Before he left, my father told me two things: watch out for your younger brother and don't end up in jail. The latter I failed the day he left, and the former is why I'm sitting in a place I swore I'd never visit: The Palisades.
Kino peers over his milkshake, which he's been drinking for the past fifteen minutes. "Oh, come on," he says with a smile. "It isn't all that bad here. Actually, it's quite fancy. Matthew, you should see the inside of the school. It appears to be a hotel."
I shook my head and fiddled with my fries. I can think of a few good words right now, but not that bad isn't one of them. But he's right about the fancy part. This isn't one of those run-down diners that cops frequent in between c***k dealer stakeouts. This is a replica of a 1950s diner, complete with a gleam
