Page 27 of My Family

Dinner is always loud but tonight the cafeteria sounds worse. Forks hitting trays, plastic chairs scraping concrete, voices bouncing off the cinderblock. There's just this restless energy in the air, the bad kind.

At the next table, Reed has his arms folded tight around his chest. Mason sits next to him, hands in his lap, chewing, his eyes darting to Reed every few seconds. The rest of the table is a circle of guys who follow Reed everywhere, guys who want in on Reed's protection.

Jack is telling a story about the time he snuck into the mall after it was closed and got locked there overnight. Liam is eating up every word with a huge excited smile, probably thinking that was the most fun thing anyone had ever done.

Then Griff walks in.

Whenever Griff walks in anywhere, we all kind of freeze. He's the most respected person in this institution. And he can make our lives a living hell. Every head swivels. The entire cafeteria drops to half-volume in three seconds flat.

Griff's eyes sweep the room once, then settle on Reed's table.

He walks over. His shoulders carry a tension I haven't seen in months. When he reaches the table, he stands for a moment, waiting for Reed to look up. Reed doesn't. Instead, he keeps his gaze locked on Mason, who is so pale now I can see the veins under his skin.

Finally, Griff leans in and says something too low for the rest of us to hear. Mason's head snaps up, and even from thirty feet away I see the shock land like a punch. Mason shakes his head. Griff's voice gets quieter, not louder.

Then, Mason stands up. His legs are unsteady, but he keeps his back straight as Griff puts a hand on his shoulder. The hand isn't rough or threatening, but it is absolute: there's no negotiating with it. Mason doesn't look at Reed as he picks up his tray. Doesn't look at anyone.

Griff steers him toward the exit. The doors swing shut behind them.

For a full five seconds, nobody moves.

Then Reed stands.

Reed stares at the double doors for a long, frozen moment, hands clenched at his sides. I watch him. Everyone does.

Instead of bolting, instead of smashing something or making a scene, Reed sits back down. He lifts his tray and begins to eat. Every muscle in his body is locked.

After a minute, conversation resumes. But nobody at Reed's table talks. They just eat, heads down, every guy glancing up at Reed, then back to their plates.

Across the room, Liam leans into me and whispers, "You ever seen him like that before?"

"Once," I say. "The week before he put a kid in the hospital."

Jack also whispers. "What happened to Mason?"

"Transferred?" I guess.

Liam draws a line down the center of his tray with his fork, not looking up. "Reed must be devastated."

Nobody has anything to say to that.

We don't see Reed anymore after that.

At the dorms, most nights, the rhythm is predictable: Jack is loud, talking about something, Miles sinks into his books, Harry deals out cards to himself, and Liam stays next to me until I shoo him to his bunk or let him sleep with me, depending on how much sleep we actually need that night.

Tonight, though, Harry calls us all together.

It's not the usual Harry. There's no smile, no performance. He just sits on the edge of his bunk, head low, and he looks…

Scared?

"Can I talk to you all for a second?" he asks. His glasses are dirty and his black straight hair is longer than he usually lets it grow, like he forgot to get a haircut. Both things are wrong. Harry's glasses are never dirty. Harry always keeps his hair cropped short — his words: no girls here to impress.

He sounds so serious that we don't even say anything, just look at each other and stay quiet, waiting. Even Miles sits up, paying attention.

"I need to tell you guys something because it can fucking affect us, and… and this time I'm in trouble," he says. His voice is quiet. "My contact's gone dark, and my clients aren't happy."

Jack raises an eyebrow. "Like, for how long?"