Perfect Glass (A Young Adult Novel (sequel to Glass Girl)) by Laura Anderson Kurk Page B

this.”
    John dismissed this idea with a wave of his hand. “Get that out of your head now, Henry. I’m not firing you and sending you home. We need you here.”
    I raised my hand to object, but he ignored me. “You know, with all of this trouble, there’s still something far worse, in my mind.”
    “Do I even want to know?”
    “Raf is angry. Unreachable. He’s refusing to come out of his room.”
    John, who’d been leaning against the edge of the bunk, eased down to sit on Whit’s empty bed. His voice grew hollow. “He doesn’t know what to think or who to blame, so he’s blaming you. He’s only fifteen, even if he acts like he’s twenty-five. We’d made a lot of progress with him, with his stinking attitude and anger issues, but I think we’ve lost any gains we’d made.”
    “Permission to speak freely?” I poked the beehive that was John’s patience. “Do not get mad. Just listen.” I waited for John to nod his head. “Find him another home. He doesn’t belong here around these kids. It’s like tracking mud all over white carpet. You don’t have time to watch him and do everything else you have to do.”
    John was quiet for a long time. I figured he was thinking about my suggestion. In hindsight, I know he was counting to ten to keep himself from bouncing my head off the wall.
    “I don’t like to talk about the backgrounds of these kids I love. Once they’re here, it doesn’t much matter to me what happened in the past.” He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. John was frustrated with me. “Kate and I made the decision not to tell you everything about their pasts because we wanted you to learn to love them for who they are now. Maybe we made a mistake. I should have been more open about Raf’s situation with you.”
    I shifted on the bunk, already dying to know more about this kid with gang tattoos who read fancy books and spoke nearly perfect English. “Can you tell me now?”
    John stared at me, the lines around his eyes growing deeper. “Raf…Rafael Garcia. His story should be a movie.” John locked his hands behind his head and stretched. “Raf had a mom who loved him. Smart, smart woman. She had a Ph.D. in Sociology and taught at Central American University in Managua.”
    “You’re kidding,” I said.
    John shook his head. “Raf got her brains. He’s a smart cookie. Reads all the time. He flies in the stratosphere in our little school here. You ever wonder why his English is so perfect?”
    I nodded. “He sounds like us.”
    “His mom made sure of it and they traveled to the States a lot when he was little.” John paused here, remembering something that made him smile.
    “If he’s so smart, what was he doing in a gang?” Was I the only one who saw the disconnect there?
    John’s smile changed, telling me I wouldn’t believe what came next. “His mom studied the origins of gangs in Nicaragua—like how they came about during the revolution and how the members are one hundred percent Sandinista.”
    He stood up again and paced the room as he talked. “Gangs here are different—they’re violent, yes; they deal drugs, yes; but they’re respected by the neighborhoods because they keep a semblance of order. Their members are from rich families and poor families. They mix it all up—one for all, all for one.”
    “Such musketeers,” I said, throwing a Nerf ball of Whit’s at the wall.
    “Anyway, his mom’s focus in the last ten years of her life was
Los Comemuertos
. She moved to Reparto Schick, the toughest neighborhood in Managua, to be close to her subjects.”
    “Dang,” I whispered.
    “Unfortunately, her obsession with this gang meant her son grew up believing he’d get her attention if he joined. By ten he was running drugs for them and doing grunt work. He was initiated by twelve and moving up in rank. His mom either didn’t know or turned a blind eye.”
    John glanced at me to see if I followed.
    I nodded my understanding. “He got her attention