Free Times and Seasons by Beverly LaHaye Page B

with Brenda to educate. He wondered what Miss Brenda thought of him now. Had Daniel told her how innocent the whole stupid thing had been? That he’d never in a million years thought he’d wind up here?
    It was a joke, he thought. It had to be.
    He got onto the bus and took a seat on the courthouse side. He watched the door of the old building, certain that his mother would come along, point to him, and say, “Gotcha!” Then he could get off and lose these handcuffs. It had to be one of his mother’s object lessons. A year and a half ago she’d been so mad at him after he got suspended from school that she had taken him to River Ranch for a tour. Maybe this was just a step up from that. Maybe she just wanted him to know what it was like to get arraigned and convicted. Maybe it was all a conspiracy and the whole neighborhood was part of it. It was a pretty cruel way to teach a lesson, but he wouldn’t hold it against them.
    But his mother didn’t come out, and no one lingered at the curb waiting to get him off the bus. Then the doors closed and the guards got on, and the bus started moving. It was not a trick, and it wasn’t one of his mother’s lessons. He was on his way to the state’s teenaged version of prison.
    The bus smelled of body odor, unwashed hair, and stale vomit. Mark stole a look around. Some of the prisoners had been here before, and their faces held dread but no mystery or fear. They sat like powder kegs ready to ignite. Others looked as though they’d just been shoved off a cliff. One kid up at the front was so pale that Mark thought he needed medical care.
    Mark thought he was going to be sick, too.
    Where was his mother? Why hadn’t his father done something? The bus turned down a dark, tree-covered street, moving farther and farther and farther from anyone who cared.
    After a while, they came upon the facility that he had seen only as a spectator a year and a half earlier. Even when he’d been arrested last year, they hadn’t locked him up. He’d had friends who’d spent a little time here. His friend Jayce from Knoxvillehad a droopy eye because he’d gotten in a fight in the center and it had damaged a nerve in his eyelid. They were mean here, he’d warned him, but Mark had had no intentions of ever confirming that fact.
    They were taking this punishment thing too far, he thought as his lungs tightened. He wouldn’t do it again if they’d just let him out. He would study and clean his room and respect his mom.
    The bus stopped, and an angry guard stepped on and walked up and down the aisle. “Stand up!” he shouted, as if he’d told them a dozen times and was tired of it. “On your feet!”
    Mark got to his feet.
    “Hustle, now. Single file! Mouths shut!”
    Mark shuffled off the bus and looked up at the Conan-sized guard waiting to take them inside. “Excuse me,” he whispered. “This is all a mistake.”
    The man gave him a look of mock amazement, then shot another guard a look and started to laugh.
    “No, really,” Mark said. “I’m not supposed to be here.”
    “Course not,” the guard said. “But till they discover their mistake, how about you just line up with all the other mistakes?”
    Mark closed his eyes. “But you don’t understand. My mother’s going to get my lawyer to do something. She’ll never let this happen. I’ll be out of here before dark. There’s no point in going through any more of this.”
    “What’s your name?” the man boomed, making Mark jump.
    Mark straightened and looked around. The other guys were getting a laugh out of this. “Mark Flaherty.”
    “Let’s see,” the guard made a ceremony of checking his clipboard. “Mark Flaherty, Mark Flaherty. Oh, yeah , here it is.” His eyes widened and he looked up at Mark. “You know, you’re right. It is a mistake. Good clean kid from Breezewood don’t belong in no juvenile facility. Says it right here. Whadda you know?”
    Mark’s heart soared and he looked over at the clipboard