The Juvie Three by Gordon Korman Read Free Book Online

Arjay; his free time consists of the fifteen-minute window between dismissal and the moment he officially becomes a fleeing felon. Not much of an opportunity for extracurricular activities.
    Mr. Cantor reads the disappointment on his face. “Let me guess—after-school job, right?”
    â€œSomething like that.”
    â€œAny wiggle room on the hours?”
    Arjay shakes his head sadly. Getting out of Remsenville was an advance on all the wiggle room he can ever expect in this life.
    â€œToo bad,” the music teacher says. “Well, Arjay, if your schedule opens up, you know where to find me. Good jamming with you.”
    Good. The word falls pathetically short of describing it. Playing alongside Mr. Cantor, Arjay felt like a human being again. At Remsenville, they treated him like a dangerous animal, but it isn’t until now that he realizes how much he himself started to believe he was one.
    â€œSame here. Thanks, Mr. Cantor.”
    Normal life is so close he can almost touch it. But when he tries, it turns out to be just beyond his reach.

CHAPTER NINE
    Terence returns again and again to the third-floor boys’ bathroom, but the cell phone salesman does not materialize. Either the merch is all gone, or the kid has found someplace else to set up shop. Or, Terence muses, Dollar Sign spends even less time in school than Terence would if he didn’t have Healy breathing down his neck.
    With more than four thousand students, Walker is larger than his old school in Chicago. You can’t depend on running into somebody in the halls. He’s been keeping an eye out, both in school and during community service. The kid is nowhere to be found. Did he get busted moving the phones? Somehow, he doesn’t strike Terence as the careless type.
    You’ve been wrong about people before, he reminds himself. And look how that turned out….
    His reverie is interrupted when he spots a familiar razor-cut bobbing amid a sea of heads in the school foyer.
    â€œHey—” But he doesn’t even know the guy’s name. He wades into the jostling crowd in time to see his quarry walk out the double doors.
    Terence follows, taking a moment to appreciate the strange sense of privacy that exists on the busy sidewalks of New York. So many people yet everybody minds his own business. Now that’s beauty, not some jerkwater island.
    Dollar Sign is across the street now, stepping into Falafel King for lunch. What’s falafel? Do they even have it in Chicago? No, scratch that. Who cares?
    Terence jaywalks and waits for the kid to emerge, munching on a pita sandwich.
    Dollar Sign scans him with narrowed eyes. “Got a problem, yo?”
    â€œMaybe I’m looking to buy a phone.”
    â€œEver heard of the Home Shopping Channel?”
    Terence grins appreciatively. “Want to show you something.” From his pocket, he produces a video iPod, top of the line, mint condition.
    â€œBirthday present from Grandma?” Dollar Sign asks in a bored tone.
    â€œI’ve got a little community service gig with the B.I. D. This comes from a store by their office. Deep discount.” He regards the boy intently. “Five finger.”
    â€œSo?”
    â€œSo plenty more where this came from,” Terence goes on. “I think I might have a way in….”
    The fierce eyes flash. “What are you, some kind of cop?”
    Terence laughs and holds out his hand. “Terence Florian.”
    â€œHands to yourself, yo!” the kid snaps, and storms away.
    Terence is triumphant. Only a potential conspirator avoids the appearance of conspiracy.
    He follows at a distance. At last, Dollar Sign twists back into view. “Name’s DeAndre.”
    Terence laughs. “Guess your mother went discount on the baby-naming book.”
    DeAndre’s eyes widen in anger. For an instant, Terence is afraid he might go for his knife. All at once, the storm is over, and the kid is smiling