Page 47 of My Family

"Great," I say. "So we have a plan."

"Yeah," he says. “Whatever.”

I can't wait.

Chapter 18. Ethan

We don't pack for break, as we don't have much to take. They technically let us have our clothes back to leave, but mine are four years old. I was a lot skinnier then, and I don’t see much difference between them and the uniform anyway, so I don’t change. Neither does Liam. Jack changes into the clothes he came wearing last. His mom always buys him new clothes, so his actually fit. It's a yellow shirt with a small cartoon character in sunglasses embroidered on his chest and baggy jeans. The most Jack outfit ever. Harry is wearing a black henley, so prim and proper. They also gave our phones back, but they're all dead. We'd have to charge them.

Liam is holding a single pair of clean briefs, which he holds up for my inspection.

"Think these'll work for the pool?" he asks, grinning.

"Only if you want Harry's dad to call the cops, baby," I say. He laughs.

I do a final sweep of the room. Bunks made, trash emptied, nothing left behind that could earn us a demerit. The room smells like Jack's deodorant, which he applies like he's trying to suffocate us all.

Then I look at Miles.

He's on his bunk, cross-legged, biology textbook open across his knees. His eyes move across the page, ignoring us. Liam notices it too. He stops bouncing, his face going through four expressions in two seconds: excitement, guilt, sympathy, and something that looks like physical pain. He opens his mouth, closes it, opens it again.

"Miles, I…" he starts.

Miles looks up. His blue eyes are… okay. No tremor, no panic, no sadness. "Go," he says, and his voice is calm. "I have plans with the library. Griff actually said he's going to give me some free time." He smiles. He never smiles, so all of this makes me think he's actually alright.

Jack freezes. Harry's hand stills on his glasses. Liam blinks, as if Miles has just performed a magic trick.

I meet Miles's eyes. He holds my gaze. I understand him, I think. He wants some peace and quiet, a room for himself. That, or I'm trying to convince myself he'll be alright.

"We'll bring you something back," Jack says, recovering. "A souvenir. Like a snow globe. They'll allow it once they see it's not a bomb."

Liam laughs. Miles shakes his head. I doubt Miles would have a use for a snow globe.

We all go out to the admin block, the same one everybody gets into the Academy through, the one we crossed when we first got here. It's our only way out. Then we cross to the outside parking lot, where we can see the street outside. There are a lot of kids, two thirds of the Academy at least, all waiting for the cars that will pick us up. The outside fence is even open, so the cars can get in. Something we definitely never see.

"Holy shit," I hear a kid saying.

A vehicle pulls up that looks like it could climb mountains. It's a black Range Rover, no, larger, more arrogant than that. A Mercedes G-Class. The driver's door opens and out steps a man in a uniform. Dark suit, the whole deal. Harry gets in the front, and we follow. Everybody stares at us.

"That's Gerald," Harry says, as if naming a family pet.

"Mr. Westfield," Gerald says. "Shall we?"

Harry nods. Gerald turns to the rest of us and smiles. He opens the rear door. The interior is black leather. Liam slides in first. I follow, then Jack. Harry goes in the front. The door closes automatically.

Through the tinted window, I can see the building, the fence, the razor wire. Boys watching. The car pulls forward.

The world moves. Trees blur. Buildings pass. The road unreels beneath, and I sit there watching the facility shrink in the rearview mirror until it's just a smudge of gray brick and razor wire, no bigger than a thumbnail, and then it's gone.

This is obscene. The backseat of this car is wider than my bed. It hits me that Harry's dad must have really wanted to punish his son by sending him to Aspire.

Liam has his face against the window like a dog on a road trip. His nose is almost touching the glass, his breath fogging it.

"Look," he says, pointing, "a Taco Bell. A real Taco Bell! I would commit another felony for a Crunchwrap Supreme right now."

"You'd commit a felony for a stick of gum," Jack says. Liam turns to him and laughs. I pass my arm behind Liam's head, and he lies on my shoulder.

The facility is away from everything, and then we get to the run-down part of the city: crumbling storefronts with plywood over the windows, chain-link fences guarding empty lots, a gas station with half its letters burned out so it reads GA TATI N. A group of men sit outside a laundromat on folding chairs.