Future Shock

5

He removes the cuff and pauses, studying my face. “Do you need me to get a nurse?”

“I’m fine.” I realize my fists are clenched at my sides and force my hands to relax. “Let’s just get this over with.”

The physical exam is quick, but then I’m taken to other rooms for more testing. Blood work. X-rays. Brain scans. I’m not even sure what half of the tests are for. My suspicions grow with every minute that passes, but no one will tell me anything.

When the tests are finally over, a nurse dumps me in a freezing-cold conference room with chairs arranged in two rows and a long table covered with food and drinks. I lean against a wall and study the four people already inside, all about my age. Three of them bear the scars of a life in the system: a don’t-mess-with-me attitude combined with guarded eyes and clothes that have worn through or don’t quite fit.

But one guy stands out. Black hipster glasses, crisp blue jeans, and a plaid button-down shirt that fits perfectly—this is no foster kid. His dark hair is slightly tousled and he’s tall and lean, not exactly muscular yet not scrawny either. He gives the others a smile, his face friendly and without suspicion. I can tell he’s never gone hungry before, never flinched from an adult, never gotten in a car with no idea where he’d sleep next. The badge on his shirt reads Adam O’Neill.

He picks at the cheese and crackers and turns to the two guys standing there, who eye him like a piece of meat. “So, what are you guys in for?”

The biggest guy in the room gets right up in his face. “Is that some kind of joke?”

Adam adjusts his glasses, clearly surprised. “Sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“You think you’re funny?”

The third guy moves closer, like a shark drawn to the scent of blood. “Yeah, you think you’re better than us?”

“No, I don’t think that.” Adam holds up his hands and attempts another smile. He’s outnumbered, and the first guy has to be double his size, but he doesn’t back down. I respect him for that, even if he has no idea what he’s gotten himself into. “Just trying to make conversation.”

“Yeah, I know your type,” the big guy says. He’s black, with a shaved head and large, muscular arms with a couple of tats. “I saw the way you were looking at us. You think you’re so f*****g smart.”

He shoves Adam in the chest. Not hard but enough to make him stumble back a step. The look on Adam’s face is priceless, like he’s shocked anyone would ever pick a fight with him. He’s obviously unprepared to handle what’s coming next.

“You know what we do with smart guys like you?” the big guy asks, cracking his knuckles.

This is going to end badly. I do not want to get involved. It’s not my problem, and I haven’t been in a fight in months.

But damn, I hate bullies.

“Leave him alone.”

Four heads swivel to look at me. One belongs to an Asian girl with short blue hair who huddles in a chair up front. She plays with the ties of her hoodie while watching us.

The big guy sneers. His badge says Chris Duncan. “You gonna make me, mamacita?”

He spits the last word at me, but I’ve heard plenty worse. I push myself off the wall and stand next to Adam, whose eyes linger on the tattoos crawling up my arms. I’m not sure why I’m standing up for this guy, but it’s too late to back down now. “If I have to.”

Chris’s nostrils flare and the veins in his neck stick out. I clench my fists and ready myself for a fight. He’s much bigger than me. I’ll have to be faster.

“No, dude. This chick’s crazy,” the third guy says. Trent Walsh. He smells like cigarettes and has long blond hair that falls in his eyes. “You were at Bright Haven, right?” he asks me.

I nod, never taking my eyes off the big guy in front of me. He could snap at any second, but I’m ready for him. You don’t survive in the worst parts of LA—and in more than a dozen foster homes—without learning how to defend yourself.

“Dude,” Trent says to Chris. “I heard she fought three girls at once, seriously messed them up.” His eyes dart around, looking everywhere. “Besides, they’ll be back any second.”

But Chris isn’t the type of guy who backs down. I know all about men like him. They like to hurt smaller people to make themselves feel stronger. A part of me itches to fight him. Do it, I think, my fists tightening. Just try to hit me.

“Oh good, you’ve all met,” says Lynne at the door. Two men in lab coats stand beside her, and the three of them walk to the front of the room. “Please sit down and we’ll explain the research project to you.”

Chris and I glare at each other, like two dogs straining against the end of a leash, teeth snapping. Every muscle in my body wants to jump forward, but I hold myself back. Barely. I’m here for a reason, and I won’t screw this up by getting in a fight.

I turn my back on Chris and sit on the edge of my chair in the front row, trying to suppress the adrenaline rippling under my skin. Adam starts to take the seat next to me, but I narrow my eyes at him. I don’t want him to get the idea that we’re friends or something. He sits two chairs down instead.