Page 31 of Easy Out

HART

You’ve never watched it?

ME

No.

HART

You grew up watching murder mysteries?

ME

No. I didn’t have a tv or internet.

HART

Seriously?

ME

Yes.

HART

How is that possible?

ME

I don’t know. I have to go to work.

Crap! I did it again. I told Hart more than I wanted to. How does he do that? Hart asks a question, and I answer without thinking of the consequences. I bet he has a million more questions now. I just raised a red flag. I mean, who grew up without the internet? He probably thinks I grew up sheltered or in a cult or something.

It’s not like we didn’t have internet or television in the house. I didn’t own a cellphone or a computer of my own. I didn’t have any need for it.

I throw my phone in my dance bag and grab the rest of my stuff. I don’t have time to worry about Hart and our assignment at the moment. Right now, I have to focus on convincing six teenagers to give themselves a shot at a real future.

Maybe dealing with Hart would be easier.

When I arrive at the rec center, their music is leaking through the slither of space under the door. I recognize the song. It’s the same trendy song we were messing around with on Sunday. The kids wanted to make a new dance video to post online. I don’t particularly like them posting videos on the internet, but I do like seeing them work together and solving problems.

I turn the handle on the door. The music quiets before the door closes behind me. “Don’t stop on my account. Keep warming up. We’ve got lots of work to do, and I need you ready.”

The rec center isn’t much, but it’s ours. The kids come here to play basketball or hang out in the common room. It’s a place to get away from their reality.

I scan the small room we occupy twice a week and do a quick roll call in my head. Los, Rocky, Vivi, Trix, Cash. “Where’s Michie?”

“Right here,” Michie says from behind me. “I was in the bathroom.” I smile and nod at her.

“How is everyone?” A chorus of ‘goods’ and ‘fines’ flow through the group. They are lying. I know they are tired. Tired of being hungry. Tired of feeling like a burden. Tired of struggling every day.

“Did Carter talk to you about Westfield Prep?”

“I’m not going to no snob school,” Cash announces. He’s sixteen and works part-time at the garage by Royal Oaks trailer park. He claims he only runs car parts, but I’m not convinced that’s all he delivers around town.

“Me either. Blazers and ties are against my religion,” Rocky says with a hand on her hip.

“I don’t care. This is a great opportunity for you. Do you know what this scholarship-”

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