12. Dean
DEAN
10 years ago
T oday is like any other day at this place. The shuffling of feet is vaguely heard in the background of the lunch hall, as is the slow drip of a leaking pipe.
The school. The prison. It doesn’t matter what it’s called. No names matter to me anymore.
The only person’s name that matters is the one belonging to that girl.
I still don’t have her name.
I listen whenever I can, hoping one of the teachers or staff members will let it slip. They talk about everyone in here the same way, without using many descriptions, so I’ve heard a few names. I’m not sure if any of them belong to her.
If I knew what her name was, I wouldn’t say it out loud. I’d keep it safe and protected. I definitely wouldn’t call to her even though I want to. That would be breaking every rule in this place, and I’d probably end up buried under the floorboards.
They’d never let me hear the end of that one. All the bastards here would want to know how I learned her name in the first place. They hate it when we know each other from outside.
Nothing scares these people, but I guess the thought of us finding each other and comparing notes in the outside world makes them a little nervous.
If I knew her name, the most I would do is whisper it under my breath when everybody else was asleep. Just to hear how it sounds coming from my lips.
I want to know the shape of it in my mouth.
I want to know how it feels to say her name. I wish she’d say mine too. I want her to know it. I wonder if she’d call out to me. I wish she would. I’d do anything for her to say my name.
That’s what I’m thinking about in the lunchroom, pushing around the chunks of boiled chicken in rice with the plastic spoon. Nothing about the way the day has gone so far makes me think that anything will change.
The monotony of it all is enough to make you go insane.
There are always the usual things. The bastards in charge could flip our schedule upside down. They could come up with new sick-fuck punishments to try out on us. A few of them might be in a worse mood than usual.
I guess the opposite is true, too. A few of the staff members might be in a better mood than usual. They might be extra motivated to whip us into shape. They might go above and beyond and beat us harder than we’ve ever been beaten. It’s to beat the demons out of us, at least that’s what they say.
I don’t know what they get for that.
I hope it’s stacks of gold or the lives of their families or something like that. I wouldn’t do this for all the money in the world, unless I could use that money to burn this place down.
I let my eyes hover over the lukewarm meal, avoiding eye contact with everyone and moving as slowly as I can without getting in trouble for blocking traffic.
That’s the key. If I pay too much attention to what’s happening here, I get so angry I could explode. That’s happened enough times for me to know that it won’t get me anywhere.
If I pay too little attention, that’s basically an invitation for Mr. Jay to fuck with my hands.
He loves going after my hands—loves it more than anything else. I think that’s because he knows I’ll need my hands to do any kind of job when I get out of here. God knows I won’t be able to get a job with any kind of smarts. I’ve never been the sharpest knife so to speak. If he takes my hands, he’ll take my entire future, if I even have one.
That makes them an obvious target. A good target and an easy one too. And he always goes for the good targets.
Beside me on the bench is another kid who sleeps in my dorm. In my periphery I recognize him. We’re close enough together that I could nudge him with my elbow. I can feel the warmth of him in the air between us. But we might as well be on different sides of the country.
I don’t nudge him. I don’t even look in his direction.
He doesn’t look at me.
One of the staff members says something to him. I don’t catch what it is.
“Yes, sir,” he answers, his voice flat and toneless. I think he’s here about as much as I’m here. Maybe that means we’ll both make it out.
Maybe it doesn’t. I don’t know.
I focus on putting food in my mouth. The roll is stale, and I have to wash it down with half of my water. There’s some kind of vegetable. Green beans, maybe, but they’re shiny with oil or something. It’s not butter. I try not to pay attention to that, either.
I eat fast enough to avoid getting punished for eating slowly, and slowly enough to avoid getting punished for eating too fast.
When my food is gone, I fold my hands in my lap and stare at the table. That’s the safest place to look. Can’t meet anyone’s eyes with my head down.
I sit up straight.
I think about the girl.
I think about her face in the room with no cameras, and I think about her face on the other side of that glass.
I’m not paying much attention at all to the lunchroom, which is why I almost miss it when the riot starts.
It starts because of Mr. Jay.
One minute, I’m sitting still, waiting to be dismissed.
The next minute, there’s a sound.
It’s the sound of a hand hitting skin. More specifically, the sound of a palm slapping someone’s face. Hard.
I don’t look up because of the slap. People get hit all the time here, and rule number one is that we’re never supposed to look at anyone else.
But then there’s another sound.
Normally, the only sound after somebody gets hit is an involuntary grunt or a cry or a gasp if the person is new.
The second sound is a growl.
That’s the sound of somebody snapping. Of somebody deciding that they’ve had enough.
That hasn’t happened in a while and I wonder if it’s someone new here. Someone who doesn’t know any better.
I pick my head up and look before I can think about the rules.
I see the kid immediately. He’s one of the guys from my dorm. I usually don’t hear a single word out of him. I can’t remember the last time I heard him talk, if I ever heard him talk. The growl he let out might be the first time I’ve ever heard his voice.
I do know his name, though. I’ve seen him respond to it a time or two.
But never anything like this.
He puts both hands on the table with a hard slap in front of him and gets to his feet.
The room is dead silent. Nobody moves. Nobody even breathes. I don’t hear a single piece of cutlery hitting a single plastic tray. Without looking around, I know that everybody’s eyes are on him, just like mine.
He’s fully out of his seat when Mr. Jay’s brow furrows and we all recognize that look.
Somebody behind me takes a deep breath.
I guess we’re all realizing that the kid has a couple of inches on Mr. Jay.
He stares at Mr. Jay’s face with his lip curled, so disgusted that his cheeks are red.
The whole world seems to stop at this moment. If somebody told me that the whole planet paused to find out what would happen between some kid and Mr. Jay, I would believe it.
Then the kid’s hands come up. I can practically feel everybody’s heads move just a little to follow his fists. It seems surreal, like a game on TV. I haven’t seen one of those since I came here.
Unlike the boxing matches my dad used to watch, there’s so much anger. So much thick tension that suffocates the room.
The crack of Mr. Jay’s jaw ricochets off the wall.
An energy goes through the room. That’s everybody understanding, all at the same time, that we outnumber the staff in the lunchroom. That they aren’t the most powerful. That they can be broken too.
Everything had been so routine and so calm that Mr. Jay only has one other guy in here with him.
There are a lot more of us than there are of them.
Mr. Jay’s eyes get wide, like he’s just realized that he’s outnumbered at the same time as the rest of us. Although he strikes back, he misses.
That’s when the kid takes the second swing.
Mr. Jay isn’t ready for it. He blinks like he thinks he might’ve lost his mind—there’s no way this can be happening to him—and doesn’t pull away in time.
The hit lands hard and snaps Mr. Jay’s head around.
It all happens so fast. Like a blur in a single breath.
Before he’s recovered, the kid barks, “Stand up straight!” and hits him again, tears in his eyes. He screams and I can’t help but to get to my feet. Like the other kids.
The guy next to me yells out, “It’s time for your punishment.”
The noise is incredible. The staff here yells all the time to the point that I barely notice their voices anymore.
The sound of everybody yelling is a rush of adrenaline all on its own. It courses through me, and I feel like I could do anything. I could tear down the walls with my bare hands. I could fly. I could spit fire.
Anything.
But there’s only one thing I truly want. Even in the madness and chaos. I want to find her. I want to find the girl. I want to know her name and keep it with me forever.
But I’m too swept up in the momentum of what’s happening in the lunchroom. It’s not a fight anymore. It’s a full-blown riot.
Tables being turned over, kids on top of them screaming. Someone pulls the fire alarm.
It happened too fast. And I’m standing in the center of what feels like the world burning.
A bunch of guys surge around Mr. Jay, fists flying, and they pull away just as fast. I can’t see him when they do. He must be on the ground. Hitting him must have lost its appeal. I can’t see how, but then somebody grabs my elbow and pulls.
This is our chance to run away. This is our only chance. It’s chaos, and we might be able to take advantage of it.
We run for the lunchroom door and keep running. I don’t know who’s in charge. Maybe it’s none of us. Somebody might shout something, but it’s too loud to hear if anyone’s giving instructions.
I don’t need them, anyway. Out. Get out. That’s all I need to do.
But where is she? I can’t leave without her.
There’s a crowd in the narrow hallway. Some of the girls are out there, too. I don’t see her, but she has to be with us. I can’t go against the current of all these people myself.
It’s too loud to hear myself think. Staff members are shouting. More punches are being thrown. They can’t get all of us. There are too many of us. We’re going to get out.
I hit the fresh air and follow the kid in front of me.
We run and run and run.
I have no idea where we’re going.
The riot starts because of Mr. Jay, but it ends because of the cops.
The sirens wail in the distance.
“The cops!” one kid screams out and runs the other way. Some kids run towards the cops, waving them down.
I search the crowd, even though I’m one of the first ones out, I can’t leave without her.
The cops come out of nowhere. The first thing I see is flashing lights, and then there are cars in every direction. A few kids split off and sprint away from the road. I trip over another kid and end up on the ground in the middle of the road. In shock, I watch as they pile out of so many cars. A dozen… maybe more.
They scream at us. They pull out guns at us. The voices all seem to meld together.
I forgot, for a small fraction of time, I forgot we were the bad ones. A cop puts his foot in the middle of my back and pins me there while he cuffs me.
“Fuck,” I whisper. Yelling will make this worse, but fuck . We were so close. I cry out that they need to help us. Fuck, I beg them to help us. But there is no help for kids like me.
Before I can think right, I’m shoved into the back of a cop car with three other guys. The drive to the nearest police station isn’t as far as I thought it would be. That’s the most disappointing thing of all. I thought we were in the middle of nowhere this entire fucking time and had no chance to get to anyone who could help, and it turns out they were right fucking there.
“ Call the parents,” one of the cops shouts over the noise inside the car. Some of the other kids are trying to explain. They’re begging. Begging . I don’t say anything. “We need to get in contact with the parents here.”
My dad. Please for fuck sake, let me talk to my dad.
“That won’t happen,” the officer behind the desk says. “Protocol is to send them back. You’re in the custody of the program.”
What the fuck? They have a protocol for if kids escape that hellhole?
It’s then the stench of fear fills the cabin of the parked police car.
“You’ll stay here until we have eyes on all of the minors. We’ll charge the ones who started it with assault,” the cop tells us, pointedly looking into our eyes. “Was it one of you little shits?” he asks and I’ve never felt hopelessness like I do now.
The other kids scream out what they’re doing. The kid on the far right won’t stop crying. And I sit there, knowing what waits when we get back. I could fucking throw up.
“I think we need to call the parents,” the first cop argues, standing outside the car. It’s too fucking hot back here, I need to get out. I need out of here.
“The school will contact their guardians. We need to get them back.”
“Please,” one of the kids shouts. “Contact our parents, please! Let me talk to them!”
“Protocol,” the cop who’s seemingly in charge says. “We have to release you to your custodians.”
The kid to my left, the one who’s been blabbing says he’s got to throw up.
At least they let him out for that.
Fuck… I need to find a way out. We’ve got to get the hell away from this place and hide. I’ll hide forever to never have to go back.