Boot Camp by Todd Strasser Page B

here,” she says in a determined but almost imperceptible whisper. “The problem is, by the time you figure that out, it’ll be too late for Pauly and me.”
    I hang my head regretfully. I had a feeling shewas going to try again to get me to help her and Pauly escape. When I look up, her eyes are watery.
    â€œMy father is a Mormon elder and apostle,” she whispers, and wipes a tear off her cheek. “Do you know what that is?”
    â€œSomeone pretty important in the Mormon church?”
    She nods.
    â€œCouldn’t you fake it?” I ask.
    â€œI tried, but it’s like this place. They know when you’re BSing them. The problem is, unlike this place they’re not set up to deal with subversives. They only know how to preach to the faithful. I’m here because they don’t want me contaminating the flock.”
    â€œCan’t you go live with a friend or someone?”
    â€œMy father won’t allow it. Either I’m with him or I’m here. When you’re that high up in the church, you can’t be perceived as failing. And it’s not just an image thing. He absolutely believes that I’m doomed if I don’t join the fold. So I might as well be here, because I’m damned wherever I am.”
    â€œWhat about a relative?”
    â€œTried that. My mom’s parents went to court to try to get guardianship and lost. Somehow my aunt found out where I was and actually came here to get me, but they wouldn’t let her in.”
    I feel a pang. So she really is stuck here. How can this happen in a democracy that was allegedly founded on the idea of personal liberty, freedom of choice, and the rights of the individual?
    Because until you turn eighteen you are not considered an individual.
    And you have no rights.
    It’s insanity.
    Once again, Sarah’s eyes become teary. “You see how unfair it is?”
    â€œYes.”
    The next question hangs unvoiced in the air between us. How can I
not
help Pauly and her try to escape?
    The office door opens and Ted comes in. “Anyone feeling any better?”
    Sarah and I lock eyes. Hers are pleading. I look away.
    â€œThe headache’s gone, sir,” I tell him.
    It’s lunchtime, and Joe is back patrolling the tables. This is the first time I’ve seen him since Megan knocked him out, and except for the lump bulging from the back of his head, he seems the same as before. There’s been no sign of Megan.
    â€œAhem.” Adam clears his throat. Today he’s decided to sit directly across from me. On the menu are small, leathery hamburgers on stale buns, and french fries. The fries glisten with grease, but for once they’re well done and crispy. Around the table they’re disappearing from plates a lot faster than the hamburgers.
    â€œAhem.” Adam clears his throat again and nods at my plate. As if I’m going to give him the first tasty thing we’ve had to eat in weeks. I shoot him a look to let him know hell will freeze over before he gets one of my fries. He smiles back and reaches into his pocket. Out comes a familiar piece of torn white paper. It’s one of the notes I wrote to Sarah. I have no idea how he got it.
    Adam gestures again at my french fries, like hewants to make a deal. I make a fist and bring it up under my chin. When Joe’s back is turned and none of the chaperones are looking, I flip Adam the bird. His pasty face goes stony, eyes squinting and lizard teeth clenched. A moment later, when Joe passes, Adam holds up the note. “Sir? Look what I found.”
    Joe takes the note and studies it. “Someone here write this?”
    Adam points at me.
    â€œThis yours, Garrett?” Joe asks.
    â€œSorry, sir?” I shake my head innocently.
    â€œKeep an eye on them, Mr. Gold,” Joe orders, and walks over to the shelf where our Reflections notebooks are stored. He opens mine and starts to compare the note to the handwriting