Free Boot Camp by Todd Strasser

Lake Harmony.”
    â€œGo on.” The troll points at the concrete steps to the old brick administration building. I climb up and pause at the wooden front door, waiting for the next command.
    â€œKnock and go in,” the troll orders.
    I do as told. The air in the lobby is cool and air-conditioned. The troll points at the door to Mr. Z’s office. I cross the lobby to the door, then stop and look back at him.
    â€œKnock.”
    I knock.
    â€œCome in,” the gruff voice says.
    Inside, the office is even cooler than in the lobby.Mr. Z is sitting at his desk, studying a colorful newspaper flyer advertising televisions. He takes off his reading glasses. “Come here, Garrett.”
    I step closer. Mr. Z stares up at me but says nothing. Our eyes meet and stay locked for several seconds.
    â€œMost kids can’t do that,” he says.
    My eyes remain on his, but I don’t respond. He has not asked me a question.
    Mr. Z puts the glasses back on, picks up some papers, and scans them. “You’ve been here for more than two months, Garrett. During that time you’ve spent a total of three weeks in TI. What have you learned so far?”
    â€œThat my parents are paying you a lot of money to turn me into a more obedient son, sir.”
    He lowers the papers and looks over the glasses at me with a slightly amused smirk. “You’re a fast learner, Garrett. But that won’t help you get out of here. You won’t be able to fool us or convince us you’re ready to go before you really are. Some of your fellow students foolishly cling to the notion that they can fake it. You know who they are because they’re the ones who’ve been here the longest. Instead of learning from their mistakes, they just keep making the same ones. And the biggest mistake you can make here, Garrett, is thinking you can outsmart us. You may never have seen us before, but we’ve seen hundreds and hundreds of kids like you. I’ve been in this business for eleven years, and believe me, I’ve seen it all. We’ll know when you’re ready. And you will not leave a second before that.”
    The room becomes quiet.
    â€œAny questions?” Mr. Z asks.
    â€œNo, sir.”
    He makes a tent of his stubby fingers and studies me. “I have a feeling there’s a lot going on inside that brain, Garrett. A lot of mental energy being expended trying to find a loophole or some weakness you can exploit in order to get out of here. Rather than waste your time trying to think of ways to get around what you’re supposed to be doing, why not spend that time and energy trying to understand why you were sent here and how you can change?”
    Silence.
    â€œKeep in mind, Garrett, that Lake Harmony is not an end. It’s a means. A way of getting you back on track and headed in the right direction. Many of our graduates go on to two- and four-year colleges. Clearly, your parents have the ability to provide you with a wonderful education. Why waste your time and their money here when you could be enjoying life somewhere else?”
    That reminds me of something. “Sir, may I ask a question that is in no way meant to be disrespectful?”
    â€œYes, Garrett, go ahead.”
    â€œFinancially speaking, isn’t it in your interest to keep us here as long as you can?”
    Mr. Z smiles. “We couldn’t have stayed in business all this time if we did that. Parents send their children here because we deliver results. That’s our reputation, Garrett.” He points at the old green file cabinets. “Inside some of those cabinets are letters of thanks from grateful parents who’d thought they’d lost their kidsfor good, sent them here out of absolute desperation, and then got back the kids they’d prayed for. You know what we do here, Garrett? We save lives. We’re the last stop on the road to self-destruction, and we turn kids around and point them toward