The Prison Project (by Bethany Donaghy) novel Chapter 3

Margot’s POV*

The swing creaked beneath me, its rusted chains groaning with every slow back-and-forth motion.

It was a familiar sound, one that had underscored a hundred conversations between Cara and me over the years, but today, it felt louder — grating, intrusive.

Or maybe that was just from the way my head ached.

Five days had passed since we sent off our applications. Five long days of waiting, of hoping, of forcing myself to believe that escape was more than just some stupid pipe dream.

How ironic? Begging for an escape from our home town to a prison cell…

If I stopped to think about it, it was the dumbest sounding thing in the world, but anything was better than here and so as each day ticked by, I found myself hoping to hear back from them to say that we had been selected!

But five days of waiting also meant another five more nights being trapped at home. Five more nights of trying to be invisible. Five more nights of not moving fast enough…

I could still feel last night’s lesson pulsing beneath my eye, the skin swollen and stretched tight. The bruise had fully bloomed by morning, an ugly mix of purple and yellow.

I hadn’t even bothered to check how bad it looked in a mirror as the rest of the day proceeded forward. The sting alone was enough of a reminder that it was still very much there.

Cara sat beside me on the neighboring swing, kicking at the dirt with the toe of her scuffed up boot. She hadn’t looked directly at me for a while now, her eyes flicking up only in short, sharp glances before snapping away again.

She was working up to it.

The question.

The first one was always casual, as if she were just making conversation.

“So… how bad was it this time?” The words fell out past her teeth.

I exhaled, my fingers tightening around the chains. “It was fine. Not the worst, I guess.” I shrug.

She let out a breath through her nose, her boot scraping harder against the ground. “Margot…”

I shot her a look, one that was meant to shut her down, but she didn’t take the hint. She never did. Her concern always topped all else.

“Did it last long?” she pressed, softer this time.

I shrugged. “What does it matter? It’s done now anyhow.”

Her mouth pressed out into a thin line. “You could always crash at mine tonight,” she offered, but we both knew it wasn’t a real solution after what happened last time I had done that…

Her place was barely better too. And besides, if I didn’t go home, he’d only be angrier the next time that I did.

“Thanks, but I’ll be fine.” I nod once to clarify my own lie.

The lies came so easy now, it barely even tasted like one anymore.

Cara huffed, leaning back against the swing chains, her arms looping around them loosely. “You ever get tired of pretending that it doesn’t bother you? That living with him doesn’t bother you?”

“Do you?” I shot back, raising an eyebrow, my patience wearing thin today.

She sighed, shaking her head. “Touché.”

Silence stretched between us for a while, thick and suffocating, as the guilt of snapping at my friend slowly settled itself in to my gut…

But before I could address it with a makeshift apology, I noticed something had caught Cara’s attention. She perked up suddenly, her body going rigid as she sat up straighter to get a better view from across the street…

“What?” I asked, not bothering to follow her gaze.

She nodded toward the library. “Margot, Look.”

I turned just in time to see the grumpy librarian, as she stepped out onto the sidewalk, adjusting her bag over her shoulder before hurrying off down the street meanwhile checking her wristwatch.

“Where’s she going?” I question out loud, knowing that Cara only knew just as much as I did.

Cara grinned. “Hopefully far enough away to not notice if we help ourselves to the WiFi for a quick five minutes.”

I sat up a little, watching as she fully disappeared around the corner…

The library was still open — the sign on the door made that extremely clear. But without her at the front desk… whoever was left in her place, wouldn’t know that we had already been in earlier this week!

I glanced back at Cara.

She was already up on her feet.

“Come on, move it!” she said, grabbing my wrist.

I hesitated. “What if she comes back sooner than we think?”

Cara rolled her eyes. “We’ll be quick. Five minutes tops.”

Five minutes… that’s all we needed… just to check!

I chewed the inside of my cheek, but my legs were already moving, following her toward the entrance as our quick steps broke out in to a run.

The door creaked as we slipped inside, the air immediately cooler, the scent of old books and dust wrapping around me like a familiar comfort blanket – this being my favourite time of the week.

The front desk was completely empty.

No footsteps.

No voices.

Just us.

Cara didn’t waste any time. She darted toward the nearest computer, motioning for me to follow as she bounced down on to her usual spot – hammering her fingers against the keys to log on.

“Come on, Margot,” she hissed, snapping me out of my daze by the doors as I hurried towards her.

I sat down next to her, my heart hammering as the screen finally lit up with the home page. Cara’s fingers worked quickly as she pulled up her email first – the page freezing for a second and taking longer than usual to load.

I held my breath.

Us both exchanging nervous glances.

And then—

A new message appeared in her inbox titled ‘PP APPLICATION RESULT’

My stomach twisted itself into knots as she clicked it open, my pulse thundering in my ears.

Cara’s voice was sharp with concern, and I knew I had taken too long to react.

She leaned over my shoulder, scanning the email, her breath catching in her throat when she reached the same part I had.

“No,” she murmured. “No, no, no, there has to be a mistake—”

“It’s not a mistake,” I cut in, my voice eerily flat. “I didn’t get picked.”

I felt her staring at me, waiting for some kind of reaction. A breakdown. An explosion. Something.

But I had nothing left to give.

I just sat there. Staring at the words that had just sealed my fate.

“Margot…”

She reached for me, but I pulled away.

“You’re leaving tomorrow.” The words came out hollow, like they belonged to someone else.

Cara shook her head. “Then we’ll find another way. We’ll—”

“There is no other way.” It came out sharper than I intended, but I didn’t care, I felt broken on the inside.

Cara clenched her jaw, her eyes burning with frustration, guilt, something I didn’t have the energy to place.

“O-Ok… print it out, let’s take these with us… read them in full and see what we can do.” Cara suggests, shaking my shoulder in to action as I swallow the lump forming in my throat and hesitantly head to the print icon.

A paper copy would only make me feel worse about the rejection, but I did it anyway… hitting print.

A sudden foreign noise jolted us both out of our trance — a door shutting.

Shit.

The librarian was back.

Cara’s hand shot out, grabbing my wrist. “Come on.” She squealed, rushing to rip my page from the printer.

We bolted from the computer, my rejection email still glaring on the screen as we stumbled toward the exit – breezing by her at record speed as she could barely register what we were both up to.

We hit the street, rushing across the road to the safety of the deserted swing park.

Cara turned to me, her eyes desperate and breathing hard. “We can fix this. We just need a plan. There might be something else on this page!”

I barely heard her.

Because all I could think was—

She was leaving here.

And I wasn’t.

And I had no idea what the hell I was supposed to do now…