Free No Place by Todd Strasser Page A

I going over there .
    Dad turned on the LED lantern. The tent filled with light. “That better?”
    “Thanks.”
    “See you in a bit,” Mom said with forced cheerfulness as if telling me to feel better.
    They left. Feeling completely bummed, I sat down in one of the camping chairs. The tent may have been big, but it was still way smaller than my old bedroom. The low, slanting ceiling made me feel claustrophobic, and I kept getting distracted by the conversations of people as they passed outside.
    Mom had promised that if, after a week or two, I still really hated it, we’d try something different.
    I couldn’t wait.

 12 
    At dinnertime I convinced my parents to let me treat them to Subway with the money I’d made working with Uncle Ron’s neighbor. They knew exactly why I was doing it, and I guess they went along because they sensed I could take only so much of Dignityville on our first day.
    It was dark when my alarm went off the next morning. I woke with the kind of confused jolt you feel when you think you’ve only just fallen asleep. But there was no confusion about where I was. I’d spent too much of the previous night lying awake, staring at the ceiling of the tent, to have any doubts. It was Monday morning, and today, for the first time, I would make my way to school . . . from Dignityville.
    Sleeping pads are okay for camping, but they’re not mattresses, and I felt stiff. I’d laid out my clothes so that I wouldn’t have to turn on a light when I got dressed. I knewthe alarm would wake my parents, but I was hoping they’d just go back to sleep.
    I was half-right.
    “Where are you going?” Mom whispered from her sleeping bag.
    “School,” I whispered as I sat up with my back to her and pulled my pants on.
    “This early? What about breakfast?”
    “I’ll pick up something on the way.”
    “And a shower?”
    “At school.”
    I waited for her to say more, but she didn’t. Pulling on a jacket, I went outside. The air was dark and chilly, but I wasn’t the only one up. Light peeked out of other tents, and a few people were already out and about. A guy wearing a robe and flip-flops carried a towel and a toilet kit toward the showers. A dog trotted past. Heading down the path toward the exit, I found myself behind a construction worker with an orange hard hat and a lunch pail.
    Even though I had the booklet of tickets for the town bus, I wasn’t sure which to take and decided to walk the two miles to school. The sun was just starting to come up when I got there and the sensation of hunger had awakened in my stomach. The front doors were locked, but I knew the janitors used the side entrance behind the Dumpsters. Inside, the halls were empty and dim. My footsteps echoed on the tiles as I headed to the gym.
    With shampoo, soap, and deodorant already in my gym locker, I showered.
    A little while later I was leaving the locker room when Coach Buder came in. When he saw me, a scowl etched its way onto his narrow, lined face.
    “Here early,” he said.
    I nodded, not feeling like I had to explain. After being coached by him through four years of baseball, I still felt like I hardly knew him. He was retiring after this year and sometimes I got the feeling that he’d had enough of high school sports.
    “Everything on track for Rice?” he asked as he unzipped his athletic jacket.
    I nodded. “Just have to sign the letter of intent.”
    “How’s the arm?”
    “Still there.”
    He smiled. “You deserve it, Dan. You’re probably the most talented player to ever come through here, not to mention one of the hardest working.”
    “Thanks, coach.”
    “Stay on track now, you hear?”
    “Definitely,” I replied, but at the same time I wondered why he’d said that. Did he somehow sense that I was in danger of falling off track?
    Coach Buder nodded in a way that meant the conversation was over. He’d done his duty and dispensed his coachly advice. Now he could go into his office and dream about