Free We Were Here by Matt de la Pena Page A

coming out of my shell, which made me wanna laugh in dude’s face.
    But I didn’t laugh.
    He set down his clipboard and told me: “Wait, did I just hear that right, bro? You saying you want some of this ?”
    “You ain’t all that,” I said, playing the role, even though whenever Jaden talked shit it just came off like he was trying way too hard and actually made me feel sort of bad for the dude.
    “Hey, Tommy,” he said, standing up. “Ring the bell, bro. School’s about to be in session.”
    Everybody followed us to the foosball table and Jaden took off his keys, like he always does, and set them on the counter right behind him. We both grabbed the duct-taped handles and Tommy dropped the ball. Our dirt-stained men twirled and stopped on a dime and the rusted metal rods slid in their holsters all smooth and the sound of the ball smacking the wall was like the pop of a BB gun. As we went at it I thought of how many kids before me had slid their goalie in front of this goal. How many kids before me had stood in my exact spot, playing their counselor, while the other residents talked head on the side, waiting their turn. It made me feel like a straight-up cliché, man. Which happens sometimes. I’ll find myself doing something that I know every older person in the damn world has already done, like Diego and his boys, and all the kids younger than me will eventually end up doing too. When shit like that hits it makes me think there’s pretty much no reason to be alive, because everything you can or will do has already been done by at least ten thousand other people already. And if you’re not original then what the hell are you alive for, man? I know, I know, you’re probablythinking I’m not looking at shit right and that I should go borrow Rondell’s Bible or whatever to see how God says to do it, but I don’t even care, man. That’s just me. I only really wanna spend the energy it takes to be alive if I’m original. That’s how my mind thinks.
    Anyways, it was a pretty close game, but I made sure I lost in the end. Jaden slapped my hand and told me it was a pleasure doing business and then Rene took my spot and Tommy dropped the ball again. I waited almost till the end of the game before I swiped the two yellow keys I needed from the ring and put it back real quick. Reggie saw me do the whole thing, but all he did was laugh and shake his head. And I knew he wouldn’t rat on me. At least, not right away. People don’t really rat on each other in a group home unless it’s something that directly affects them.
    Jaden played a few more guys and then it was supposed to be my turn again, but I said somebody else could take my spot.
    “What’s the matter, bro?” Jaden said. “You a little nervous of me now?”
    “Nah,” I said, fingering his two keys in my pocket.
    “You sure?” Jaden said. “You look kind of pale, bro.”
    I shook my head, said: “Nah, how ’bout this. We could maybe play again tomorrow night. I guarantee you won’t beat me tomorrow.”
    “You bros hear that?” Jaden said, looking at all the guys. “Miguel loses eleven–eight and now he’s throwing around guarantees. All right, then, you got yourself a deal. Tomorrow night.”
    Everybody made their little jokes about my challenge and then Rene took my spot. Tommy dropped the ball and the plastic foosball men started spinning all around again.
    Back to the Escape Part:
    Anyways, I peeked in the living room, found the night-watch guy lounging in front of the TV, sipping coffee from a thermos. Popping chips in his mouth one at a time and wiping his greasy fingers on his pants. I could smell weed coming off his clothes too. And his eyes were all dopey.
    Get past the fat stoner, I told myself, and I’m a free man again. Just the thought of being able to go wherever, whenever made butterflies come into my stomach.
    It isn’t until you’re sentenced to a place like this, by the way, that you can know what kind of busters they got