Somewhere Here HE SLUNK THROUGH THE LOCKER room, flinching at every shout that echoed from the gym, every imagined creak of a door. Guiltily he yanked on lock after lock, cringing at the noise he was making, but none of them gave. These kids were too paranoid. Too untrusting. But considering what he was trying to do, they clearly had the right to be. His brilliant plan for the acquisition of some normal clothing had tanked. He was at a loss. He came to the last row of lockers, ready to give up, and then he saw it. A large laundry bin with a handwritten sign taped to the wall above it. Lost and Found. He practically dove into the bin, pulling out a pair of shorts too small for a twelve-year-old, a T-shirt that looked like it had been used to clean up vomit, and a Lakers sweatshirt that had been cut down into a tank top. He tossed these items aside and kept fishing until he finally came out with a workable ensemble. He stripped out of his coveralls and shoved them into the nearest garbage can, then pulled on his new clothes and stepped in front of the mirror.
