Page 44 of My Family

"Listen up," he says, and the kids go quiet because we always do when Griff speaks. "As some of you already know, the week-long summer break is coming. It's for residents with qualifying behavior records. This applies to residents in their second year or beyond who have maintained consistent participation in programming, zero major infractions in the past ninety days, and a positive review from their assigned counselor."

A murmur ripples through the crowd. Someone near the back lets out a whoop that Griff silences with a single raised eyebrow.

"As usual, you'll report the place you'll be staying during the break. You are to stay at that designated location for the entire week. Wandering is not allowed. We'll be conducting random check-in calls, and if you don't pick up, your break is over and you're back here the same day and you may lose eligibility for future outings. Details will be posted by end of day, along with the list of approved residents. You guys are leaving by the end of the week. Don't screw this up."

I feel the news land like a fucking bomb. A week. Out. I glance at Ethan, who's standing with his arms crossed, and he gives me the smallest nod. We qualify, both of us. Fucking fucking hell! Jack, too, I realize, when I see him pump his fist against his thigh, grinning. Harry adjusts his glasses and tries to look unbothered, but his foot is tapping double-time against the grass.

Then I look at Miles.

He's standing perfectly still, unblinking. Same neutral expression, same blankness. He doesn't ask. He doesn't need to. His record, the thing he did before he came here, the violence that lives in his file like a stain that no amount of good behavior can bleach out, it keeps him where he is. He knows it before anyone says a word.

I want to say something, but what? Sorry your past won't let you go? Sorry the system doesn't care about you no matter how hard you try? I look away, and it makes me very sad for him, but what can we do?

The rest of us fucking buzz. Plans are already forming, guys counting days on their fingers.

I can't fucking wait, even if I have nowhere to go. Maybe I'll just wander around a McDonald's, give it as my location, eat cheeseburgers three times a day, breakfast, lunch, dinner, and McNuggets in between.

Later, during snack break, I'm killing time with Jack by my side, watching people knock a half-deflated soccer ball around the cracked concrete.

My eyes drift, and I see something that I can only describe as 'fuck, this is scary': three older guys, twenty-six, twenty-seven, all with I'm a fucking loser vibes, closing in on Harry. Harry's posture is all loose-limbed confidence, as if he has no idea, but I know him better than that. He's got peripheral vision like a lizard. If he hasn't run, it's because there’s no escape.

I nudge Jack in the ribs and nod there.

He follows my gaze, and his mouth tightens. "Harry's got more lives than a cat. He'll be fine."

"Unless today's the day he isn't."

Jack shrugs. "He owes me thirty bucks. If he dies, you're on the hook."

I'm about to tell him to eat my ass, but Ethan is already moving. He's across the yard but before I can get up, he's already there. The three guys have Harry boxed against the fence, just far enough from the guards to avoid immediate intervention. Harry's leaning back, arms out, as if holding an invisible court. He's smiling, but it's the kind of smile you wear when you're about to get punched and want to look good for the mugshot.

Ethan steps between them. Jack and I are already heading over.

"Everything cool here?" he says, dry.

The three boys look at him like they're about to punch him instead. One of them is named Deacon and he has the biggest nose I've ever seen, and ugly yellow hair. He squares his shoulders and tries to make himself look a foot taller, but Ethan is still taller than him.

"What's it to you, Farley?" he sneers.

"Just checking. I thought the drama club had rehearsal on Tuesdays."

Deacon's eyes flicker. The other two, Joey and Mayhew, are all close, scowling, but not doing anything.

Deacon jerks his chin at Harry. "Your boy owes us."

Harry puts both palms up, as if he got caught by the police. "Gentlemen. Can we not do this with so many eyes? My reputation…"

"Your reputation is shit," Deacon snaps. "You said last week you'd have it. Now you say tomorrow. It's always tomorrow."

Harry's voice goes up half an octave. "Supply chain issues, my dude. The market is volatile. If you want to take it up with…"

Mayhew slams his hand into the fence right by Harry's head. "You think you're funny?" Mayhew says. He's the one with a shaved skull and the kind of face that looks like not even a million years of therapy and meds could fix. "You're dead if you don't pay up."

Ethan steps forward. "Back off," he says, voice low, and it's not a suggestion.

Deacon looks to Joey, who's the smallest of them and has a full face of acne, who just shrugs, as if to say, "Not my fight, man." Mayhew hesitates, then lets go of the fence. The three of them turn and stalk away.

As soon as they're gone, Harry lets out a long, shaky breath. "I had it under control," he says.