Dirt Road Home by Watt Key Read Free Book Online

Caboose lumbered in and creaked down on his mattress. He put his hands behind his head and stared at the bedsprings above.
    “What’s up?” I said, looking over the edge of my bunk.
    Caboose blinked. I frowned and looked back at my comic book.
    It stopped raining late that morning and I heard the back door slamming as the boys rushed out to the play yard. Caboose eventually got up and followed them. Then the building was quiet and the floorwalker stepped out and left me alone.
    I slid off my bunk to use the toilet. I was nervous about someone being in the shower room, so I headed for the confessional, hoping Sergeant Guval hadn’t gone far. Butthe hall was empty and quiet and my footsteps echoed in the corridor. When I pushed open the door to the confessional, I heard both toilets flush at the same time and the smell of cigarette smoke drifted into me. Two boys with gouges burned into their wrists leaned against the wall. Paco’s boys.
    Both of them were about sixteen. One Mexican and one white boy. I’d heard them called Tattoo and Dead Eye and the names fit. Tattoo had a rough carving on his cheek that looked like it was made with a paper clip and blue ink. The other had a right eye that rested dead in the socket like whatever held it up had been clipped. Only the left eye watched me. I stepped up to the urinal.
    “It’s just Helpless,” Tattoo said.
    “Where’s your friend, Helpless?” Dead Eye said.
    I didn’t answer them. They stepped closer to me.
    “I think his friend kicked his ass,” Tattoo said. “I don’t think he has any more friends.”
    “You some kind of momma’s boy?” said Dead Eye. “Maybe you need to learn how to fight.”
    “I don’t have anything against you guys,” I said. “I’m just tryin’ to make it like everybody else.”
    Tattoo got so close I could feel the warmth of his cigarette breath on my face. “We sent you an invitation to our party. Why didn’t you come?”
    I didn’t answer him.
    “You too good for us? Maybe you think you’re special.”
    I looked away. “I’m no better than any of you.”
    Suddenly Tattoo slammed his hand into my throat and pressed me against the wall. I gasped for breath as he heldme there. “We saved you some cake from the party, didn’t we, Dead?”
    Dead Eye laughed and put his foot against the door to keep it from opening. Then Tattoo punched me in the stomach with his free hand. All I could do was draw my knees up reflexively and cough.
    “But we might not invite you again. Here’s some more cake.”
    Tattoo hit me in the face.
    “And some more.”
    He hit me again. I felt the coppery taste of blood in my mouth. Then I saw it running down his hand.
    “You spit it out. Here’s some more.”
    He hit me again. And again. And again. Until he finally let me loose and I slid down the wall and stared between my knees, drooling blood.
    “But maybe Jack and his rejects will let you play. They’re not real selective. Come on, Dead. Let’s let him chew on that.”
    After I heard the confessional door shut behind them, I rolled over and felt the cold tile of the floor on my cheek.

11
    I woke to water being poured over my face and stared at the tips of black shoes.
    “Wake up, kid,” Mr. Pratt said.
    I tried to respond, but the room was spinning and I felt like I would puke. After a few seconds he leaned down and got me over his shoulder and carried me like you would a sack of dog food. I watched the scenery blur past as I jounced up and down to his gait. We went past the mess room and through the double steel doors into the administration area. Then we went left down another hall until we came to the infirmary.
    Mr. Pratt dumped me onto a bed and studied me. “Who did this?” he asked.
    I couldn’t answer him.
    “Nurse’ll be here shortly,” he said. Then he walked out.
    I passed out again before the nurse arrived. I had dreams of being at the clay pit with Daddy, lying on my bed in the house trailer, feeling my two dogs