Willy Shinn stood alone in the school hallway and for the life of him he couldn’t remember where his locker was. He was at the center of three converging halls—each absolutely identical, and each lined with a bank of red metal lockers as far as he could see.

“Hey, Drew! Wake up!”

Tommy Drew pressed the crook of his arm deeper into his eyes against the brightness of the lights blinking to life overhead.

“Come on, man, I said get up!”

Tommy grabbed the business end of the thing poking his ribs and bolted up straight in his cot. Once his crusty eyes focused, he saw it was a nightstick gripped in the meaty fist of Officer Foley, the night guard at Springfield Juvie. He also saw the officer’s wide-eyed startle and his other hand reaching for a can of pepper spray on his belt.