The Brave by Robert Lipsyte

shipment with somebody else.”
    Brooks’ voice was bitter. “He must of laughed his skinny little butt off at me. And atyou. Didn’t you learn not to trust anybody on The Deuce?”
    The door opened. “Gotta go, Sarge.”
    Sonny said, “Can’t trust you either.”
    Brooks squeezed the bridge of his nose. “You don’t have much choice right now.” He walked out. “It’s a done deal.”
    The guard beckoned Sonny. “Let’s go, chief.”
    Sunlight slapped his face, closed his eyes. He stumbled, blinking, into the dusty yard. Hundreds of young men milled, smoking, playing volleyball and basketball, lifting weights, soaking up rays.
    Someone shouted, “Sonny Bear!”
    They began to clap, a rhythmic pounding that slowly built into rolls of thunder as the games stopped, and they all turned to him and began chanting, “Son-nee, Son-nee, Son-nee…”
    The loudspeaker crackled, “There will be no demonstrations, repeat, there will be no demonstrations….”
    The chanting and clapping subsided gradually. There were boos.
    â€œNobody liked Deeks,” said the guard whohad brought him out. “You’re a hero. God help you.”
    At dinner he was passed up to the head of the chow line. The food servers behind the steam table winked and dumped extra portions on his tray. His table was crowded.
    â€œDeeks is history, man.”
    â€œSome liberties lawyer call from the city, heard what happen, say they sue for your rights, man, if they don’t let you out.”
    Was that the cover story, or had Brooks arranged that to happen?
    â€œWhat you hit him with, Sonny?”
    â€œYou gonna turn pro, Sonny?”
    â€œLet the man eat, fool.”
    â€œTomorrow, Sonny, when you see the shrink, tell her you got claus-tro-pho-bi-a, got to get a outside job.”
    â€œThat dumb. He want the kitchen.”
    â€œSo he be fat, like you?”
    â€œFool, he can’t get no job till he be sentenced.”
    He let the conversation wash over him. The kids who clustered around him were the smaller, younger ones, looking for a protector, too weak to worry about appearing weak. Therabbits and the small deer of the forest.
    â€œSo what kind of Indian you be?”
    â€œMoscondaga.”
    â€œThat is cool.”
    There were others, who watched from a distance, measuring him. The wolves and the mountain lions.
    â€œThey gon’ make you choose, Sonny. X-Men or Latin Knights. What you gon’ do?”
    Just before lights-out, he was assigned a top bunk in a barracks room with twenty bunk beds on each side. After the silence of solitary, the breathing of eighty bodies was a hurricane of whistles and snores and sobs. A guard and an inmate clomped through the barracks shining a flashlight into each bunk, checking off a list on a clipboard. Bed check.
    He waited until the hurricane settled into a steady moan in the dark before he slipped down from the bunk and padded across the wooden floor to the latrine. He blinked in the bright light. It was empty. He went to the farthest toilet before he pulled the piece of Styrofoam tray from under his shirt. Doll stared back at him.
    She was going to like this. With the sharpened point of his plastic drawstring tip dipped in blood from his earlobe, he would draw a beautiful red dress to cover her nakedness. It would be her birthday card.
    He heard shuffling feet, heavy breathing.
    There were five of them, huge and blue-black against the bright, white tiles. They stood in formation, four of them shoulder to shoulder, feet spread, wrists crossed, a tattooed X on the back of each right hand.
    The fifth, the leader, stood in front of them.
    â€œWelcome to Whitmore, Brother Sonny.” He extended his hand. It was limp. “I am X-One. We respect a man of color who stands up for what’s right.” His voice had a flat, robot quality. “X-Men are freedom fighters. You may join