Marlee glanced at the counters, then noticed a boy and girl crouching behind the stool in front of the register. And yet their eyes were not on her; they were on something behind her. She turned and saw an older boy holding a thick laptop over his head ready to smack her. She could tell by the worried expression on his face that he wouldn't do it
"Shelley," he shifted in his chair to cross his legs then proceeded, "may I call you Shelley?" She nodded. "This isn't a prison think of it as a Center," her leg had stopped bouncing, she was charmed by his casualness, "We are here to help you develop a healthy state of mind," he said uncrossing his legs. "If this isn't a prison why do the windows have bars and why are there guards?" "Well, the state requires us to take certain measures, but let's talk about you," he leaned closer to Shelley as though he were about to confess a grave sin, "Please, tell me what were you convicted of?"
Petunia became curious as she saw people standing on the curb. She stopped to peek through the thicket of legs, but her mother pulled her along. The marchers chanted and banged wooden sticks against metal pots. “They’re just kids,” said a woman’s voice. “Kids-Pfft! Since when did we start calling adults, children!” said an older man’s voice. There were hundreds of people marching in the street. Some had their faces covered with bandanas, others held signs in the air, but Petunia couldn’t read so she didn’t know what they said.