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a half dozen gangs and you’ll be in one of them, and then you can get ready for your visit to Manhattan. You ready for that?”
    “What’s that?”
    “That’s when they send you back to the streets for a visit,” Mr. Cintron said. “It’s only for a visit because you’ll blow it again and be back in some facility. You’re lucky you didn’t get a longer sentence.”
    “I can’t get another chance?”
    “I don’t want to give you another chance, Mr. Anderson,” Mr. Cintron said. “But if I take away your chance, if I report this incident, that our ‘high-IQ, nonviolent, carefully selected choice’ has messed up, it’s going to stop the work program in its tracks. Why should we fund this program, pay the extra insurance, and pay for the extra staff hours if these African Americans are just going to throw it away? They’re going to look into my face and talk about recidivism rates and emotional instability and social understanding—but in their hearts they’re going to keep it a lot simpler. They’re going to be thinking that people like you don’t deserve a chance.
    “So I’m going to squelch this report. I’m going tolet Maldonado, the other kid, take the whole blame,” Mr. Cintron said. “Not for you, because I don’t have any faith in little punks like you, but for the next kid who comes along and might deserve it. So you’re going to continue in this program, Reese. But if you screw up again, you’d better send your soul right to God, because your black ass will belong to me and I will put a hurting on you. Am I making myself clear?”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “I’ll find the worst facility in the state to send you to and warn them about you,” he said. “And if I do that, you’ll be sorry as long as you survive.” He pressed a button on the intercom and said, “Mr. Pugh, get him out of here.”
    Mr. Pugh uncuffed me. When I stood up, I almost fell down, my legs were shaking so bad. Mr. Pugh took me back to my quarters and told me to wash the floor, and I started doing that.
    The soapy water was cold and wasn’t getting the floor clean, but I was down on my knees scrubbing it the best I could. I was crying but I wasn’t making any noise.
    The thing was that I didn’t know if I was going to mess up again or not. I just didn’t know. I didn’t want to, but it looked like that’s all I did.

CHAPTER 7
    “You sweet on Toon?” Mr. Pugh had me in a Ripp belt with my hands handcuffed to it in front of me. At least I was in the passenger seat of the van instead of the back.
    “Why I got to be sweet on him because I don’t want to see the dude killed?” I asked. “You want to see somebody killed?”
    “I seen guys get killed,” Mr. Pugh said. “In Iraq I seen our guys get killed and a lot of Raqs running off to meet Allah.”
    “That was war,” I said. “This ain’t war.”
    “Yeah, whatever. He didn’t ask you nothing about me?”
    “No.”
    We drove the rest of the way to Evergreen in silence. I knew what Mr. Pugh was thinking. He could have lost his job if Mr. Cintron knew he had split from the room when he saw what was going down. I wasn’t going to rat Mr. Pugh out because I knew he could do a lot more to me than I could to him.
    We got to Evergreen, and he parked the van and came around to my side.
    “You’re doing okay,” he grumbled at me. “Don’t mess it up.”
    I wasn’t really doing okay. Mr. Cintron had been in my corner and now he wasn’t. He’d made that clear, but he’d also said he wanted me to make it happen for all the juvies who were going to follow me. I liked that.
    Father Santora was in the lobby when we got there, and he came up with this big smile and reached out to shake my hand. I couldn’t shake his because Mr. Pugh hadn’t uncuffed me.
    Once I was uncuffed, Mr. Pugh said he would be by to pick me up at four, and then Father Santora sent for Simi. She came down and he told her to have me working on the rest floor.
    Simi was short and brown