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be calling attention to herself, negating her effort to blend in. But she couldn’t bear
     to part with the earrings. Kitty was nearly ninety-three. How many more gifts would Carly receive from her?
    “Rich witch,” the female recruit closest behind her hissed into Carly’s ear. This slur was followed by a string of vulgar
     insults.
    Caught off guard, Carly merely glanced at the girl whose name was something like Alexa or Alex. Then the line moved forward.
    It all went down so fast that Carly didn’t realize what was happening until it was over. Alex-somebody, the name-caller, hooked
     a foot in front of Carly’s ankle. Carly felt herself losing balance—smoothly she turned and executed the response she’d learned
     in years of tae kwon do lessons. She used the other girl’s momentum to propel her down onto the floor. Then, breathing fast,
     Carly stood above, gaping down at her.
    Suddenly another woman’s nose touched Carly’s. “What in the heck do you think you’re doing?” Spit from the drill instructor’s
     mouth splashed Carly’s face.
    “She tripped me,” the girl on the floor accused.
    “I don’t give a whoop who tripped who. Drop and start push-ups. Both of you!” she roared, spitting in Carly’s face again.
     “Now!”
    Carly dropped and began performing push-ups. The girl beside her started doing the same. Carly felt her heart pounding, not
     from the physical exertion but over the unexpected attack by a stranger and being yelled at about it. What was this girl’s
     problem?
    But Carly’s more pressing dilemma—how to keep the earrings—popped up, nagging more insistently. What could she do in the amnesty
     room to conceal the earrings on her person? If she could hide them, in three weeks when they were allowed to write letters,
     she could send them home.
    Perhaps she could hook them to some part of her clothing. But she was still wearing her civilian clothes, which she would
     soon surrender for a military uniform and dog tags. But she wouldn’t be changing underthings, would she? No, because she’d
     been told what kind of underwear and how much to bring to basic.
I’ll just hook them into the cleft in the front of my
—
    “Little Miss Show-Off,” the drill instructor barked above her.
    Carly paused and looked up.
    “You think you’re going to impress me?” the woman demanded.
    Carly glanced over at the other girl, who lay gasping on the floor beside her. Suddenly Carly became aware that her arms were
     tired and she was a little winded. “I beg your pardon?”
    The DI reached down and pulled her to her feet. “Get back in line.”
    Carly stumbled slightly as the sergeant thrust her backward. The sergeant dragged Alex-somebody to her feet and shoved her
     behind Carly. “Any more trouble out of either of you, and you’ll regret it!”
    Carly didn’t doubt her. She felt herself gasping for breath, not from the exertion but again from the shock. She’d never been
     manhandled or verbally abused like this in her whole life. Nate repeated in her mind, “Don’t take anything personally.” That
     hadn’t sounded difficult when he said it, but now tears were coiled right behind her eyes, ready to spring forth. She drew
     in breath slowly and let it out, gathering her composure. Breaking into tears wouldn’t bring any sympathy here.
    Finally, Carly’s moment of decision arrived. She entered the amnesty room. Hiding herself by bending slightly forward and
     toward the wall behind her, she quickly took off her earrings and fastened them into the interior front of her bra. Mentally,
     she inventoried the rest of her belongings but couldn’t think of anything else she needed to leave behind. She walked swiftly
     from the room, doing her best to look innocent.
    After the amnesty room, all the recruits were herded into two rooms, one for males and one for females. Inside the females’
     room, Carly looked down at the folded camouflage uniform, called a basic drill uniform or