressed their concern, even going so far as to stage an intervention—by smuggling me onto a bus and taking me with them to the largest party of the year for the annual Harvard-Yale football game. But, I think I’ve managed pretty well.

Sure, I might not have any semblance of a social life. The last time I had sex was with my ex more than eighteen months ago. (What they say about athletes, by the way, is patently false. He may have excelled on the court, but in bed he had the stamina of an octogenarian.) However, if it means getting my diploma faster, and for less money, I’m all for it.

The door bursts open and sends a gust of wind that picks up my papers. Fey darts into the room, followed by her boyfriend, Robin. He’s been following her like a shadow since she agreed to a date after meeting him in her study group last Thanksgiving. Sonja and I both think he’s going to propose soon. While I do see how good Fey and Robin are together, I think Fey is too young to get hitched. Then again, I’ve always been a romance cynic.

“Ohmygod, I’m so sorry!” Fey exclaims when she sees me scrambling for the sheets. “Here, let me help you.”

She squats down. Robin is right there beside her. He gives me a shy smile and then focuses on the floor.

I’ve never been able to figure out why he’s so afraid of me. Sonja once told me that I give off “intimidating vibes.” But just because I have a backbone and am not afraid to stand up for myself does not make me a scary person! In fact, both my roommates have laughed and said they consider me the nicest girl they’ve ever met—after they got through my tough exterior.

That week, I made a point of smiling at every single stranger I saw. The end result was no different.

“So, what’s with all the excitement?” I ask after we clean up.

Fey blows out her hair. “Didn’t you hear? Tomorrow’s Daily News just went to print. They’re announcing this year’s finalist for the Barker Prize. Robin got us an advanced copy.”

I tilt my head to the side. “So?”

“So? You’re one of them, sweetheart!”

My eyes go wide. “What?”

The Barker Prize is the most prestigious award given to students in the faculty of psychology. Every year, the professors submit one name from their entire enrollment as a nominee. Dozens of students vie for each precious spot. They have to write a paper that brings to light issues connecting the study of psychology to society at large.

It’s mostly an exercise in creative writing—not dissimilar to a college admissions essay. Nearly all the submissions end up being wasted work. There are only twenty professors in the faculty. That means twenty nominated spots.

From those, a selection committee picks the five most promising entries. These are then publicized and voted on by the faculty members of the entire college.

“…But I didn’t even apply!” I protest. “How is that even possible?”

Fey’s eyes sparkle. “Robin found the essay you wrote after you printed it and threw it in the trash. He read the first few paragraphs and thought it was brilliant.”

Robin keeps his eyes glued to the floor, but it’s not enough to hide his growing grin. “Sorry,” he mumbles, shrugging his shoulders and trying to look penitent.

So that’s the reason he’s been refusing to look at me all this time!

“It’s okay,” I say, shaking my head. “But I don’t understand. What I wrote was a piece of garbage. I spent one night on it before realizing it was a colossal waste of time. My essay didn’t even have a conclusion!”

“Well, after I read it, I showed it to Sonja.” Fey gives me a mischievous look. “And she thought it was brilliant, too. We kind of, um, improvised the ending… and then submitted it on your behalf.”

I look at her in disbelief. “You what?”

“You were so busy we decided not to trouble you,” she says quickly. “We thought it would be a nice surprise if you got it.” She squeals. “And you did!”

I’m stunned. “Fey, I don’t… I don’t know what to say.” Even though she and Sonja did it without asking, I don’t feel affronted in the least. I am more in awe that Fey and Robin and Sonja all thought my essay was good enough to submit. And I am absolutely blown away not only by some professor selecting my entry as his nomination, but by the freaking selection committee deciding that what I wrote in one night was one of the five best applications!

“Who nominated me?”

“Professor Hickler!” she exclaims.

I look at her like she’s insane. “Hickler? I’ve never had a professor hate me more. He gave me my lowest grade last semester. And, I might add, that wasn’t for a lack of effort on my part.”

Fey giggles. “You say that, but you still earned the highest grade in his class.” She winks. “I know. I saw the curve.”

“So, you and Sonja went to him, with my paper… and said what? Students are supposed to petition their nominations individually.”

She waves my concern away. “We made up a sob story about you coming down with a nasty case of swine flu and being stuck in quarantine.”

“But I was in class that week!”

“I know that. So did Professor Hickler. But the story gave enough plausible credibility for him to bend the rules.”

“I don’t believe this,” I mutter. “Fey, you’re amazing! Both you and Robin are amazing! Where’s Sonja? Does she know?”

“Not yet.” Fey winks. “You’re the first to find out, aside from the Daily editors.” She pauses in thought, then adds in a stage whisper, “From what Robin’s gathered, you’re the front-running nominee.”

Chapter Fourteen

(Present day)


I come to with a gasp.

Cold, I think. So cold.

I open my eyes. The tray of food’s still there, with that mocking spotlight shining bright upon it. And the contract. Always, the goddamn contract.

How did it come to this? I wonder. I’m starving. I’m dying. How did I fall so far?

It all began with that prize. That is what brought me to California. If I had known back then what it would lead to…

But of course I didn’t. No one could.

I hug my arms around myself and wonder how Fey and Sonja are holding up. I wonder when they last thought of me. They were both crushed when I called and told them I’d be staying in Cali for the year, working on my internship.

They still think that’s what I’m doing. When it fell through, and I was stuck with no income, no home, and nothing but loans and debts to my name, my blasted pride prevented me from calling them and admitting the hard truth.

I bet they think I’m working hard while enjoying the life I’ve always imagined for myself. They probably think I have it made with my $120,000 contract from the consulting firm. They probably think I’ve forgotten about them because I haven’t called for so long.

The last thought fills me with sadness.

But taking the contract was a no brainer. Money like that is only offered to a fresh-faced, Ivy League graduate once in a blue moon. It is never offered to an intern—especially to one who hasn’t even earned her diploma yet.

I knew it was too good to be true.

But, when I held the offer sheet in my hands, when I felt the weight of the paper, and imagined the freedom that that money would bring… I couldn’t say, “No.”

It seemed like such an easy decision back then. Sign the contract. Take a year’s leave of absence. Return to Yale next fall. Reappear in 2014 with a huge chunk of change written off my debt from the earnings.

It seemed easy until it all fell through.

Chapter Fifteen

(Five months ago)


It’s May. The sun is bright and the birds are singing.