Boot Camp (15 page)

“Maybe it doesn't matter, as long as his girlfriend believes it,” suggests Babyface Miles, the kid who cried at night for the first two weeks. Now there are no more tears. He's found a new family—not in Dignity with Joe as his “father,” but in Adam's posse.

“You're saying it doesn't matter whether he means it?” Joe asks.

“It matters, but it's still gonna make it impossible for them to get back together,” Miles says.

“That's not the point,” Joe says. “Sabrina wasn't the problem. She was just a
symptom
of the problem. So you're only half right, Miles. Maybe we've taken away the symptom, but that doesn't mean we've solved the problem. What do you think would happen if Garrett got out of here now?” Joe may be asking Miles, but his eyes are firmly on me. “You think he's learned
his lesson? You think he's truly owned up to all his mistakes? You think he's reached the point where he'll be respectful, polite, and obedient enough to return to his family?”

“I doubt it,” says Adam.

“So do I,” Joe says, turning now to face me. “I think it's a good step. It gets you back up to Level Two, Garrett. Keep up the good work. Maybe someday you'll get there.”

“How's your B-ball, Garrett?” Mr. Sparks asks. It's pouring rain outside.

“Stone hands, sir,” I answer.

He purses his lips. That wasn't what he wanted to hear. “But you play, right?”

“Not really, sir.”

“A little?” he asks hopefully.

“Sorry, sir. Besides, I thought you had to be Level Four or higher to use the gym.”

Mr. Sparks's eyes slide right and left to make sure no one's listening. “Listen, I got the saddest bunch of dweebs and no-talents you ever saw. We're one man short, and we need someone who'll make it a little challenging. A big guy to stand in the paint and put his hands up, got it?”

“That's about all I can do, sir.”

“Way to go.” Mr. Sparks actually claps his hand on my shoulder, and we walk toward the gym.

Turns out he wasn't kidding about the Level Fours and up being a feeble bunch of basketball players. But as with soccer, as soon as one kid drops out, Mr. Sparks
becomes a player as well as the ref, and the rest of the game is basically just an excuse for him to run and gun and have some fun.

“Hey, thanks, Garrett,” he says after the game. He's breathing hard, and his dark skin glistens with perspiration. His sweat-darkened T-shirt clings to his body, and he wears the satisfied smile of someone who's pushed himself to the edge of playful exhaustion. The other residents have gone, but Mr. Sparks has ordered me to stay behind and hold a rickety wooden ladder steady while he cranks up the backboards.

“For what, sir?” I ask.

“For being a good sport about it,” he says. “I know it wasn't much fun for you.”

“It beat studying, sir.” I hold the ladder. Drops of his sweat make tiny splats on the gymnasium floor.

“Never got into the game, huh?” he says, with the touch of regret I have heard so many times in my life. As if it's some great tragedy that a guy with my size and build isn't some kind of athlete.

I give my standard reply: “Wasn't meant to be, sir.”

“That's okay,” Mr. Sparks says. “Important thing is to know yourself.”

“Thought I did till I got here, sir.”

Mr. Sparks's lips fold into a frown. He finishes cranking the backboard and climbs down the ladder, wiping sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. “Listen, Garrett …” His voice drops. “I got a wife, a kid, and a sick mother to support. I need this gig, and it's not like there's a lot of steady work around here. There are things I'd say to you, but it could cost me my
job. So I'll just say this: You gotta be true to yourself. I couldn't say that to most of the kids here, but I can to you. You gotta decide for yourself what's right and wrong. Don't let them decide for you.”

“I'll be stuck here forever, sir,” I remind him.

“Maybe not.” Mr. Sparks closes the ladder. “You better get going.”

I start across the gym toward the door, but when I'm halfway there, Mr. Sparks calls from behind: “One other thing, Garrett. Watch your back.”

“Ahem.” A throat clears. I'm in the bathroom before Shut Down. Adam is standing in the doorway. David Zitface, Unibrow Robert, and Babyface Miles are behind him. They're wearing the boots we're only supposed to wear for running. From his pocket Adam pulls out the pointed light-blue toothbrush shiv.

“What do you want?” I ask.

Adam gives me his best sinister smile. Those yellow reptilian teeth look ready to tear flesh. “I want you to beg for your life.”

“Forget it. Go ahead and kill me. Put me out of my misery.”

“My pleasure.” Adam comes toward me.

“Just one thing,” I add. “Let's see you do it without the backup squad.”

“Doesn't work that way,” Adam says.

“Oh, yeah? How's it work?”

“Like this.”

He throws something. I was so busy watching the shiv in his left hand that I didn't notice what he was
doing with his right. Something soft hits my face and bursts into a light orange cloud. Instantly I'm blinded; my eyes, nose, and throat are on fire. It tastes like hot peppers.
Wham!
In the blind darkness I'm slammed against the wall and pummeled by a barrage of fists and kicking boots. Unable to see, with jagged jabs of pain coming from all sides, I sink to the floor and curl into a ball, trying to protect my head with my arms. The fists and kicks continue. All hurt. Some worse than others. A punch produces a dull throbbing pain in my shoulder. A vicious kick results in a sudden screaming jolt at my hip that makes me grimace and cower. I keep my back to the wall and my head covered, taking most of the blows on my shins and forearms. My eyes tear, but more from the burning powder than the pain.

The beating continues. When I cover my face with my arms and protect my stomach by tucking in my legs, they stomp on my head and ribs. I can taste blood on my lips, though I'm not sure where it's coming from. They're crazy to do this. I'll be covered with telltale bruises. But maybe they don't care.

A boot connects with my head. The pain explodes and blurs.

I'm gone for a moment, then back, then gone again. Am I blacking out?

Out of nowhere a voice says, “That's enough.” The blows stop, but it's too late. I'm fading into darkness. Strange though, that the voice … sounded like Joe's.

“Success at Lake Harmony can only be achieved by changing your attitude.”

I wake up in the dark, uncertain where I am, flooded with aches and pains. There are deep crevices of hot agony where my body feels as if it's working overtime to start the healing process. There's an odd smell in the air, and it takes a moment to place it: stale cigarette smoke. Guess it makes sense that I'd be in the infirmary. Then the darkness grows blurry and I'm gone again.

“Garrett?” A whispered voice wakes me. I open my eyes and find Mr. Sparks beside the cot. He's wearing a heavy blue baseball jacket zipped to the neck as if he's
just come in from outside. The infirmary is the dull gray of predawn.

“How are you?” His face is stony. No sign of the usual smile.

My lips are cracked and my throat feels dry. Guess I've been breathing through my mouth because my nose is swollen. Moving my jaw to speak hurts. “Never been better, sir.”

“Man.” Mr. Sparks shakes his head. “I've never seen anyone get it as bad as you.”

“Did Joe order it, sir?” I ask.

Mr. Sparks hesitates. “No.”

“But he stopped it, sir.”

“Yeah.”

“Adam and his gang in trouble, sir?” I ask.

Mr. Sparks shakes his head.

“I don't get it, sir.”

“It's all about results, Garrett. You think this place could stay in business with parents shelling out four grand a month if they didn't see results?”

“What about Sarah, sir?”

“An exception to the rule. Most parents give this place a year or a year and a half at best. No results, they pull the kid and try something else.”

“What's that got to do with Adam, sir?” I ask.

“Mr. Z and Joe, the other group leaders … their hands are tied. There's only so much they're allowed to do. State and federal regulations, you know? So they use Adam and his boys to do the rest. If Adam's got a grudge against you and decides to do some freelancing, what can Joe do? They both know
that without thugs like Adam there's no more Lake Harmony.”

“Sir, did a kid really die here a couple of years ago?” I ask.

Mr. Sparks nods slowly.

“How, sir?”

“Official cause of death was listed as heatstroke. State did an investigation and Lake Harmony was cleared of responsibility. I hear the parents have brought a civil suit, but those things take years, and there's insurance to cover it.”

“Was it really heatstroke, sir?”

“Sure. You force an overweight kid to run in the sun for six hours on a hundred-degree day and heatstroke is pretty much guaranteed. The group leader got fired, the state completed its investigation, and life went back to normal.”

The infirmary slowly brightens as the day begins. Outside, car tires crunch over gravel. Mr. Sparks raises his head alertly. “Gotta go.”

“Wait, sir. Why'd you come see me?” I ask.

Mr. Sparks looks down at me with as grave an expression as I've ever seen on his face. “From now on you gotta be careful, Garrett. I mean it. Real careful.”

They keep me in the infirmary for four days. Just before lunch on the fourth day, Ron arrives to take me back. In the food hall, I get stared at hard. And no wonder. My face is swollen, bruised, and black and blue.

At the Dignity table, Adam and David Zitface sit opposite me. Babyface Miles is on my right and
Unibrow Robert on my left. No words are spoken. It's all facial expressions. Sneers and smirks. Mr. Sparks hovers nearby, trying to stay within range while not appearing obvious about it.

“Ahem.” Adam clears his throat, then places his hands on the table and slowly balls them into fists. Miles, David, and Robert do the same. Their knuckles are swollen and scabbed.

From beating on me.

Their smiles say they'll be glad to do it again.

That evening after Reflections we line up to go back to the dorm. Toward the end of the line, Pauly squeezes in front of me and behind Miles and Adam. He's made no attempt to communicate all day, but now he gives me a hurried wink. As usual, Joe is at the rear, where he can watch us.

As we enter the hall outside the dorm, Pauly suddenly stumbles forward into Miles, knocking him into Adam. All three fall down and become a tangle of arms and legs.

“Hey!” Joe pushes past me and bends over to pull the boys apart. Pauly is the first to crawl out of the pile. He pops to his feet and races toward me, eyes wide. Then he's behind me, pushing me toward Joe, Adam, and the others just hard enough to give me the idea of what he wants me to do. It all happens so fast, I hardly have time to think. I pretend to stumble forward and “trip” into Adam, knocking him on his butt and landing hard on top of him. With considerable pleasure I hear him gasp and then moan in pain.

“Get up!” Joe shoves Miles aside and steps over Adam and me. He starts pulling at our arms and legs, but I pretend to lose my balance and fall on Adam again.

“Get off!” Adam squirms under me. I jam my elbow into his neck and my knee into his ribs while I pretend to get my footing. Everyone in the family has turned to watch. They must assume this is my revenge for the beating. Is that why Pauly decided tonight was the night? Because everyone would be expecting this?

In the midst of trying to separate Adam and me, Joe suddenly stops and stares down the hall. Pauly has pulled open the breaker panel. Joe lets go of Adam and me and lunges toward him.

Up to this moment I haven't actually committed to Pauly's plan. The worst I could be accused of is getting a few revenge licks on Adam. But if I don't do something to stop Joe right now, he's going to get to Pauly before there's time to shut off the power and lock the box.

“You will endeavor to rise through the levels necessary for graduation.”

I reach out, grab Joe's ankle, and yank him back.

The hall goes pitch-black, and there's a metallic bang as Pauly slams the breaker box shut. Then a softer click as he closes the small padlock. Meanwhile guys start bumping into each other, sputtering and swearing in the confusion.

I feel a hand pulling on my arm and hard breaths against my ear as Pauly whispers, “Go to the food hall! Get as much as you can! Meet me behind the bushes near the flagpole.”

Then he vanishes into the dark.

The hall has grown quieter. It feels like fewer people are around. I hear footsteps, whispers. A door slams. Someone laughs.

“Get a flashlight!” Joe's voice pierces the dark.

Bang! Bang!
Loud, metallic banging rings through the air. Could be Joe slamming on the circuit-breaker box. Or maybe it's something else.

Crash!
Somewhere down the hall glass breaks.

“Yee-ha!” someone cries with glee.

“The infirmary!” someone else yells.

Running footsteps. More crashes. Joe curses under his breath.

Doors open and slam. Without electricity, the forty-five-second automatic lockdown doesn't work. Nor do the motion detectors and alarms. In the dark I grope my way down the hall until my hands feel the panic bar on a door. I push hard and the door flies open. Outside the fall air is chilly. The sky overhead glitters with more sparkling stars than I've ever seen. For a moment, despite the insanity around me, the sight of all those stars is fantastic.

A loud crash followed by shrieks of laughter pulls me back to reality. I press myself into the darkness against a wall and listen. There are voices in the night, and yelling; the sounds of running and heavy breathing. Staying close to the wall, I work my way toward the food hall.