“Yo, Ryan. You need to chill.”
Mr. T. was in the same spot, lying on his own towel a few feet to Ryan’s left. His chains were glowing now. Glowing red-hot like they’d been sitting in a blazing fire. There was a tiny amount of smoke rising from Mr. T’s chest and Ryan thought he even heard sizzling, popping sounds.
Need to chill?
It seemed like a possibility again. His heart no longer felt like it was going to extricate itself from the rest of his body like a prisoner breaking out of Alcatraz.
Seagulls called out in the distance.
Yeah, he could chill.
“You know, kid, there’s something not right with your friends.”
“Huh?”
“Those little punks you hang out with,” Mr. T. said.
“What’s wrong with my friends?”
“They’re no good for you. They all think they’re better than you. You’re actin
