Boot Camp (11 page)

A toilet flushes somewhere behind the curtain, and a gray-haired guy comes out zipping up a pair of faded jeans. He's wearing an orange, yellow, and green tiedyed T-shirt with a pack of cigarettes in the pocket, and his gray beard is braided. He has a gold earring, and tattoos on both arms. I assume he's a workman, so I'm caught by surprise when he sits down at the desk and gestures for me to sit in the chair beside it.

“Name?” he asks.

“Garrett Durrell, sir … Uh … forgive me for asking this, sir, but are you really the nurse here?”

He raises his head and gives me an amused look. “What? You never saw a male nurse before?”

“Not one who looked like an outlaw biker, sir.”

“Ha-ha!” He slaps his hand against the desk. “That's good! If this place wants me to look like a frickin' nurse, they can pay me a nurse's wage.” He blinks as if he's just realized what he's said and the trouble it could mean for him, then adds, “Only, you didn't hear that from me, right?”

“I don't even know what you're talking about, sir.”

“You sure?” He narrows one eye suspiciously.

“Scout's honor, sir.”

“You ever a scout?”

“No way, sir.”

He grins—revealing yellowed, nicotine-stained teeth—and offers his hand for a shake. We've formed a strange, nearly instant bond, as if our built-in BS detectors work on the same wavelength.

“My name's Ted,” he says. “So what can I do for you, Garrett?”

“Sir, Mr. Sparks sent me here because I have a headache.”

Ted opens a drawer, takes out a small electronic thermometer, and sticks it in my ear. “Your temperature's normal.”

“I told Mr. Sparks it would probably go away, sir.”

“Want some OxyContin?” Ted asks.

I hesitate uncertainly.

“It's the best thing for a headache,” Ted says. “Take
care of it in no time. What do you say?”

“OxyContin is an addictive narcotic, sir. It's not the sort of thing you'd be handing out here.”

Ted grins again. “Good for you, Garrett. You passed the test.” He gives me a couple of Tylenol, then turns to Sarah. “How you doing?”

Sarah rolls her eyes.

“Glad I'm not a female,” Ted mumbles. The phone rings and he picks it up. “Yeah? What? Ah, for God's sake. No, don't move her. Yeah, I'll be right there.”

He hangs up. “I gotta go check on a kid who fell and hurt her neck. I'm only gonna be gone a minute, and I'm trusting you two not to get into any mischief, right?”

Sarah and I both nod.

“Don't bother looking for the good stuff while I'm gone, Garrett. It's all locked in the safe.” He goes out and closes the door behind him. It's hard to believe this guy is Lake Harmony's nurse, except that he must come a lot cheaper than a real RN.

Suddenly Sarah and I are alone. It appears that she's lost even more weight. Her elbows and wrists are bony, and her face seems longer, but it's probably just thinner. Her skin has an odd, translucent quality, but her gaze is steady, and her blue eyes have an intensity I haven't seen in weeks. “You're never going to get out of here,” she says in a determined but almost imperceptible whisper. “The problem is, by the time you figure that out, it'll be too late for Pauly and me.”

I hang my head regretfully. I had a feeling she
was going to try again to get me to help her and Pauly escape. When I look up, her eyes are watery.

“My father is a Mormon elder and apostle,” she whispers, and wipes a tear off her cheek. “Do you know what that is?”

“Someone pretty important in the Mormon church?”

She nods.

“Couldn't you fake it?” I ask.

“I tried, but it's like this place. They know when you're BSing them. The problem is, unlike this place they're not set up to deal with subversives. They only know how to preach to the faithful. I'm here because they don't want me contaminating the flock.”

“Can't you go live with a friend or someone?”

“My father won't allow it. Either I'm with him or I'm here. When you're that high up in the church, you can't be perceived as failing. And it's not just an image thing. He absolutely believes that I'm doomed if I don't join the fold. So I might as well be here, because I'm damned wherever I am.”

“What about a relative?”

“Tried that. My mom's parents went to court to try to get guardianship and lost. Somehow my aunt found out where I was and actually came here to get me, but they wouldn't let her in.”

I feel a pang. So she really is stuck here. How can this happen in a democracy that was allegedly founded on the idea of personal liberty, freedom of choice, and the rights of the individual?

Because until you turn eighteen you are not considered an individual.

And you have no rights.

It's insanity.

Once again, Sarah's eyes become teary. “You see how unfair it is?”

“Yes.”

The next question hangs unvoiced in the air between us. How can I
not
help Pauly and her try to escape?

The office door opens and Ted comes in. “Anyone feeling any better?”

Sarah and I lock eyes. Hers are pleading. I look away.

“The headache's gone, sir,” I tell him.

It's lunchtime, and Joe is back patrolling the tables. This is the first time I've seen him since Megan knocked him out, and except for the lump bulging from the back of his head, he seems the same as before. There's been no sign of Megan.

“Ahem.” Adam clears his throat. Today he's decided to sit directly across from me. On the menu are small, leathery hamburgers on stale buns, and french fries. The fries glisten with grease, but for once they're well done and crispy. Around the table they're disappearing from plates a lot faster than the hamburgers.

“Ahem.” Adam clears his throat again and nods at my plate. As if I'm going to give him the first tasty thing we've had to eat in weeks. I shoot him a look to let him know hell will freeze over before he gets one of my fries. He smiles back and reaches into his pocket. Out comes a familiar piece of torn white paper. It's one of the notes I wrote to Sarah. I have no idea how he got it.

Adam gestures again at my french fries, like he
wants to make a deal. I make a fist and bring it up under my chin. When Joe's back is turned and none of the chaperones are looking, I flip Adam the bird. His pasty face goes stony, eyes squinting and lizard teeth clenched. A moment later, when Joe passes, Adam holds up the note. “Sir? Look what I found.”

Joe takes the note and studies it. “Someone here write this?”

Adam points at me.

“This yours, Garrett?” Joe asks.

“Sorry, sir?” I shake my head innocently.

“Keep an eye on them, Mr. Gold,” Joe orders, and walks over to the shelf where our Reflections notebooks are stored. He opens mine and starts to compare the note to the handwriting inside. I watch as the corners of his mouth drop and the wrinkles in his forehead deepen. He closes my notebook and then opens another, and then another, trying to find a match. Finally he puts the notebooks back and shoves the note into his pocket.

Adam frowns. As if I'd tell him I wrote those notes with my left hand.

“I'd be dead if I wasn't here,” Chubby Rachel says in Circle. You hear this a lot. Maybe it represents a turning point in the rewiring process. The point at which you acknowledge that everything you did before was wrong.

“How?” I ask, enjoying for the moment Level Two status, which allows me to speak without permission. It's ironic that all I had to do was what was expected of me—which I was doing anyway—to earn the points
to reach Level Two while Joe was busy torturing some other new recruits.

“What?” Chubby Rachel doesn't seem to understand.

“How would you have died?” I ask.

“Uh … I don't know.”

“Then how do you know?” I ask.

“She just knows, okay?” Adam says.

“What about you, Adam?” I ask, although I'm surprised that Joe hasn't told me to shut up.

“What about me?” Adam shoots back.

“Would you be dead by now too?”

Adam makes a face. It's so obvious that he thinks that line is a load of crap. But he knows better than to say so. “Yeah, sure.”

“Let me guess,” I go on. “You'd have gone out in a hail of bullets. A regular
Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid.”

Adam crosses his arms and glowers. I glance around at the rest of the residents in Circle, but no one seems to get it. Sarah is gazing off at a blank wall, not even listening. Pauly is watching with nervous, jittery eyes, as if he's so scared someone will pick on him that he can't focus on anything else.

“You think you're smart ‘cause you can quote from books,” Adam spits.

“It was a movie, stupid,” says Sarah. So she has been listening after all.

“Whatever.” Adam shrugs.

“You know, they say knowledge is a dangerous thing,” I go on. “It gives people ideas. One thing
almost every dictator in history has had in common was trying to limit people's access to knowledge, to books, newspapers, free speech, any news from the outside world.” I wonder if they realize I'm talking about Lake Harmony.

Adam glances at Joe, as if he's uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation and wants our “father” to come to his rescue. But Joe just stares at the floor. Adam looks back at me. “What's your point?”

“My point is that just because we're in here doesn't mean the outside world no longer exists,” I tell him. “You seem to think that the only rules are Lake Harmony's, and that as long as you and your henchmen carry out secret missions for Joe, you're somehow protected. But what you don't understand is that that only works in here, not out there. You don't believe that crap about being dead if you were still out there. You think you'd be doing the same stuff you do in here and you'd get by. But what are you gonna do out there, Adam? Be a gangsta? A bodyguard for some rap star? You think you're such a tough guy, but you don't understand that it's only because they
let
you be a tough guy. Don't you see that you're just their puppet? They're using you and your posse to do the dirty work they're not allowed to do.”

Amazingly, Adam stares at Joe as if he needs to know if this is true.

“You have to be kidding me, Adam,” I tell him. “It never occurred to you that there was something strange going on when you and your goons could terrorize
Pauly in the bathroom and still not get turned in by Ron or Jon?”

Adam is still staring at Joe. In a way I'm as surprised as Adam is. I'd naturally assumed that he and Joe had an understanding.

“Adam, how long have you been here?” I ask. “A year? A year and a half?”

He doesn't answer. His eyes dart back and forth between me and Joe with a look of desperate uncertainty.

“You think you're ever gonna get out?” I ask. “You must be crazy. They
need
you here. You're their perfect enforcer. Their junior terrorist puppet. They don't even have to tell you what to do, because that sick brain of yours automatically seems to know.”

Circle has gone silent. Most of the kids are looking at Joe, as if waiting to see what he'll say. But Sarah stares at me with eyes filled with dread and warning. Finally Joe lifts his head, a sinister smile on his lips. Suddenly I feel a chill.

“Always good to hear what's on your mind, Garrett,” Joe says, his smile triumphant.

Adam sits back in his chair, crossing his arms and gloating. My extremities grow cold, and I feel myself withdraw. A poisonous cloud of regret settles around me. They set a trap and I walked into it with eyes wide open.
Bang!
In my mind a door slams shut. A key turns.

Sarah gives me a pained expression. Almost as if she's disappointed.

Joe nods slowly. “Guess you're not as smart as you thought, Garrett.”

Guess not.

“Back to TI, smart guy.”

“Prolonged periods of physical restraint may be necessary.”

The concrete floor of TI feels colder than last time. Fall has arrived. I've lost count of how many days I've been here and how many times Ron and Jon have come in to twist my legs and arms and leave no visible marks or bruises. Every part of my body hurts.

In a bizarre way, the distraction of the pain is almost a relief from the worst torture of all—the hours alone with nothing to do but think. You begin to ask yourself what you could possibly do to get out of this damp, chilly room and off this cold, grimy floor. And that's when the inevitable thought arrives:

Was being with Sabrina worth this?

No! No! No! Don't think that! That's exactly what they want!

This is how the rewiring begins. If I'd been sent here for eating M&M's, wouldn't I be wondering right now if it was worth it? If it meant getting off this miserable floor and sleeping in a bed and seeing other humans, wouldn't I agree never to play video games again? If they keep me here long enough, I'll eventually agree to anything. Fill in the blank: “If you'll let me out of here, I swear I'll______________________________.”

a) never use bad words again

b) stop picking my nose

c) dot the
i
and cross the
t

d) listen to my parents

It makes me wonder how Sarah has been able to withstand it for as long as she has. It doesn't seem humanly possible. Pauly, too, in his own strange way. I can't imagine the inner strength it must take. I've been here five months. They've been here for years. If I were either of them, I probably would have given in a long time ago.

All you have to do is listen to your parents.

This is why Lake Harmony works. Because it has to. Sooner or later I will believe whatever they want me to believe.