Even with my eyes open, I picture the events unfolding, like a crumpled-up paper being gradually smoothed out. Trevor puts his journal flat on the ground next to him, settles the flashlight in his lap so it’s facing up, casting an eerie spotlight on his face, and then starts punching his fist into his hand.
“My friend said, ‘Let’s get the hell outta here,’ and then took off, not waiting to see if I’d follow. Perhaps I should have. But something about the kid reminded me of myself. Hungry. Alone. Willing to do anything for a couple of bags of rice. I ran out of my hiding spot behind the truck’s tire and bashed into the trucker’s knees. It was just the distraction the scrawny kid needed. The guy dropped him and he was running before he even hit the ground. The Enforcer grabbed at him, missed, but managed to get a hand on the collar of my tunic as I tried to scramble away.” I know how the rest of the story goes. He went to a juvenile facility—like me—and then turned eighteen and ended up in the Max—just like I would have if I hadn’t escaped. But wait—
“You didn’t even touch the Enforcer,” I say. “Surely your sentence in juvie wasn’t more than a year or two.”
Trevor smirks. “You know the system all too well. I got fifteen months, assuming good behavior, which you shouldn’t assume.”
“What did you do?”
“Once inside, I started fighting. I was determined not to let any of the weaker kids get bullied. I don’t know what it was—something to bring me back to life, I suppose. A reason for living you could say.”
“There are some bad dudes in juvie,” I say, speaking from experience.
“And I wasn’t a good fighter,” he admits. “But that didn’t stop me. I learned the hard way. I had four broken noses, many a cracked rib, always bruised knuckles, and more black eyes than I can count. But I managed to not die, and with each fight I got tougher and more capable. Some of the tough kids even started to respect me because I never ran away from a fight. The weaker ones who I protected were thankful, and I watched with joy as their sentences expired and they were able to leave juvie unharmed.”
“Meanwhile, your sentence grew with every fight.”
Trevor grimaces. “Exactly.”
“But didn’t you want to get out so you could see your family?”
“Of course. But I wanted to do it on my terms. I couldn’t just sit by in an oblivious haze while the helpless kids got the poo kicked out of them.” Inside, I’m ashamed, although I know that’s not Trevor’s intention. What he’s just described is exactly how I spent my time in the Pen. An oblivious haze.
“Okay,” I say. “So you turned eighteen?”
“Six months ago,” he says. “They moved me to the Max straight away. I almost got killed my first day.” His tone is light but his words are serious.
“You tried to fight just like you did in juvie,” I say.
“Yep. Just like in kid prison, the Max had the weak and the strong and everything in between. The only problem was that the strong were a lot freakin’ stronger. So I’m in the yard scoping things out my first day. I’m all alone, you know, because I don’t know anyone. A bunch of tall, ripped dudes are playing hoops, some other monsters are throwing up dumbbells and doing pull-ups and stuff, and I’m just watching, trying to learn the ropes. A small stone in a big mine.”
My mind grabs hold of each piece of new information and sucks it in, looking at it from every angle, and putting it on a new shelf for safekeeping. It could have been me in the Max, experiencing the same things Trevor did.
“As I’m scanning the yard, there was an accidental bump as one of the bigger guys passed a tall, scrawny punk who looked like he didn’t belong. It all happened so fast, I don’t even know how…” His calm narrative hitches for a second and I can almost feel his heart beating faster as a rush of adrenaline pours into his system from just the memory.
It was a major event in his life.
“Before the big dude takes a swat at the skinny guy, I’m already on my feet moving, thinking I’m back in juvie. I dunno, it just became an instinct for me. Just as the heavyweight landed the knockout punch on the guy’s nose, I came up behind him, ready to land my own finishing blow.” He pauses, rubs his jaw for a second, as if feeling an old bruise that’s never fully healed.
“I reckon this dude had at least ten times the experience in fighting that I did, along with more grit, more raw firepower, and better overall instincts. While I thought I was going to hit him with a surprise attack the size of a small train, he felt me coming the whole way, probably because he’d been in dozens of street brawls where he had to have eyes in the back of his head to avoid getting a rock or bottle smashed over his skull from behind.
“His elbow flew back at the exact moment I was gonna hit him, cracked me in the jaw, broke it in four places. I don’t remember this part, but I was told afterwards that my head slammed off the ground. But the guy wasn’t done yet. Evidently he didn’t appreciate me coming at him from behind, because he moved in for the kill, to snap my neck or stomp my brains out or something. That’s where your mom comes in.”
“My mom?” I stare at him incredulously.
“According to what I heard later, she flew in like a bat—no one seemed to know exactly where she came from—jumping between the gargantuan and my half-destroyed body. Although the dude had her by about half a foot and a hundred pounds, she was way quicker and had ability to boot. Ten kicks later—my best guess is there were two to the groin, three to the head, two to the stomach, two to the knees, and one to the throat—and the guy was out cold. She saved my life that day, so now I’ll do anything for her, which includes doing whatever it takes to protect you on this mission.”
I’m speechless. Even though I’ve seen my mom act all tough general while in the Star Realm, I’ve never seen her fight. If Trevor’s to be believed, she’s incredible. I find my voice. “Wow, so that’s it? That’s why you trust each other?”
“After that I sought her out, thanked her, and we sort of became friends. She taught me to fight and I pledged myself to her.”
“So you can actually fight now?” I ask.
“Hold on a minute, I could fight before, I just wasn’t—”
“Chill. I’m just messing with you,” I say, cracking a smile.
Trevor’s face goes slightly red, but he manages an awkward smile. “Right, I knew that.” It’s good to see him on the defensive for once.
“So why were you such a jerk to me when we first met?” I ask.
Trevor really laughs now. “You weren’t exactly a peach,” he says.
I screw up my face. It’s true. “I know, but I didn’t know you, and—”
“And what? I didn’t know you either.”
“And…you knew my mom, so I would have thought you’d have trusted me,” I say, feeling good about my argument.
“Hey, I pledged myself to your mom, not to you. And considering all the rumors going around about you and Tristan hooking up…”
“There was no hooking up,” I say.
“Whatever you want to call it,” he says. “Chasing each other around or whatever. If you were with him, then I thought for sure something was wrong with you.”
“But Tristan’s on our side,” I argue.
“Yeah, but from where I was coming from that was pretty farfetched.”
“And now?” I ask, sticking my chin out.
“Now what?”
“Now that you know Tristan’s one of the good guys, do you still think something’s wrong with me?”
“Jury’s still out,” he says, straight-faced.
“Ha. Ha. Right back at ya.”