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We both knew my answer didn’t matter. No matter where I was placed, I was only killing time until I turned eighteen.
Unless I went to live with Mrs. Shields. Maybe I could salvage something of my former life if I had some stability.
For the first time in a long time, I had hope.
The long walk back to my room didn’t seem like a march to death row for once.
I pushed open the door. Griff was instantly in my face.
“How’d it go? You getting out?”
“Not yet.” I motioned for him to back up. “My girlfriend’s neighbor is trying to apply to foster me. So Simpson’s fast-tracking that application.”
Griff held his hand up high and I clasped it, giving him a quick shoulder-bump. “All right.”
Eraser gave me a quick thump on the back too. “That’s good news.”
“I’m trying not to get too excited about it,” I confessed.
“I hear you.” Eraser nodded. “My uncle’s been trying to get me placed with him for months, but they keep jerking him around.”
From what I’d picked up about how the system operated, I assumed his uncle had a criminal record or major health condition. Otherwise, the state would be thrilled to drop a kid off with a relative. But I didn’t want to pry. We shared a lot of information with each other, but some details were just off-limits.
“That sucks.”
He shrugged.
I tried to shove it out of my head while I lined up with everyone else for the nighttime routine. Marched single-file to the dorm-style bathrooms. Only six of us allowed in at a time. Eyes forward. Use bathroom in front of everyone. Don’t make eye contact. Three-minute shower. Watch my back. Brush teeth. Watch my back. Pretend none of this is happening. Shuffle into the changing area. Slip into my long-sleeved thermal night shirt that scratched my elbows every time I turned over, and another pair of sweatpants. Marched back to my room.
Fun times.
Kids yelled. Fights broke out. Guards talked shit.
I ignored it all, crawled into my bunk, closed my eyes, and waited for lights out.
Somewhere in his foster care journey Eraser had picked up some esoteric, manifesting, bullshit visualization techniques.
Since Griff and I had no idea what he was rambling about, Eraser had appointed himself our visualization guide, forcing us to name and visualize the things we wanted for our futures. So, after we were all tucked into our bunks and the guards had stopped by to make sure the lights were off, instead of falling asleep, Eraser expected me to ruminate about all the things I wanted but couldn’t have.
“Come on, Roman,” Eraser insisted. “I swear this works.”
“And yet, you somehow haven’t manifested your ass out of here,” I commented.
“I’m taking the necessary steps to improve my situation.”
Fuck if this guy didn’t have an answer for everything.
Surprisingly, Griff went along with this woo-woo crap. “Keep your negative energy on that side of the room, Roman. We’re all peace and light over here.”
“Peace and light my ass. I saw that vicious jab you gave Egghead in the cafeteria when no one was looking.”
“That was karmic justice,” Griff said.
The two idiots across the room laughed and slapped palms.
“Okay, seriously,” Eraser said. “Get clear on what you want in your life. You listening, Roman?”
“Zzzz,” I fake snored.
Something that sounded like the soft rubber sole of a state-issued sneaker bounced off the metal frame of my bed.
“I’m serious,” Eraser insisted.
“I’m visualizing you shutting the fuck up.” I stretched my arm down, searching for something to throw back. That was the problem with the top bunk. Not much was within throwing distance.
“I’m visualizing my Seventies Chevelle,” Griff said.
“What color?” Eraser prompted.
“Black. Red and purple pinstripes.”
“Why red and purple?” I asked.
“Don’t question,” Eraser scolded.
I made a face at the ceiling. “Sheesh.”
“What’s your ride, Eraser?” Griff asked.
“Mustang for running at the track. F-250 for the winter,” Eraser said. “Harley-Davidson Road King for the summer.”
“A Harley?” Griff sputtered. “A sport bike will cut corners much better. Faster too.”
I rolled over and propped my head on my hand. “I thought we weren’t supposed to question?”
“Shh.” Griff laughed.
“The Road King is a sweet ride,” Eraser explained. “Better for two.”
“I think my girlfriend’s uncle has one of those,” I said.
“You into bikes, Roman?” Eraser asked.
“Yeah, sure.” I scoffed. “I dabble in motorcycles with all my trust fund money.”
They snorted with laughter.
“He’s in an MC and talks about riding all the time,” I explained. “Sounds like fun, I guess.”
“Whoa.” The bed creaked under Eraser as he turned my way. “Around here? Which MC?”
“Uh, the Lost Kings? My old boss at the drive-in theater was in a different MC. The Wolf Knights.”
“Jesus. Don’t go around dropping biker’s names. They get mad pissed about that,” Griff said.
“He asked.” I waved my hand at Eraser even though it was dark and they probably couldn’t see me. “I’m not dropping names. Just stating facts.”
