Page 52 of Crazy House (Crazy House 1)

Nate patted his jacket pockets and found a candy bar. He handed it over and the boy fell on it with joy.

“Real chocklit!” he exclaimed, tearing off the wrapper.

“What’s your name?” Nate asked him. “How old are you? How come you’re out by yourself so late?”

The boy spoke through a mouthful of candy bar, counting off on his fingers. “None a yer business. None a yer business. None a yer freakin’ business.”

“Tell me about the prison,” Nate said.

“What else you got?” the boy demanded, still chewing.

Nate felt his other pockets. He waved a five-dollar bill, but kept it out of the boy’s reach. “Name?”

The boy frowned, licking his fingers. “They call me the Kid.”

“Uh-huh. Age?”

“Thirteen.”

“You’re ten if you’re a day,” Nate scoffed.

“Eleven. And a half,” the Kid said, scowling. “And I’m out this late by myself because who cares? Why wouldn’t I be?” He gave a little jump and snatched the five-dollar bill, looking at it happily before stuffing it in the pocket of his grubby jeans.

“Now tell me about the prison,” Nate said.

The Kid shrugged. “The bucks was for my name,” he said. “What else you got?”

Sighing, Nate searched his other pockets and came up empty. Except—he unzipped his inside jacket pocket and felt around—it was still there.

“Here. This is all I have.” Nate held the wrapped condom out to the Kid.

“Now we’re talkin’,” said the Kid, peering at the condom, reading the front and back of the foil package. “This is cool! This says I got a future, you know?”

“The prison?” Nate pressed.

“Heh,” said the Kid. “Even better. I’ll show ya.”

The prison turned out to be a bunch of abandoned buildings surrounded by hills and sloping cliffs, a couple miles out of the cell. Nate lay his moped down, and he and the Kid dropped to their stomachs on a cliff.

There were no lights, no signs of life.

“How long ago was it abandoned?” Nate asked.

“That’s the thing,” the Kid said knowingly. “We don’t do the prison no more—they closed it ’cause there ain’t much crime in the United. But just you wait.”

“It’s dark,” Nate pointed out. “No one’s there.”

“Nah, hang on,” said the Kid, his bright black eyes shining like a beetle’s. “There! Looka there!”

It was over in an instant—but Nate had seen it. At least, he was pretty sure he had: a black cloth twitching aside, revealing a stripe of bright light at one of the windows. Just for a second. As Nate looked closer, he saw that instead of moonlit emptiness behind the glass windows, there was a matte blackness. The windows were all covered.

“So who’s in there?” Nate asked.

“Heh,” said the Kid. “Who knows? But just watch. Ya gotta wait.”

Waiting gave Nate all too much time to think—about his father, his mother, Becca, Cassie, the cell…

He was practically dozing off when the Kid gave him a sharp jab to the ribs.