“Sorry,” Jack said involuntarily. He caught the door before it swung back in. The kid watched Jack’s palm slap the wood. His face remained blank. 

He looked about twelve or thirteen, had a head of loose curly hair, and a complexion that was a few shades darker than what was typical of the local community. Jack didn’t recognize him, but he didn’t expect to know any of the kids here anymore.

The kid walked past Jack and into Green’s office without a word. Jack continued through the medicine room into the hallway, not bothering to think about it too hard. A lot of kids here were weird, besides, if he didn't eat something soon his stomach might digest itself.

The building was set up to look like a house. Sort of. If houses had the concrete floors of public schools and half a dozen dorm rooms, then it was a house. The cleaning products used made it smell more like a hospital. The main hall was empty for now. He headed towards the other side of the home.

A dim fluorescent ceiling light cast a yellow hue over the white-tiled kitchen. A pine tree blocked most of the view from the window above the sink, cutting off most of the natural light. The muffled howls and screeches of kids playing in the backyard still found their way in.

The dishwasher next to the sink hummed. A pan had been left on the stove. Leftovers were a rare stroke of luck; not that leftovers were rare, luck was. The government-regulated mystery meat was allegedly edible when put between slices of bread. A textbook version of a sloppy joe. The watery red-brown sauce left smear marks on the paper plate. 

A sharp cry sounded from the backyard. Jack sighed as his appetite disappeared. He needed to go somewhere quiet; somewhere without toddlers.

 A picnic table had been dragged out past the hill; out of sight from the house. There was no telling whether or not it would still be there now. If not, he could always wander into the woods. Maybe a stray bear would maul him. With the paper plate in hand, he turned back to the main hallway and out the back door.

The playground of a backyard was occupied by a pair of underpaid adults and ten little kids. Jack pressed on past the gate at the back of the fenced yard. The pine forest behind the property extended for miles without any sign of a neighboring house or road. Jack’s footsteps crunched on dry leaves as he followed the path uphill. The last of the cicadas droned from yellowing trees. 

At the top of the hill, he could see the picnic table was still there halfway down the slope. So were Chris and Devon. They sat at the table talking while Devon smoked.

Chris was facing away from Jack, his head resting in his arms as he listened to Devon. His frame looked thinner than Jack remembered, or maybe longer, and his dusty blonde hair had been buzzed. 

Devon was on the opposite side of the table. He held a cigarette between the fingers of one hand while folding a leaf with the other. He seemed to be doing most of the talking, but it was hard to tell from this distance. The yellowing leaves behind him complimented his mellow brown skin tone.

At least I’m not alone here, Jack thought.

Devon spotted him at the top of the hill. It took him a second to register who this person was before smirking and waving a beckoning hand. Jack inhaled sharply to accommodate the sudden tightness in his chest. He hadn’t seen Chris or Devon in about two years, and they probably already knew what got him sent here. It didn't help that it happened at their school.

“Hey stranger, I’ve been hearing a lot about you the past few days,” Devon said as Jack came within earshot. A faint skunky odor hung in the air, barely covered by the overtone of tobacco. Devon patted the spot next to him for Jack to sit.