We finish. I dump the water. Liam stands by the door, arms crossed, like he's proud of something.
"You're not as scary as you think," he says as we leave.
"You saw nothing yet," I grunt, and it makes him laugh. I shoulder past him. Eyes ahead.
That night, in my bed, I think about him. I don't want to. His skin. His stupid smile when he gets something right. The way he asked about the kiss, joking but not joking at all.
I should have kissed him. Twice now.
Three years here. This has never happened. Not once. I don't have time for this.
I fall asleep thinking about it anyway.
Chapter 9. Liam
The routine at this academy is predictable, structured, and, even though I might not want to admit it, it’s probably what I need. Ever since my mom died, I’ve had no fucking clue what structure meant at home. My dad had to work all the time, and he was drunk when at home, so I was left to my own devices a lot. No bedtime, no wake-up time. Definitely no food time. I went to school if I wanted, ate if I could, I told my dad I was heading out if I felt like it. Otherwise, I could be gone for days, and at most, I'd get a text asking if I was okay. I can't blame him; the fact that he hadn’t broken down entirely was something in itself, considering how fucked up he’d been and how he hadn’t gotten over losing my mom.
Anyway, I grew up like this, and maybe it really isn’t the best way for a kid and a teenager to grow up.
So yeah, waking up every day at 6 AM, getting dressed, and lining up with the others to practically march outside is super weird for me, but surprisingly good.
Outside, after that, Griff does roll call, and we get a moment of silence where the believers can pray, and the rest of us just stand there in our own thoughts. Griff urges us to think happy thoughts and focus on gratitude. I’m not sure if I believe in anything, but I guess it’s kind of nice to take a moment to be glad I’m still alive. Considering the scrapes I’ve been through,it’s a miracle I’m still here. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve woken up stoned in some random man’s house.
As weird as it might sound, I like being alive. I don’t want to end up like my mom, dead, or dad, walking dead.
After the morning roll call, we head to breakfast, which is actually not as bad as I expect. We usually get pretty healthy stuff like scrambled eggs, toast, and boxed milk. If we’re lucky, sometimes there’s even orange juice. Having food all the time, every day, in predictable intervals is insane for my brain to grasp, but I’ve been eating, and without skipping any meals, which is even more insane. Part of the reason is that I’m pretty sure Ethan would notice and spank my ass for it, which I’d like, but then he’d also be worried, angry, and disappointed for real, which I wouldn’t like.
Then it's off to classes. Classes are beyond weird here; nobody says anything, makes any jokes, or dares to challenge the teacher. In the first few days, one guy thought it’d be funny to shoot a paper ball into the trash can from his seat. When the teacher caught him, she made him stand up and stay in the corner for the whole hour, like this were some kind of school from the 50s, and everybody just went with it. No questions, no comments, no one making fun of him. I’ve never seen anything like this; public school is nothing like it.
We have three degree options: business, carpentry, or nursing. I chose carpentry because it seems the easiest and most hands-on. I discover Ethan is in nursing, which is just like him, always putting everyone else first. Harry is in business, and he tells me, when Ethan isn’t listening, that he’s planning to start a drug cartel once he gets out. He says he’s already making enough contacts for it. The guy is definitely aiming to be a billionaire. I don’t know what degree Miles is in because he never talks, but Jack is also in carpentry, which makes me happy since we have classes together and he’s a cool and funny guy.
I find out he’s here because he was busted for drugs but has been clean for three years.
“It’s not worth it, man,” he tells me once, in class, while I’m learning how to make a wooden box. “It’s fun while it lasts, but then... I heard it can even make your dick stop working. Not sure if that’s just anti-drug propaganda, but I’m not taking any more risks. That’s why I stay away from Harry. He tries to hand me drugs every chance he gets.”
“That’s pretty messed up of him,” I say, but Jack just laughs it off. He doesn’t mind it. He’s a chill guy, just like me. That’s why we get along.
After classes, which go until lunch, we line up again. Another roll call to make sure everyone is here, then off to the cafeteria. Lunch isn’t too bad either. Often it’s some protein, bread, chili, mashed potatoes, and on Fridays, we even get pizza.
After lunch, we have Quiet Time, when we’re locked in our rooms to reflect on why we’re here and how we’re going to change. We can’t leave the room, except for Ethan, who has the keys, and permission to do whatever he wants, but usually, he just goes to work. Most guys just masturbate, sleep, or read. I’m stuck in detention, so I’m pulled from it and go to the kitchen instead. Which is a good deal for me, as I don’t like to bequietat any time.
The kitchen gig turns out to be pretty chill, though, because the crew there is cool. Most of them are these cheerful ladies who laugh a lot and sing while they cook or clean. The kitchen itself is industrial and ugly, but it smells amazing, like onions and garlic, which is the best smell in the whole damn world.
I get stuck with dishwashing duty. The first thing I say is: "Holy crap, what's with the mountain of dishes?!" The pile is practically sky-high, and I can't even figure out how some of these short ladies reach the top. They all laugh at me. "Do youguys do this every day?" I ask, totally blown away.
A lady named Lu, who is chopping cucumbers at superspeed, and I’m not sure how she doesn’t lose a finger, replies in a thick accent, "Of course not. We always rope in someone like you to help out." She's short, dark-skinned, and has a smile that takes up her whole face. I love her immediately.
"Fair enough, I'd probably do the same," I admit, and she chuckles, eyes still on the cucumbers. Margarete, who is tall with bright orange hair and arms that look like they could bench-press me, slides a tray of dirty pots in my direction without a word, just a grin. And Dora, the quietest of the three, hums to herself by the stove, stirring something in a massive pot, her dark curly hair pulled back under a net.
Before I know it, I'm spilling my guts, because Ialsohave Mommy issues, obviously, and they all seem to have this warmth about them, plus the rest of the people working there aren’t too bad either, and I love watching them all work together like a unit. Lu is from Haiti and has been working here for eight years. Margarete is from Mozambique and says she took this job because "the boys here remind me of my own sons." Dora is from Brazil and barely speaks English, but she understands everything, and when I say something funny, she laughs before Margarete even finishes translating into Portuguese, not Spanish, as they are quick to correct.
"What's it like working around scary criminals like me?" I joke while scrubbing a plate, and they all laugh. Easy crowd, I love it. I can pretty much hear Ethan in my head telling them to stop egging me on.
"Dangerous?" Margarete says, flexing one of her arms. "Please. Stray puppies are scarier than the kids here."
"I used to work in a real prison, and they wouldn't send you there because they know little boys like you wouldn't survive," Lu adds, pointing her knife at me for emphasis. I laugh. She'sprobably right.
"Great. I can bark if that helps keep up the puppy image. I definitely don't want to see the inside of a real prison!"
