But I knew it couldn’t last.
The cops got impatient first. They wanted to close the file on the kid they’d found in the snow and move on. They sent a couple of detectives over to talk to me. The day manager Diane had just arrived to take over from Alicia, and she took charge of getting boys out the door while Alicia sat beside me in the lounge. The detectives opposite us pulled out their notepads and pens, and I hung my head, keeping my eyes on the floor. One of them—the bigger one, whose buzzed haircut suggested a man who’d never quite let go of the military even years after rejoining civilian life—had been looking at me real close since the moment they’d arrived, and I didn’t like it.
“We need you to tell us your name, son,” the smaller one finally said after a reasonably polite preamble.
I started to rock back and forth in my chair, and I bit on the nail of my thumb. It was probably too late for my theatrics to do any good, but it wouldn’t hurt to try.
“Did you run away?” the smaller detective asked. “Were you being hurt?”
I didn’t say anything, and Alicia put a comforting hand on my knee.
“We can protect you,” he continued, “but we’ve got to know who you are.”
“Alicia.” The big detective spoke for the first time. “If this boy is really so traumatized he can’t answer a simple question, I don’t think it’s right for him to be staying here. He should be section sixteened.”
Section sixteen. Every kid who’s spent time in care or on the streets knows what that means: a psychiatric hold.
“Come on, Frank,” Alicia said. “Dr. Nazadi said he just needs some time.”
The detective turned to me. “Son, we need to know who you are. I want your name and where you’re from, or we’re going to have to take your prints and your picture and find out for ourselves.”
“This isn’t necessary, Frank,” Alicia said.
“Isn’t it?” he asked. “There aren’t a hundred other kids who could use that bed?”
Alicia glanced at me from the corner of her eye, and the detective was looking at me with a hard glint in his.
It was over.
? ? ?
That night I waited for Short Term 8 to go dark and quiet before I climbed out of bed. I’d had a good run here, but this was the end of the line. No way was I going to let them stick me in a mental ward or put my prints into the system. The bed wasn’t worth it.
I put on my warmest clothes, including the decent winter coat Martin had procured for me, and packed what little else I had in my backpack. I looked down at Jason for a second. I would miss him, I guessed, as much as I could miss anyone. I didn’t bother looking at Tucker.
I crept through the quiet building in my socked feet, boots held in my hand. Martin and Alicia were the staff on duty this time of night, and they were predictable. Martin would be at the television in the common room watching whatever sport was on with the volume turned down low, and Alicia would be on the computer in the office. They were pretty much there just to make sure no one died or burned the place down.
I crossed through the dining room, running my fingers along the grain of the table in the spot where I usually sat as I walked past it. I peered around the door of the dining hall to get a look at the front office. As I’d guessed, Alicia was in there, catching up on celebrity gossip on the Internet. I’d have to get past the office to get to the front door, and the office walls were lined with windows.
I thought about trying to sneak past her. If I crouched down low enough, I could get under the windows. But that wouldn’t get me past the open door unnoticed unless Alicia also happened to be in a mild, Kardashian–induced coma. I could go out an emergency exit, but that would set off the alarm, and the idea was to get out without anyone noticing I was gone until the morning. Anything that might wake Jason and Tucker or prompt Alicia and Martin to do a bed check was too risky.
Finally, I decided on the easiest option. I would wait. I felt like there were ants crawling under my skin every moment I was trapped in there, but I had all night. The important thing was to just disappear.
I sat down behind the door of the darkened dining hall. Neither Martin nor Alicia had any reason to come in here, and by cracking the door, I could see Alicia in the office. Eventually, she would get up to go to the bathroom or get herself another Diet Coke from the kitchen. I just had to be patient.
I’m not sure how long I waited. Maybe an hour. Finally, Alicia got up from her chair. I watched her walk down the hallway toward the staff restroom, and then scrambled to my feet and grabbed my boots. I had maybe a minute to get out before she came back. I stuck my head out into the hallway, checking both ways first. Alicia was gone, and the glow from the common room in the other direction meant Martin was almost certainly in front of the TV. I took a step into the hallway. My left foot had gone numb from being folded under me, and it came awake with painful pins and needles as I snuck toward the front entrance. There was an alarm panel beside the door, and I started to punch in the code I’d watched Alicia plug into it the first night they brought me here. I heard the distant sound of a toilet flushing. My finger slipped, and I hit the wrong button. The light on the panel flashed red.
“Shit,” I whispered, and quickly reentered the correct code. The light turned green, and I heard a door opening. I yanked open the front door and slipped through it, pulling it nearly closed after me. I tried to slow my breathing as I stood on the outside, ears straining. Had Alicia gotten there in time to see the door closing behind me? Could she see the small gap I’d left so that she wouldn’t hear the noise of the latch catching when the door closed? I waited, but nothing happened. Short Term 8 stayed quiet.
I carefully put on my boots and then, millimeter by millimeter, eased the door closed, the snick of the latch almost inaudible. Nothing. I was out.