Billy at the correctional facility.

Billy got up again to the deep voice of Professor Marko, the physical education teacher. He was the one who usually woke them up, his imposing appearance forced even the most unruly to follow all the obligations before the students prepared for breakfast.

Billy went his own way; Pablo continued to give him advice on how to assert himself against Austin's decisions, who liked to gather for breakfast with his buddies at a special table, about four or five companions.

Connor was a sure thing, and they only spoke when necessary. He understood the workings of the correctional facility and who to trust or not, but he didn't respond to Billy's inquiries about what he should or shouldn't do.

-Billy, my friend, have you thought about joining the Silk Hand gang? - said Cole, one of the most violent bullies in the gang, fighting with anger at every opportunity.

-Cole, for now, I just want to lay off for a while with these mixed-up thoughts. Gangs are not my thing, - said Billy.

-Sure, I just hope you're careful. Many gangs like messing with newcomers, - said Cole.

-Cole, my friend, I can't commit to another gang. However, we can hang out, man. Just don't ask me for help in class; I suck at that. But I'll help you with whatever I can, - said Billy.

He doesn't understand codes very well and doesn't understand secrets and gangs very well, but he knows it's not good to offend people who take things very seriously, each in their own way.

-Thanks, buddy. If we need anything in the group, I'll let you know, - said Cole.

-Wow, thanks, - said Billy, patting Cole's shoulder. The boy was white, with black hair and sunken eyes.

There wasn't much violence in the correctional facility, just the occasional fight between classmates. But isolation and the facility's controls were stricter; visits occurred every two months, and students were checked. Many troublemakers tried to do disastrous things. All of them were sent to the strictest correctional facilities in the county.

-Drag yourselves, today we have a physical education class. It's time for you to see Jesus in the scorching spring heat, man, - said Jeff Banks, the physical education teacher at the juvenile correctional facility.

Billy had barely finished his breakfast, but he knew he would probably vomit everything he had eaten throughout the day.

-Ooh, pray, my friend, stop eating because today we'll run like gazelles on the savannah. Those eggs will go to waste, - said Jeff Banks, moving amusingly among all the students in the dining hall.

Billy drank two glasses of water; it's good to be hydrated for the upcoming hours. The gym class consisted of multiple hours of cardio exercises in two-hour intervals, followed by free practice exercises, basketball or soccer games, or just sitting and talking for a while.

The large area of fine sand gave a conflicting feeling to Billy, who was attentive to the two hours of exercise in intervals. Two quick laps, followed by long periods of calisthenics, strength exercises, and some dodgeball, topped off with another two hours of sports.

-All right, ladies, everyone must fulfill. Each one of you will give me five complete laps around the grassy field in front of you. I hope the gravel will be marked with each one's path, - said the teacher.

His gaze scanned the forty students enjoying physical education class.

-Parks, you'll take the lead, the rest try to give an acceptable time, - said Jeff.

-Sure, old man, - said Parks, warming up his knees.

Billy prepared himself to do the best he could; the hours of running around, skateboarding, and bothering his classmates had been enough to propel him to a good position.

Parks was undoubtedly fast, with the build of an athlete. In thirty-three minutes, he completed the laps of that track that Billy saw as eternal. He was halfway through when Parks took the lead; if the pace continued, he would be left behind. He ended up almost among the last. What would the kids do in the correctional facility, nothing but sports and bothering here and there?

-You look like a starving dog. Go and get something to drink, kid, - said Jeff.

Billy nodded in agreement, not in the mood to argue. The house was full of students, and the line was endless, with the fatigue Billy received after running in the relentless sun.

-I don't know you, - said Jeff.

-Billy Carson, sir, - said Billy, shaking hands.

-Ah, Billy Carson. -

-Wait for the line to go down, sir, - said Billy.

-You have ten minutes; we'll start with the punches, so I don't want any disorder, - said Jeff.

-Forks, stop playing with the water; this isn't a community pool. Again, the group will have to run the two hours as a little joke, - said Jeff.

The kid Forks released the hose and raised his hands in a peace sign; he was probably a strict teacher. After the joke from Forks, all the kids lost the enthusiasm to continue with the hose. Billy approached to drink water. The warm taste of the water filled his stomach and refreshed his throat like never before.

-How's it going, Billy? - said Austin.

-What's up, friend? - said Billy, exhausted.

-Not very well. Cole told me you turned down the gang, - said Austin.

-I'm sorry, but I don't want trouble. You're always welcome at my table, and if I can help you with anything that won't get me in trouble, I'm willing. As long as it's not helping you in class; I'm terrible at that, - said Billy.

-Sure, just be careful with the Latinos. They'll probably target you, - said Austin.

-Latinos? No problem, I grew up in a Mexican neighborhood, I speak Spanish, I can get along with them, - said Billy.

-You're Latino? - asked Austin.

-Of course, on my mother's side. My dad is from Texas, and my mother is from Buenos Aires, Argentina, - said Billy.

-Good luck, - said Austin as he walked away.

-You're Latino, - said a short kid with a mustache who spoke to him in Spanish.

-Of course, I am, - said Billy.

-What's the best team in the world? - said the kid.

-Boca Juniors. Nothing beats Boca's game, - said Billy.

-No one surpasses America's game; we are the greatest, - said the kid.

-I would give my right arm for Boca to win the Libertadores this year. Riquelme will show his class for the team, - said Billy.

-You're Latino, even though you don't look like it, - said the kid.

-Well, my mother is of Italian descent, and my father is a white guy, so I guess I look a bit different on this side. I'm Billy Carson, - said Billy.

-Miguel Torres, - said the kid.

-Where are you from? - asked Billy.

-El Salvador, - said the kid.

-Pleasure to meet you, Miguel, - said Billy.

-Mine too. Be careful with that white guy who just came to talk to you. He pretends to be friendly, but he's a liar and a cheater. He does a lot of things, but most importantly, he's a snitch. If he has to save his ass, he'll talk like a snitch. You'll notice when they transfer you to a prison, - said Miguel Torres, again in Spanish.

-Thanks, nobody wants to tell me anything about the correctional facility; everyone is very quiet, - said Billy Carson.

-These white guys are cold-blooded. They coldly do everything. It's rare to see friendship, -said Miguel.

-I also like Real Madrid, although I think you're right in saying that the Whites don't run much; they're cold, - said Billy.

-Haha, little stars, buddy - said Miguel, playing along.

The dodgeball game was different. Something fun and friendly, after a long series of gymnastics, he arrived exhausted to receive the class from his regular teacher. Professor Beins, as I knew well, only covered some simple topics from the previous class, with a quick review and a workshop at the end of the class.

Although Billy wasn't the best, taking notes had helped him. He believed in his heart that he didn't do as badly as he expected.

...