Free Traffick by Ellen Hopkins Page A

representative on
    earth,’ demonstrated on a daily basis?”
    Am I actually talking to God, and
    not only that, but talking out loud?
    Glad there’s no one close by to hear me.
    Pretty sure everyone at Walk Straight
    has given up any notion of him, if they
    had one to begin with. Little
    evidence of God in the backseat
    of a john’s car, or some seedy
    motel room, and even less in
    the eyes of your pimp when he’s
    beating you while ranting about
    your failures as a good little
    prostitute. Almost every girl here
    tells a similar story of being scooped
    up by some predatory man when
    it was obvious they had nowhere
    else to go. Runaways, most of them.
    I suppose if I’d been on the street
    for very much longer, some smooth-
    talking guy would have latched
    onto me, convinced me I’d be safer
    in his care than on my own. A few
    more days, struggling to eat and
    clean the ugliness from my body,
    I probably would have been grateful
    for the intervention. Instead, I found
    a helpful priest. So maybe God was
    watching out for me after all. I whisper,
    â€œFather, forgive me. And if it’s your
    will, please bless Andrew and me.”

My Counseling Session
    Is after lunch, which I can’t eat
    because of the nerves tap dancing
    in my stomach. I practically crawl
    to Sarah’s office, coaxing myself
    the whole way to go ahead and tell
    my entire tale of woe. I knock on
    the door, hoping something has called
    her away, but no such luck. Instead,
    she invites me in with that chirpy
    voice, and I have no choice but to
    comply. A whooshing fills my ears
    as I sit across the desk from Sarah.
    She takes one look at the way I’m
    shaking and gushes, What’s wrong,
    Ruthie? Did you see a vampire?
    That makes me giggle. “A vampire?
    Don’t you mean a ghost?” I must look
    as pallid-faced as I feel. “Anyway, no.
    I didn’t see either. It’s just . . .” Go on.
    Reach deep for the courage you need.
    â€œI think it’s time for me to tell you
    some stuff. First of all, my name
    isn’t Ruthie. It’s Eden. Eden Ruth Streit,
    and my parents aren’t dead (at least,
    I don’t think so), and I’m from Boise. . . .”

Ice Broken
    It all comes gushing out,
    as if a dam breaks inside
    me. I rush the telling,
    sure if I slow down I’ll grind
    to a complete halt. I notice
    Sarah nodding, but she stays
    silent, like she intuits my fear
    of stopping before the climax.
    I know this can’t surprise her,
    that she’s heard plenty of awful
    things before, but when I get
    to the part about Tears of Zion
    and Jerome, her eyes grow
    wider and wider, and when
    she finally gets the chance to
    speak, she says, I’ve just been
    reading up on teen boot camp
    horror stories. Your Tears of Zion
    wasn’t mentioned, but there are
    several similar places that
    invoke conservative religious
    values to abuse their clients.
    Most parents, however, don’t have
    any idea about their practices,
    which include isolation, denial
    of food, water, and the ability
    to use the bathroom. Sometimes
    they get shut down, but usually
    they just move and set up shop
    somewhere else. It’s very hard
    to regulate them because often
    they operate as “private schools,”
    which have a whole different
    regulatory process than, say,
    rehab facilities or public entities.
    Thank you, God! She believes
    me! A huge knot of tension
    tumbles from my shoulders,
    and a warm wave of relief
    washes over me. Still, tears
    spill onto my cheeks. “I thought
    everyone would think I was
    lying. The only thing is, Mama
    knew what was going on, and
    she left me there anyway.”
    Are you sure, Ru—I mean, Eden?
    From everything I read, parents
    rarely have a clue about what
    goes on in these places. Why
    would your mother leave you if . . .

She Trails Off
    Noticing the way my face
    turns to marble. “I guess
    you’ll have to ask