him.”
The wood moved in Carl’s ear, sending waves of panic and rage through him. “Let me up.”
Davis laughed.
“Yo!” A deep voice thundered. “What are you doing?”
Davis stood up straight. The pencil slid out of Carl’s ear. Hands came away from his temple and jaw, and he turned his head to see Campbell.
“Just having a little fun with Hollywood,” one of the gang guys said.
Campbell didn’t even look at the kid who’d spoken. He kept staring at Davis. “You ruin free time, the platoon will tear you to pieces.”
Carl could feel the grips on him loosening. He wanted to jump up and start swinging, but Campbell’s cool made him hold back.
Davis grinned wider. “Easy, big man. We’re almost done here. Tell you what. You head down the hall, we’ll be out of here in two minutes. You won’t have guard duty no more, you feel me?”
“I’m not going anywhere until you let him up. This is my platoon. I didn’t ask for it, but they gave it to me. I got one month left in this place, and I’m not going to let you mess it up for me. You walk away, this never happened. You push, and I will break all your ribs. I promise.”
Davis laughed. “I see how it is . . . Brother. Boss man, huh?”
Campbell looked at the others. “Let him up. Now.”
A couple of the hands came away from Carl’s legs. The other guys looked at Davis. He nodded. They let go of Carl.
Carl jumped to his feet.
Campbell’s eyes flashed a warning.
“This ain’t over,” Davis said, walking past Campbell. The others followed.
Campbell watched them go. Then he turned toward Carl, shaking his head. “Man, I hate gangbangers.”
“Thanks,” Carl said.
Campbell shook his head again. “I knew this was going to happen. Now we got to watch each other’s back all the time. Can you fight?”
Carl nodded. He hadn’t told anyone about boxing. In his experience, if it got out you were a boxer, somebody always wanted to try you.
“Look,” Campbell said, “I’m serious. Can you fight? For real?”
“I can fight.”
DAYS PASSED.
Carl and Campbell stayed close. The Davis thing didn’t go away, but it quieted down.
In the meantime, life got better. Davis still glared, Parker still barked, and training still drove them into the ground, but it was good, having Campbell and Ross to talk to.
Then there was Octavia. More and more frequently, the girls trained with the boys, and Carl saw a lot of her. Whenever they could, they ran together and ate together. Whenever they were away from the drill sergeants, they made each other laugh. The more Carl got to know her, the more he liked her. She wasn’t just pretty. She was tough and smart. Funny, too. Like this one time, when they were sitting around between activities, she rolled up a piece of paper, stuck it in her ear, and just sat there, all nonchalant, saying, “What?” when he grinned at her, and then, when he said something, she went, “I’m sorry. I can’t hear you. I’ve got some paper stuck in my ear.” She was cool. And the more time they spent together, the clearer it was that she liked him, too.
They talked about their lives—not just the tragedies and triumphs, but the little, stupid things that made up so much of a person’s story. She told him about the time her father had set a Havahart trap, hoping to catch the squirrels who’d been decimating his apple trees, and how he’d shouted, “Mother-of-pearl!” when he’d gone outside the next morning and found a big possum crammed into the little wire cage. “I’ll never forget it as long as I live,” she said, laughing so hard that tears ran from her eyes. “It’s the only time I’ve ever heard someone shout ‘Mother-of-pearl!’ ” Carl told her how one of his old teachers back in the Pocket would give everybody worksheets and then spend the whole period sniffing the spines of old books stacked on his desk. Then she talked about her cat, Tinker Bell, who would wait for her at the bus stop
The wood moved in Carl’s ear, sending waves of panic and rage through him. “Let me up.”
Davis laughed.
“Yo!” A deep voice thundered. “What are you doing?”
Davis stood up straight. The pencil slid out of Carl’s ear. Hands came away from his temple and jaw, and he turned his head to see Campbell.
“Just having a little fun with Hollywood,” one of the gang guys said.
Campbell didn’t even look at the kid who’d spoken. He kept staring at Davis. “You ruin free time, the platoon will tear you to pieces.”
Carl could feel the grips on him loosening. He wanted to jump up and start swinging, but Campbell’s cool made him hold back.
Davis grinned wider. “Easy, big man. We’re almost done here. Tell you what. You head down the hall, we’ll be out of here in two minutes. You won’t have guard duty no more, you feel me?”
“I’m not going anywhere until you let him up. This is my platoon. I didn’t ask for it, but they gave it to me. I got one month left in this place, and I’m not going to let you mess it up for me. You walk away, this never happened. You push, and I will break all your ribs. I promise.”
Davis laughed. “I see how it is . . . Brother. Boss man, huh?”
Campbell looked at the others. “Let him up. Now.”
A couple of the hands came away from Carl’s legs. The other guys looked at Davis. He nodded. They let go of Carl.
Carl jumped to his feet.
Campbell’s eyes flashed a warning.
“This ain’t over,” Davis said, walking past Campbell. The others followed.
Campbell watched them go. Then he turned toward Carl, shaking his head. “Man, I hate gangbangers.”
“Thanks,” Carl said.
Campbell shook his head again. “I knew this was going to happen. Now we got to watch each other’s back all the time. Can you fight?”
Carl nodded. He hadn’t told anyone about boxing. In his experience, if it got out you were a boxer, somebody always wanted to try you.
“Look,” Campbell said, “I’m serious. Can you fight? For real?”
“I can fight.”
DAYS PASSED.
Carl and Campbell stayed close. The Davis thing didn’t go away, but it quieted down.
In the meantime, life got better. Davis still glared, Parker still barked, and training still drove them into the ground, but it was good, having Campbell and Ross to talk to.
Then there was Octavia. More and more frequently, the girls trained with the boys, and Carl saw a lot of her. Whenever they could, they ran together and ate together. Whenever they were away from the drill sergeants, they made each other laugh. The more Carl got to know her, the more he liked her. She wasn’t just pretty. She was tough and smart. Funny, too. Like this one time, when they were sitting around between activities, she rolled up a piece of paper, stuck it in her ear, and just sat there, all nonchalant, saying, “What?” when he grinned at her, and then, when he said something, she went, “I’m sorry. I can’t hear you. I’ve got some paper stuck in my ear.” She was cool. And the more time they spent together, the clearer it was that she liked him, too.
They talked about their lives—not just the tragedies and triumphs, but the little, stupid things that made up so much of a person’s story. She told him about the time her father had set a Havahart trap, hoping to catch the squirrels who’d been decimating his apple trees, and how he’d shouted, “Mother-of-pearl!” when he’d gone outside the next morning and found a big possum crammed into the little wire cage. “I’ll never forget it as long as I live,” she said, laughing so hard that tears ran from her eyes. “It’s the only time I’ve ever heard someone shout ‘Mother-of-pearl!’ ” Carl told her how one of his old teachers back in the Pocket would give everybody worksheets and then spend the whole period sniffing the spines of old books stacked on his desk. Then she talked about her cat, Tinker Bell, who would wait for her at the bus stop
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