Some boys in the shelter are starting to make gangs. They’re coming up to people and acting big. The boss of the shelter takes them and puts them in a room with a counselor. I’m thinking about what that would be like, sitting in a room with this white lady saying, “What’s troubling you now?” And I think, What do you say first? The bathrooms in this shelter stink. I can’t eat watery red beans and rice one more time. I want my own clothes, not these ones with somebody else’s name written in the neck. I want to watch the TV shows I like. I want a place where I can be by myself. I want my dog. I’m laying there and I close my eyes and I go flying. I go right out the window and over the broke pine trees and all that black water and I land right on the roof of our house. I lean over the edge and I look at the bathroom window. Is that window covered up with water?
