I wake up the same way as always. But this time, I notice my legs are already red. It looks like I was hitting them in my sleep. Everything is happening in slow motion. It takes me a long time to get out of bed. It takes me a long time to clean my room. Collins even yells at me to get a move on. It’s not a great start to the day.
I avoided Wired while I was at that writing thing yesterday. But I can’t ignore him now. I have to find a way to help him study for our History exam.
Usually I like history. It’s stuff that’s already happened. It’s done. The past can’t be changed. So you know exactly what it is — even if you wish with every fibre of your being that you could change that one moment. It’s not like a video game where you get a do-over or a restart. And the people you take out during the game, that’s for real.
The fact that some things don’t change is also tricky. Like, my dad’s still living in the same spot where the car thing went down. That’s why I don’t want to get out of here. How am I supposed to go back to the place where it all happened? Sometimes I think it would be easier if my dad moved to a new province, or even a new country. A fresh start for both of us.
But that would be in the future.
And the future scares the hell out of me.
After two and a half years of everything being constant and controlled, I don’t know how I would handle anything new or different. Out there, too much can happen. Too much can go wrong. Like it did that day. Like it did for Strummer.
No, staying in is the right thing for me.
On my way to supper, two Diablos come up behind me and push me to the ground. One dude places his foot on my stomach. “Oh, sorry. Didn’t see you there,” he says. They both crack up laughing and head toward the cafeteria. Wired reaches me and puts out his hand to pull me up off the floor.
“This will cost you,” he says, smirking.
“FINE,” I say. “I’ll meet you in five.” I have to ask a CO to grant me access to the money I earn cleaning the gym so I can get $50. He also lets me into my room to grab the History text. Then I head to dinner.
“Here’s the cash.” I cringe as I hand Wired the bills. It’s money I’ll never see again. If Wired repays me in any way, it will be with product, not cash. And I’m not interested in that crap.
We load our plates and grab our seats. I pull out the History text. I figure with food around, Wired will be a captive audience.
“So,” I say. “How about I ask you a question and you give me the answer?” I cut into a piece of turkey loaf. “This will test how much you retained from the last time we had our class.”
“How about we don’t,” replies Wired. “I can tell you right now that I don’t remember any of the crap we already covered. How about we talk about my future, instead?”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“Now that I have money, I need a fresh way to move the goods. They’re watching me too closely. When I got caught last time, they said next time it won’t just be a loss of privileges.”
“So don’t do it.”
“You think it’s that easy? I have customers. They’re waiting. Besides, you know how crappy it’s been this week with the dudes staring you down? If I can’t make them happy, they go after both of us. Trust me, we don’t want that to happen.”
I peer around the room and see that guys from the gang are watching us. I can see the change in Wired’s mood. He usually jolts his body all over the place. But now the movements are jerky and more panicked. He’s right. We would both be in deep.
“Look, I’ll think about it,” I tell him. “But don’t expect much. I may not want out of here, but I don’t want to make a career out of bad choices.”
Wired laughs. “Good luck with that!”
I flip the pages of our History text. I can’t study right now. And Wired doesn’t seem into it, either. Lifting a forkful of mashed potatoes to my mouth, I make small talk. “So you’re always going on about getting out of here. When that happens, what’s the first thing you’re going to do?”
“Get behind the wheel of my Mazda 3.” He turns his hands as though he is driving. “Dad got it for me just before I was sent to juvie. He figured it would be an incentive to get out.”
“The only car I drove, I crashed . . .” I don’t know what just happened. I never talk to anyone, except for my PO, about that day. But Wired doesn’t press me. That’s one thing I like about him. He never asks questions. He mostly just talks about himself.
“When you’re out, you’ll get a car,” he says. “You’ll put a new spin on driving. It’ll be good. You’ll see.”
“I don’t plan on getting out. I’m helping you with studying. But like I told you before, don’t say anything around Jackson. I don’t need him thinking I’m doing a good deed. I don’t want early parole. I want to finish every part of my sentence.”
“What the hell is your problem, Strider? This isn’t where you belong. Or haven’t you figured that out yet?”
I feel my face flush and my hands curl into fists. “What you mean is that you don’t think you belong here. But you haven’t changed. In here, you pull the same crap you did out there. It’s no different.”
This time Wired doesn’t blow back at me. He pulls the History text closer. He thumbs through the pages.
“Two things,” he says in a controlled voice. “One, I have to pass this test if I want to get my diploma. Two, I have to make it look like I’m reformed. That’s the only way I’m going to get out of here. This place is killing me.” He shakes his head.
In the year I’ve known Wired, this is the first time he has shared something real. It throws me off. “Okay,” I say. “Back to the books. Let’s get working.”
We finish eating and then study for a few minutes. The new teacher, Mr. Roberts, comes to see if we need any help. He’s here to get to know us better before he comes in to teach our classes. Mr. Roberts’s long black hair is parted down the centre. He’s wearing a suede vest over a long-sleeved black shirt. His sleeves are rolled up, showing off his eagle tattoo.
“How are you two getting along with History?” he asks.
“We’re not,” answers Wired.
“Why can’t we just write an essay about World War II?” I ask. “How it affects us today? That kind of stuff?”
“Essay questions will be on the test too. Let’s check out what you both know so far.”
We end up losing an hour of time, relaying facts and getting corrected when we give the wrong answers. Finally Wired has had enough.
As Wired leaves, Roberts leans in. “Okay. I know I just met you. But I believe you’re capable of more than the display I saw just now. What’s going on?”
“Nothing. I’m just tired. Maybe out there, I’d be able to fly through the coursework. But in here, I have too much on my mind. It’s hard to focus on my studies.”
“Is there anything I can do to help?”
“Not really. I’ll figure it out. I’ll study harder. For real.” I leave the cafeteria and head to my room before lights-out.