Brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrummm!

I didn't just hear that. It's all in my imagination. Just go back to sleep, Jeryl, it's just a-

BAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRUMMMM!

dream.

Damnit. Why don't wishes EVER come true? I had been awake for hours, just resting in my cot, letting my dead sore muscles relax, praying for that sound not to come. But, no, it still came. There was the morning trumpet. My own personal nightmare alarm clock, set to ring at 4:00 A.M. What more could a guy possibly ask for?

I ran my fingers through my red hair and did my best to get out of bed without damaging my back. When you've been digging five-foot holes as long as I have, you get all kinds of pain, but learn to avoid it. My legs felt like lead, I couldn't get my eyelids off of my eyes, my shoulders were sore and sagging, and my back was still trying to keep me standing. But my back failed, and I ended up falling forward into my cot again. On the whole, I felt as good as anyone could in this damned desert.

I closed my eyes and suddenly felt a gentle hand on my shoulder. "Jeryl, man, wake up," a tough but quiet voice said.

I groaned even louder. "C'mon, Tramp, go away," I said, my dull voice muffled by my pillow. I really wanted to do what he said, but I couldn't. Without my head burried in my pillow, I'd be able to hear the trumpet again. Even though the entire place is torture, I'm afraid of that trumpet more than I'm afraid of the yellow spotted lizards. That sound just keeps reminding me of where I am; it interrupts my dreams of my old life.

So I just groaned while my friend began to shake me. "Jeryl, come on, dude, we've got to go dig, they're all waking up," said Tramp, his voice more urging and tough. I knew Tramp well enough to see past his masks, but I also knew I had to get out of bed. I listened closely for the trumpet, but all I heard was silence. With effort, I pulled myself out of my cot, and let gravity pull my feet to the floor.

I couldn't see too well, I never can when I first wake up. I felt a bit dizzy as usual, and could just barely see Tramp's face in front of me. I must have been swaying or something, 'cause he grabbed my shoulders and shook me awake. I blinked. Much better, even if it was still dark as space. I tell you, there are times when I just want to kill my my mom, or at least my great grandpa for putting so much pressure on her. If he hadn't, I wouldn't be waking up this early.

Tramp was walking over to the compartments and grabbing our jumpsuits. As he tossed me mine, I took a glance around the cabin. Jolt was already up and groggy, Tentacle was helping Sweatsock out of his bed, and Blubber was punching Earplug on the back: his own agressive way of trying to wake the semi-deaf guy up.

I began to pull on my jumpsuit as Tramp walked back from the compartments, staring at me.

I glanced up at him through my red mop of hair. "What?" I snapped. I know I shouldn't have, Tramp can be a dangerous guy. Thankfully, he and I are close, and he knows I'm not a morning person.

Tramp just gave me one of his one-sided smirks. "Jeryl, you're putting the suit on backwards,"

I glanced down (which just about killed my neck) and realized that he was right. Ugh, great, more work for me. But I had to smile back at him. "Man, how could I survive without you checking up on me like my grandma?" I joked.

Tramp gave me that one cornered smile, as if to say "You couldn't". He was the one guy in this camp who could make me smile, and vice versa.

The "camp" I'm talking about is a juvenile detention center, aka: Hell, aka: Camp Green Lake. Now, I'm no criminal, but I'm here anyway. When you've got a mom whose greed is as burning as the earth's core, you end up inside her plot. Yeah, I know, my mom sounds like one satan's wife, but after all she's been through, you couldn't really expect her to grow up into June Cleaver.

I guess the state thinks Camp Green Lake is a good idea, I mean, how could any delinquent withstand eighteen months of digging five foot holes in the hot desert sun all day and go back home unchanged? Yeah, that's what they thought, I'm sure. Well, someone just needs to knock their heads together, because these kids don't soften up and become afraid. They harden and can take on anything else you throw at them. When they've been through here, there's nothing you can do to them anymore that they can't handle. That's how bad this torcher desert really is.

Jolt saw us grinning and stormed over to Tramp. "You two are the saddest pair of idiots I ever knew. Ya gotta be pretty damned stupid to find a way to smile at four AM in this dump," he said in a cold tone.

I felt myself shrink back, but just a little. Jolt's big and tough looking enough to make you do that on instinct. I knew he was just being his usual angry self. Jolt only smiles when we're making fun of the councilors or some other kid. He hates this camp so much that he doesn't even like to see others having a bit of fun. That's probably why he comes down so hard on me and Tramp. We're best friends, and real close. Not something you come around too often at Green Lake.

The smiling corner of Tramp's mouth had gone down, and he was now giving Jolt one of his famous stares. His face held absolutely no emotion, yet you could feel his empty eyes blaring through you. "Actually, I'd say we were the lucky ones," he replied flatly. "At least we can still enjoy ourselves a bit, unlike some guys who are too damn thick to let a joke get by."

Jolt's electric blue eyes seemed to spark with fury. That's pretty much how he got his nickname. He took two steps closer to Tramp, who held his ground. I don't know why I always get scared by this. It's almost part of the morning routine. But Jolt looked madder than usual...Tramp must have hit a nerve.

"You," Jolt said, in a kind of deadly whisper. "are a worthless piece of street trash, and if you're gonna insult me, ya better have some good defenses up your sleeves."

Tramp kept up that stare, but I stopped dead. No one deserves that. No one's worthless, no matter where you come from.

To my relief, Tentacle suddenly stepped in between the two, his patented smile on his face. "Calm it, Jolt," he said smoothly. "We're already late. You two starting a fight aint gonna help anythin'. " Then he turned to me, and laughed. "Ya know, Tyrant," he said, smiling big. "your freckles sure do flare out whenever your scared or mad."

Everyone but Jolt laughed, and I was pretty sure the freckles on my cheeks were flaring again. They tend to do that when I'm embarrassed, too.

Tyrant, that's what they call me, it's my nickname. Not because I'm the leader, or bossy or anything, but because of my hair. The guys all know my mom, or the Warden, as a tyrant, and they couldn't help but notice that she and I have the exact same shade of red hair. It's almost scary how identical the colors are. None of them suspect anything; the hair and freckles are the only things I inherited from my mom. Because they used to call her Tyrant, they call me Tyrant now. Only Tramp ever calls me by my real name; Jeryl.

I guess I should introduce you to C-Tent. Starting with Jolt. His real name's Nick, but we call him Jolt because of his eyes and lightning blonde hair. He's big and muscular, and real intimidating. He comes from a wealthy family, but I don't think Jolt ever realized what he really had. I doubt he knows how hard street kids have it. I doubt he knows how hard my family has always had it.

Tentacle's real name is Terrence. He's a real good looking and persuasive guy, with smooth light brown hair and dark eyes. He's an average height guy, just a bit taller than me. His name's Tentacle because of his fingers; real long flexible. He can roll a poker chip between his them. That's what he got arested for; illegal gambling and shoplifting. I heard a rumor that he almost talked himself out of his jail sentence to the judge. I wouldn't be surprised if it was true.

Blubber is our newer member in C-Tent. His name's only blubber because of the tatoo of a whale on his shoulder. He's a tall, lean kid, almost as tall as Jolt and Earplug. Blubber's not exactly my favorite guy in the camp; he's always acting tough, but doesn't have a single grey cell in his head. As far as I know, he was arrested for beating up some fifth grader. Just like him to take on a guy probably half his size.

Sweatsock's a lazy complainer, small with skin sunburned to hell and orangish-blonde hair. Sweatsock's his name because after the first day he went out to dig, his socks were dripping wet. He was part of a gang of pool hustlers before he got arrested for it. It's easy to see why; the kid looks at least three years younger than he is, I'm sure people thought he was no threat. Sweatsock is like the baby of our C-Tent family. But, judging from the fact that my mom put him in C-Tent under her spy, me, I wouln't be surprised if she suspected him of tricking the other campers into letting him get off easy.

It seems like every tent has their own psycopath. Earplug's ours. He's just a bit shorter than Jolt, with a kind of fatter build. He's semi-deaf, so he can't always hear you correctly. He could be talking randomly about birds and butterflies one minute and kicking your ass for spilling milk the next. Once he tore up another guy's cot for putting a hat on his bed. I had almost laughed at Blubber's stupidity for trying to wake Earplug up by slugging him. Luck's the only thing thats keeping Blubber standing right now; Earplug could have taken him at a moment's notice.

Tramp's last, but anything but least. He's my best friend, and probably the only other guy with morals in this camp. Tamp's a few inches taller than me, with a lean, panther-like build, pale skin, and shaggy, shoulder-length black hair that's shorter at the sides of his face, sometimes falling over his eyes in wisps. His eyes are narrow, glinting with a solid black color and ringed with dark lashes that would make him look kind of handsome if his appearance weren't so messed up and...well...haunting. His nickname's Tramp because when he first came here, he literally looked like one. Kind of the combination between a gangster and a street bum; the silver dragon earring in his left ear makes him look a bit more like a hood. I'm pretty sure he was living on the streets before he came; but he won't tell me anything about his past, and I know better than to ask about it. I'm not sure if he has a real name. He wouldn't tell it to Wasp, and I read his file; all it had in their was his last name; Johnson. Too common to trace.

I can be completely honest in saying that when Tramp first came to Green Lake, I was dead scared of him. He was just so damn quiet, and whenever he looked at you, his eyes were just blank. Empty. That emotionless stare had always scared me to hell, and whenever I had tried to talk to him, it was what I got. He didn't seem to like anyone, or care about anything. So I did my best to avoid him, to dodge him whenever I could. I never went anywhere near him, until one day...well, I saved his life.

Tramp suddenly tapped my shoulder. "Jeryl," he said, in a soft voice so the others wouldn't hear him usng my name. (It's kind of like a law here at camp; don't ever call a camper by his real name unless he hasn't got a nickname yet, or as an insult)

"Jeryl, come on, we gotta go,"

I blinked. Oh great, I just dropped off again, falling asleep with my eyes open. I can do that, I mean we have to get up at four AM every day. Thank god we don't keep track of Daylight Savings Time, I'd be dead. Slowly, I lifted my feet and dragged myself out of the door, one arm on Tramp's shoulder to steady myself.

Well, there's chapter one. Is it ok so far? The idea of the warden's son being a spy just kind of came to me, and I've been wanting to write it for a while. I don't think it's been done before, and I'm getting real sick of the Green Lake Girl stories. There just seem to be way too many of them! Hehe, I don't meen to pick on anyone, I just think they're done a bit too often.

Well, don't forget to review! Locket out.