The Journey Back Read Free

rushed back outside. Right then, that’s when I heard the garbage truck coming in, and my heart started pounding.
    â€œShoot!” I exclaimed.
    â€œWhat
now
?” Mr. R. asked. He was pretty annoyed by then.
    â€œCook asked me to put out the garbage. It won’t take me a minute.
Please.
I don’t want them to get any madder at me!”
    Mr. R. shook his head, but then he said, “All right, go.”
    I stared at him, kind of paralyzed by the thought of what I was about to do.
    â€œGo!”
he hollered, throwing up his hands. “The guys are waiting. Get up to that classroom as soon as you’re done.” He pointed a finger at my face. “I’ll be watching for you.”
    I knew he was giving me yet another chance and it hurt, it really hurt to do this to Mr. R. But while he walked up the hill toward the classrooms, I marched briskly in the opposite direction toward the dining hall. When I opened the door, I could see some frozen pie shells set out on the counter to thaw and I could hear pots clanging in the back. It was just the cook. The other boys had gone on to class and no one else was around. Peering out the door one more time, I checked to be sure my counselor was still walking away before I kneeled and set my notebook on the floor. Then I stepped back outside and bolted around the corner.
    It was my one and only chance and my heart beat double time because I knew that if I went ahead with the plan, there was no turning back and plenty of risk along the way. But I was ready. And the way my life was going, I figured I had nothing to lose, so there was no stopping me.

CHAPTER TWO
----
    OUT WITH THE TRASH
    A harsh metal screech tore through the air. I knew the sound well: bad brakes. And those particular brakes belonged to the garbage truck making its way down the steep gravel driveway from the main road to the prison.
    From the sounds of it, the truck hadn’t made its first pickup behind the gym, so I knew I had at least a couple minutes. But I panicked anyway. In my rush, I tripped over a curb and fell, scraping my hands. Pushing myself back up, I sprinted downhill behind the dining hall to the Dumpster and dropped to my knees, reaching underneath for the shovel I’d hidden there under some leaves. Pulling the shovel out, I quickly knocked the leaves and junk off of it, then tossed it into the Dumpster where it landed on the garbage with a soft knocking sound. Nothing very loud, thank goodness.
    I whirled around once to see if anyone was watching, then reached for the handle of that side door of the Dumpster, the one you open to throw in trash. But the door didn’t open. I tried it again, both hands tugging with all my might, but it was locked up tight. With no time to lose, I took the only other choice I had, which was to jump and grab onto the edge of the Dumpster. I was lucky the container didn’t have a cover. Using all my strength, I hoisted myself up. After I got one leg over the top, it was easy. I simply rolled over the edge and plopped down onto the trash.
    The fall inside wasn’t bad. The Dumpster was half full, so there were plenty of big, black plastic bags full of junk as well as a bunch of cardboard that made for a soft landing. I saw the shovel and reached over to grab it, then sat there, keeping my fingers crossed that I’d survive getting dumped into the garbage truck. If anything went wrong, I could be compacted to death, no question. My dad drove a front-end loader for a while, so I knew how they operated. A set of arms on the garbage truck would pick up the Dumpster, lift it up over the cab, and dump everything into an opening over the cargo bay of the truck. Next, this big compacting panel with a blade at the bottom would start pushing the trash— squeezing and
compacting
it—toward the back. That’s what I needed the shovel for—to jam the compacting blade so I didn’t get crushed to death. When the garbage truck