Several months earlier…

In my dream, there’s a warm arm wrapped around me holding me. But the dream ends. When I wake up I’m alone. I curl up under my thin sheet, wrapping my arms around my pillow, wishing someone would hold me the same way.

The morning horn blares through speakers. I crawl out from under my sheets, wrap in a towel and make my way to the bathing pool just outside my bunk. Morning light is just breaking over the barbed fence that runs the perimeter of the Facility. The cement walls that hold the water—what we call a pool—are cracked and moldy. I can smell the bleach that gets poured into the water every night. Sometimes, they pour in too much and it gives me a rash for days. Most of the other boys are already scooping buckets of water out to use for washing up. Reaching into the pool, I pause and look at my reflection, messy brown hair over dark eyes. Normally, I wouldn’t even think twice about getting cleaned up and dressed, but today is different. Today is the day I’ll be put up for auction.

I finish washing up and slip on my stiff, khaki uniform, one of two I’m given every year.

“Line up!” shouts the bunk leader after blowing a whistle. We line up in rows by age, with the youngest in front and the oldest in the back. I’m in the middle. Lining up for inspection, the bunk leader passes and looks at my stained, canvas shoes and wrinkled shorts.

"This is a warning," he says. "Next time, you lose points."

I bow as expected, acknowledging my negligence. The other boys snicker.

“You’ll lose points too, so shut up,” replies our leader. The boys get quiet. After finishing inspection, we move out and head to the cafeteria. The halls we walk are dirt. Even though we’re outside, the dilapidated buildings to either side are tall enough to block most of the light when it’s this early. Flickering fluorescent bulbs light our way instead. Looking up at some of the bunks and classrooms, it’s hard to believe they don’t just topple or cave in. Some buildings are wooden with slatted windows and others are cement blocks that go up several floors. A few of the bunks are pieced together by corrugated metal sheets. Those are for the really bad wards, or the ones who have just given up.

The girls' bunks are out and meeting up with us. Jael passes. Amber eyes meet mine for a moment before dark, raven hair falls in front of her face. She’s swept into a crowd of starched dresses.

In the cafeteria we stand at our tables while our bunk leaders start the morning chant, their voices echoing in the vast space. I watch Jael’s lips as we repeat the chant, a pledge of our commitment to this wonderful facility and our benevolent warden that no ward has ever seen.

An announcement crackles through the speaker system, "All sixth-years and above report to the docks for first period. The Auction will be held second period. Lower grades will follow the normal schedule." For the sixth-years like me, this auction is our first.

We sit and pull the plastic wrap off our food trays, letting the smell of sticky rice and wet kale rise. Beside each tray is a paper cup with our daily pills.

Jael takes her pills in one swallow. “These might be our last pills,” she says to me in her thick, Urdu accent.

“Don’t talk like that,” I say. The truth is that no one really knows who’s going to be sold, when they’re going to be sold, or to where. We just hold our breath and hope to not get sold to a nasty bidder.

“Maybe today’s your lucky day Jael,” says a boy.

“You want more laps?” I snap at him, “Cause that’s what you’ll get if you keep smarting off.”

“We’re all getting sold someday,” Jael says.

“Yeah, well the later the better,” I say back.