Excerpt: The Stromdell Academy for Troubled Youth

“So I probably should have waited to start a fire until after you’d already moved in,” said a voice with a faint Southern drawl. Someone sat down next to Ryan, who was still in the same position he had collapsed against the wall in. “Sorry about that. I’ll try to uh, warn you next time.”

“Next time?” Ryan raised his head from his hands and stared at his roommate. “There’s going to be a next time?”

“Want me to lie and say no?”

“Can you tell the truth and say no?”

Jackson pondered this for a moment, running a hand through his wavy blond hair. “No, probably not,” he said, giving Ryan an apologetic smile.

Ryan sighed. He drummed his fingers against the sides of his legs for a moment before he finally said, “Alright. Fine. Just warn me next time.”

“Deal,” Jackson said with a grin. He pushed himself to his feet, and Ryan followed. He was a few inches shorter than the other boy, who was broad-shouldered and lean. Jackson ambled toward the door between their room and Melanie and Rachel’s—and laughed. “Black Jack’s here, then,” he said vaguely.

“Black Jack?” Ryan walked toward the door, and the message—Incoming fire has the right-of-way—suddenly made a lot more sense. “Why do you call him Black Jack? Is he good at cards or something?”

“Actually, nobody knows who he is. Nobody’s ever seen him going in or out of his room, and he doesn’t have a roommate,” Jackson said, shrugging. He leaned against the door and jerked a thumb toward the white board. “We call him Black Jack because he’s always writing weird stuff on his black board.”

“That’s a white board,” Ryan felt compelled to point out.

“Don’t be racist.”

Ryan shook his head. “Okay then. I’m going to sleep.”

“What? It’s like seven, dude,” Jackson followed him into the room and shutting the door behind them.

“I’m from Maine,” Ryan said as Jackson crossed the room and sat down on the edge of his bed. “It’s like ten for me. And I’m done with today—with broken noses and friggin’ fires and—dammit, I don’t even have clothes.”

“I got your stuff back,” Jackson said, pointing to the other twin bed. Ryan followed his finger and saw that, indeed, his duffle bag and backpack were both thrown on top of the sheets.

“Oh,” Ryan said. “Uh, thanks. Does that, uh… Does that happen a lot?” He sat down on the edge of his bed, feet on the floor, facing Jackson. “That girl stealing stuff, I mean.”

“Rachel?” Jackson grinned, leaning forward so that his elbows were resting on his knees. “Yeah, all the time. Her room’s like, the Room of Requirement, man. You can find anything in there. Anyway, she got sent here because she couldn’t stop shoplifting. So yeah, it happens a lot.”

“Yeah? What about you?” Ryan asked, remembering how Melanie had so boldly asked him the same question. “Why are you here?”

“I burned down a Supply Mart in my hometown,” Jackson said, having the decency to look faintly abashed. “I didn’t really mean for it to burn down, and nobody got hurt,” he added, having noticed the incredulous look Ryan was giving him. “I just thought it would be cool to see all of that stuff burn. And then I couldn’t put it out.”

“How did you not go to jail?”

“My uncle’s a dang good lawyer.” He settled back against his bed, closing his eyes. “Anyway, the store owner was a douche and everybody in Harvest hated him. So most of the jury was a little biased.”

Ryan was beginning to believe that maybe, he truly was the most sane person in this place. It was almost a comforting thought.