transference.

Today was the day!

Billy spent his second sleepless night, even though he was supposed to be under threat; he slept perfectly. He rolled a couple of times in bed and fell deeply asleep. His thoughts were never so rooted in deep, hidden nervousness. Tomorrow the problem would be resolved, and another day would pass, marking a culminating change in both his life and his budding musical career. The end of one journey or the beginning of a new chapter in his life.

Billy watched the early morning dawn. It was chilly, and the nascent humidity hinted at mist, though it wouldn't be called cold. It was one of those mornings when the mere premonition seemed to freeze his bones, even though the sunrise was already possible. The prospect of a new life felt like going back four months, four long months trapped until he got used to a life that would change.

The long moments trapped in a music room of vast lengths, covered in some places with egg cartons and some extra paper deposits, some boxes with uniforms, bags of papers, and damaged instruments shared the luxury of being repaired as a pastime of Master Spencer, who organized songs like a unique behavior.

Some kids dozed off at dawn; early mornings weren't healthy for children who whispered obscenities behind their blankets or spat hurtful comments as a funny gesture. Perhaps the ironic banality of children is foolishness, yet it is naive, completely ingenuous, and not malicious.

A crazy idea, the sun began to rise from the east, only the black shadow was an idea that it was already dawning, a shout, more like a bubbling police roar, which subdued some children the moment they heard the roar, followed by a cold shower that didn't consider the drowsy state. After a while, even the cold couldn't break through the sleep, but it did guide the children.

-Carson, Agudelo, and Jones, you'll have breakfast and then hop on the bus to Arizona. I beg you, you pests, to stop bothering, - said the security guard.

Billy listened attentively, watching as the shout sprayed saliva in small droplets, an unpleasant way to bathe with the saliva of a policeman who didn't validate children's education, though effective for the punks who contained the corrections; each dog was given a bone to chew, a harder, stronger bone.

-How sophisticated, - said Aaron Jones, a boy who looked like a bit of a loose cannon, eager to be a big-time offender.

To everyone's surprise, Billy was on the list. The boy, who was just in the middle, was now part of the 5% of the most dangerous criminals on the West Coast. There, only the scum of the scum went. He walked with his blue-rank suit and a large jumpsuit; now he would supposedly wear a deep green as clothes. Even last time, Spencer tried to prevent the transfer by failing miserably in the bureaucratic paperwork, and in an entry to the dining hall, oatmeal with white bread.

Connor sat next to him, not caring much about the changing world around him. In unremarkable ways, Connor's madness was imprinted in his sinister behavior; his apathetic behavior bordered on the extreme of carelessness.

-You're moving to Arizona, - Billy asked.

Connor nodded vigorously.

The story told of how he used a fork as a weapon to mark the faces of two children with the intent to hurt, harm, and break a person doing childish things. In his mind, he was getting used to freedom, an extremism, a different color where morality and decency are abstracted.

He finished his porridge, and he was still hungry, with a certain twist of wanting something more, but the kitchen was closed. The trip to the bus was meager, not like high-level convicts, just kids on a school trip to a different foster home.

The journey didn't take as long as expected, but they still arrived late to pay attention to lunch; they were lined up. They were checked from side to side, making sure none of them had sharp objects or contraband items.

They were taken to what resembled most a prison model: small two-bunk rooms, separated to avoid risk. And cramped with old inmates, to the surprising sight, Billy's roommate was a skinny young man with poorly done tattoos, some looked like they were done by amateurs, without the deep complexity of a tattoo. Coming in the afternoon, his roommate had a red eye and a first glance a scared appearance, due to the trembling.

-What a horror. You sleep down, buddy; the door locks with a guard bolt, but it's good to be cautious; you lock the door with the bolt. Be careful with troubles and don't get in my way, - said Joseph Marshall.

-Of course, just stop messing around and don't be a wimp, - said Billy, lying down on the bottom bunk, not caring much about appearances, setting aside empathy, and enclosing himself in a shell of repression.

-In short, - said Joseph.

As Billy made his bed, nothing was impressive: a sheet, a blanket, and a pillow. As he made the bed, he wondered what the next important steps would be. To step aside, go with the flow, or simply overcome.

Everyone had their pros and cons.

He practiced his singing softly while exploring the rustic, much older and abandoned building, different and strange.

-How novel, don't you think? - said Connor from afar, sitting in a deep position, with his body forward and hands clasped.

-Come on, wipe off that idiotic look; I need to introduce you to my brother. It's good that you met him first, - said Connor.

-You have a brother? - asked Billy.

-I do, and it's likely you won't like him much; he's a damn idiot who'll leave us alone if we leave him be. The first step, is when they ask you to join a band, tell them to go to hell and mind their own business. Do two things: accept or reject. You're too wishy-washy; if you're wishy-washy, they'll eat you alive. You have to rub people the wrong way and the right way. If you want to be liked by everyone, you're screwed. You're a criminal, and it's better to be an idiot. So stop smiling like a fool, - said Connor.

-Thanks for being so honest, - said Billy, somewhat offended. Everyone just knows how to criticize him, and they don't stop criticizing his way of being or his way of doing things. It's contrary to an elegant way of doing things.

-Stop being a kid, - said Connor, hitting Billy on the shoulder.

-I'll take the advice, for now, I want to calm down; besides, I'm hungry, - said Billy.

-It's over there, - said Connor.

-I want to hate you, - said Billy.

-Look, my brother is dangerous. We're part of his gang, but we'll be the musicians who make them money, as long as we survive. I don't mind throwing away a few thousand, but we have debts to pay. They do the dirty work, and we just go along with it, - said Connor.

-Relax now, brother... nothing will happen to us. We'll be civilized, - said Billy.

Billy's ironic thoughts were clear and constant; people had redeeming qualities, and the kids they interacted with were people who just needed guidance. Connor only saw the one who seemed like the music star, which wasn't very logical, and all the musical talent didn't imply common sense.

-Just follow me, - said Connor.

-Sure, sure, I'd love to follow where your family is, - said Billy.

-They're not my family, - said Connor.

They continued to a section of older boys; the correctional facility ranged from ages 15 to 18, with a clear division into two buildings: for ages 17 to 18, Building B, and ages 15 to 16, Building A, necessary division.

Connor's brother is James, a guy with dangerous behavior, violent tendencies, and many tricks, which don't always turn out to be right when it comes to civilization, a thought originated by Billy's age, the second life. His knowledge makes him mistaken in gauging the problems that as an ordinary citizen, he doesn't face.

They arrived at the park in a large circle; Billy's brother was in the middle of a large group of whites, all looking tough to Billy's eyes, but Billy.

-Brother? - asked James.

-Yeah, it's me, - replied to Connor.

-What the hell, Dad said you were in the Twin Towers, - said James.

-I was, but now I'm here, - said Connor.

-Now I get it! What are you doing here? - asked James, Billy managed to see the tattoos protruding from under the sleeve.

-Just greeting the family, - said Connor.

-Stay, kid; a friend of James is a friend of mine. I'm Karl; this is Crow; your brothers, James, Troy, and Finnigan. The S-45, - said Karl, with greasy black hair almost reaching his shoulders.

-I'm Connor, and I came to greet James; we'll talk later, - said Connor.

-Wait, -said Karl.

James only shot him a furious look, between words left unspoken and silent attitudes; some gang members just watched the two boys. Billy knew Karl's attitude perfectly, a manipulator.

-What's up, - said Connor, not very courteously.

-Nothing, get lost, - said James.

...