made a decision. We can be miserable and get ourselves killed, or we can thrive. We have chosen to thrive. We are not a gang. We’re the Society.”
I laughed, which made Isaiah scowl. “Society? Isn’t that just a fancy name for a gang?”
“We don’t behave like a gang,” he said. “We treat one another with respect. We help one another. We —”
He was interrupted by a crash against the door. Two of his friends jumped to their feet and braced it. I could hear muffled voices coming from the other side.
“Listen,” he said to me more urgently. “If you want to be safe, you want to be in the Society. We’re the largest group, and no one dares to cause problems with us.”
Judging by the pounding on the door, I doubted that was true.
“If you want to be happy, you also want to be with us. We don’t get punished like the others, because we hold ourselves to a strict code of conduct. We live right, and we do right.”
The door popped open, but the two guys pushed it closed. A third jumped up and held the knob so it couldn’t turn.
“Don’t you want to escape?” I asked, knowing that our conversation was going to end soon. “Do you always just follow the rules?”
“No good has ever come from breaking them,” he said. “No one escapes, and those who try get punished.”
All five of Isaiah’s Society friends were at the door now, holding it against whoever was on the outside.
“But look at you,” I said. “You’re obviously older than eighteen. You should be out of high school. How long are you going to stay here and wait?”
“I will stay here as long as it takes. I won’t throw myself into danger, knowing it won’t help anything. Things here can be good if you stay out of trouble. You just have to follow the rules.”
As if on cue, the door burst open about ten inches and the room filled with noise. One of Isaiah’s guards kicked at someone in the hall, and another managed to shove the door closed again.
I turned back to Isaiah. “So what is that, if you’re following the rules?”
“Havoc is out there,” Isaiah said, nodding at the door. “We’re protecting you from them.”
There was a thunderous crash in the hall, and the door shook. I couldn’t believe that all of this was happening just because I had to choose a gang.
“Havoc?”
“That’s one of the gangs,” he said. He was speaking quickly now. “Just a bunch of punks. When you meet them you’ll understand why we had to form the Society.”
The door was open a crack now, and the five Society guys couldn’t close it.
Isaiah grabbed my shoulder. “We want you, Benson. We’re the largest group and we have the most contracts—the good jobs. We do security, medical, administration, teaching—”
“Students do security?”
“We do,” he said, his eyes glued on the door. “As directed by the school.”
I shook his hand off my shoulder. “So you’re helping them keep us in here?”
The door flew open, and the five exhausted Society guards fell back.
A kid stormed through, followed by three of his friends. He was tall and skinny, with brown hair that was too long and hung down almost to his eyes. He still wore the uniform pants, but instead of a shirt he had on an oversize black hoodie draped in gold chains. A tattoo of a hawk’s talons encircled his left eye.
“I bet Isaiah told you that you need to play nice, follow the rules. Didn’t he?”
I tried to keep calm, but could feel my muscles tense. Even though this new kid was obviously trying to get me to join his gang, he looked ready for a fight. And I didn’t have a lot of confidence in Isaiah’s guys, either. If five of them couldn’t hold the door against these four, I doubted they’d be useful when fists started flying.
“We’re Havoc,” he said, staring me down. “We take care of our own.” He took a step back.
I spoke, keeping my voice as even as I could. I’d dealt with gangs before, and while I didn’t want to make him mad, I didn’t want to look weak, either. “All the gangs take care of their own.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Do they?” He turned quickly to Isaiah and slapped his head, and then shoved him backward onto the floor. Isaiah didn’t fight back, but scooted against the wall, out of the way.
It was strange watching it. I’d seen one of the Society guys fighting at the doorway, but none of them moved to defend their leader.
The Havoc kid must have recognized my surprise. “They’re putting on a show,” he said with a laugh. “They want you to think that they’re the peaceful ones, that Isaiah is freaking Gandhi or something. But they fight. You’ll see.”
He stepped over to Isaiah again and moved like he was going to kick him, but stopped, smiling as Isaiah flinched.
“I’m Oakland,” he said, returning to me and puffing out his chest. “I don’t know what this little girl told you, but rules around here don’t mean a damn thing. There’s a camera right there—Isaiah, why don’t you go kiss it? Tell it I hit you.” He looked back at me. “I can beat the crap out of this moron right here and never get detention.”
I paused before responding, trying to choose my words carefully. “So I should join you because you can beat up somebody?” Oakland was taller than I was, but I doubted he was as strong as he was trying to make himself appear. Even with that bulk of his sweatshirt and chains he didn’t look very big.
“No,” he said, taking a step forward. “You should join Havoc because anyone can beat the crap out of anyone. You need someone watching your back.” His lips curled into a snarl that he probably thought was threatening. I wasn’t impressed.
There was a crowd at the doorway watching us. Most of them looked like Society kids, I guessed. Havoc was hugely outnumbered, and the Society could have easily stopped them. So Oakland was telling the truth. The Society was putting on a show. But I wondered how much of what Oakland was doing was real, too.
I sized up his three friends, who were now standing a few yards behind him. They were bigger than Oakland, but they looked stupider. Of course, anyone with intelligence wouldn’t wear huge gold chains around his neck when he went to a fight.
Oakland’s voice was low. “You have a choice, kid,” he said. “We point the gun. You choose if you want to be standing in front of it or behind.”
I took a breath. “I don’t know who you think you are,” I said quietly, watching Oakland’s eyes, “but I’ve been pushed around by tougher guys than you—and I’ve pushed back.”
Oakland took another step toward me.
“Back off,” I said.
“You’re going to join up with Isaiah here,” he said, a nasty smile creeping across his face. “You’ll be a perfect match—maybe you can share a bunk.”
“No. I’m not joining Isaiah. I don’t know what else there is, and I don’t care. I’m getting out of this place. You girls can stay here and play your—”
Before I could finish the sentence, Oakland shoved me, and I stumbled a few steps to the wall. But as he stepped toward me I launched my fist into his stomach. He staggered back and I leapt at him, grappling him around the waist and throwing him backward onto a desk.
A moment later his goons were on top of me, one trying to pry my arms off Oakland while another jumped on my back. I ignored them and threw another punch, this one glancing off Oakland’s cheek. I raised my hand to do it again, but someone got his arm around my neck.
I struggled to fight off the attacker but had to let go of Oakland to do it. I stood, the other guy’s arm tightening around my throat, and I tried to stumble back into the wall to crush him. As soon as I was off Oakland he jumped back at me, his first punches landing in my ribs. I tried to kick him away, but I could hardly breathe.
His fist connected with my face and a moment later I could feel my blood dribbling over my lips and chin. I swung my hand at his chains, caught one, and then yanked. He lurched forward, off balance, and I kicked him in the leg.
But I couldn’t keep it up. The arm around my neck was rigid and strong. My lungs were desperate for air but only a trickle was getting through.
I couldn’t move—I couldn’t get the arm off my neck, and I had run out of strength to stop Oakland. The other two goons were just watching and laughing. Oakland came at me again, but just before his fist connected he fell
