The Land of Long Days Frances De Pontes Peebles (bio) Everywhere, there are rainbows—on the stairs to Girls' Block, around the bulletin board announcing our meals for the week, on the playground equipment where we sit during Outdoor Time. (Sometimes Nayeli goes down the rainbow slide, and we follow her, laughing like it's a big joke—us, pretending to be kids.) There's a rainbow on the front of the building, too, over the glass doors. Those doors are for Monitors and Counselors and for visitors, who show up every week wearing sticker badges and standing too close together, staring at our bunk beds and our art projects but never at us. In the back of the building is our door: gray metal, with a buzzer and cameras and a fence too tall to climb. "Everybody wants happiness, nobody wants pain," Alicia raps. "But you can't have a rainbow without a little rain." "I like the colors," Julissa says. "They're nice for little kids." "We're not kids," I say. "What are we, magical princesses?" Alicia asks. Nayeli says nothing, like always. We sit in Town Square. There're little huts (FaceTime House, Craft Place, Game Room) painted in candy colors and metal picnic tables all around. A rainbow village dropped inside a "juvenile immigrant shelter." That's what our Head Counselor, Mr. Miguel, calls this place. Alicia calls it jail. The rest of us call it Sunset Harbor, because that's what's written on our paperwork and printed on our sweatshirts. It was meant for little kids—the ones the Monitors call "tender age." That's the reason for the rainbows, the playground, the rec room full of toys and baby books. Nayeli heard that, when Sunset Harbor first opened, there were protests; people didn't want a baby jail in their town. So now we're here instead—fifty of us. The youngest is twelve. The oldest, seventeen. We cover construction paper in glitter. Julissa prints "PROM 2020!" in big, bubble letters and cuts them out to stick on our centerpieces. We have to make fifteen—one for each table in Town Square. Then we'll paint a banner. [End Page 101] "Prrrrrrrom! Prrrrrrom! Prrrrrrrom!" Alicia purrs. She's an engine, revving. Julissa rolls her eyes. "They tell you the playlist yet?" Alicia asks. "Mr. Miguel's got to approve the requests," Julissa replies. "Then we're fucked," Alicia whispers, so the Monitor nearby doesn't hear. "It'll be Grease and Top 40 shit." "You have Tupac in your ears every day. We don't need to listen to him at prom too," Julissa says. When she first arrived at Sunset Harbor, Alicia told her Child Advocate how much she loved Tupac Shakur. A week later, her Advocate burned her an old-school CD with bleeped-out versions of his greatest hits. Mr. Miguel held the CD for a few days and made calls to make sure it was allowed. Finally, he gave it to Alicia, who checks out a Sony Discman from the library every day (we aren't allowed computers, cellphones, or internet) so she can listen to the CD on repeat. Alicia scoots to the edge of her seat and does a body roll. "Fingertips on the hips as I dip, gotta get a tight grip, don't slip." "And you wonder why Mr. Miguel won't approve it …" Julissa says. "Loose lips sink ships, it's a trip …" Julissa gives up on Alicia and turns to me. "What kind of dress will you pick, Lilian? I want a big skirt, like a bride." I glance at Alicia, who's always ready to laugh at whatever comes out of my mouth. I have to think before I say things in Spanish. It's not too different from my Portuguese, but different enough for me to make mistakes. What I want to say is: I need a dress that glimmers like a million little fish scales. "Depends what they bring us," I mumble. Julissa wanted this party called prom very badly, so she convinced the Counselors and Ms. Susan, the Lead Monitor, to let her plan it. Julissa collected craft...