A\N: This first chapter is in Curly's point of view. The next will be in Tim's and it will alternate for however long I want it to.

"SHEPARD!"

I frown at the shout of my name. My stomach falls. From an addictive habit, I nearly said "What the fuck do you want," but caught myself. Instead of that comment, I said nothing. Just stood there, looking deaf and dumb in the eyes of the other kids who were forced in the reformatory as well as me.

"Are you DEAF?" Screamed the drill sergeant, warden, guard, devil, whatever the hell he was. Truth was, I didn't care. He could be the president of the United States, and I wouldn't care. I just wanted to punch him. "Get the hell over here, you hearing-impaired little fuck!"

That frown\scowl still plastered onto my face, I stumble over to my cot and stand next to the guy yelling my name. He's big, bigger than me. Bigger than Tim. I don't make eye contact with him, because if I do, it's only going to make me want to punch him more. He's wearing a blue, ostentatious outfit like all the other people wear in here. He has no hair. Muscles bulge from underneath his one-size-too-small shirt.

I still don't say anything. I don't dare say anything. Because if I say something, it will be wrong, just like always. That's how it's been here, that's how it's been in school, that's how it's been back home with Tim. Everything I say, it's wrong.

The man yells, "Hey, smart guy, look at me!"

I look at him. He has black eyes.

He shoves a hand-sized cardboard box in my face. It's blue and says "Kool" on the front. I look away from it, biting my tongue a little. Great hiding place, Curly. Under your pillow.

"Dumbass" isn't the right word, but it's the first word that comes to mind.

"What is this?" The guy's voice is surprisingly calm, so I look up at him. His eyes are still angry. I don't answer. "WHAT IS IT?" The veins on his neck pop out and I can smell the cabbage on his breath. That's what we eat in the reformatory school. Cabbage and salt pork with big chunks of fat in it. And water. Sometimes coffee.

I shrug. "I don't know." I'm looking down at the floor again. The cold, stone floor. There are a few tiny brown balls on the ground. I stare at them. Rat shit, is what it is.

"You don't know, huh?" Cabbage. "Well how did they get here, Shepard?"

I pout. "My name isn't Shepard," I say under my breath. The guy looks down at me. I hate being looked down on. My fists clench.

He hits me across the face, hard. It makes a huge slapping noise that echoes through the concrete room. It stings immediately, and I hear the other kids gasp. I clench my teeth and shut my eyes tight, preventing myself from making any kind of noise to show the other kids I'm weak.

"If you ever show your Achilles' heel in front of people, they will target you immediately. Keep quiet if you're hurt. Don't respond if someone insults you. And don't hesitate. Never, ever hesitate if someone hits you. Hit them back immediately."

"Sure, Tim. Uh…what's an Achilles' heel?"

"Just go to bed, Curly."

I keep my fists clenched in my pockets. I want to hit him back. I want to hit him back so bad, I can't stand it. I'm so angry, my hands are trembling. The spot where he hits me goes from stinging to burning in an instant. I look up at him with flaming eyes.

"Fuck you, your name isn't Shepard. I don't care. Where the hell did you get these?" He gives me time to answer, and then the veins on his neck swell again and his Adam's apple sticks out like an elbow and he shouts, "ANSWER ME!"

I say the first thing that comes to mind. "Somebody must have put them there. I don't even smoke." I lie through clenched teeth. My hands are still trembling, and I can nearly feel the spot where he hit me turning red. My breathing becomes deep. I breathe through my nose.

"Anger management issues" isn't the right term, but it's the first term that comes to mind.

"You have to quit acting on impulse. It gets not only you, but the whole gang in trouble. And you don't want that to happen, do you? Take deep breaths. Count backwards from ten. Do whatever it takes. Just don't dump your drink on the store clerk just because he gave you the wrong amount of change."

"With that quarter, I could have bought a pack of gum or something."

"You never chew gum, Curly."

"I know, but you get what I mean, right?"

The bald man's eyes become less angry. At seeing this, my fists loosen. Just a little. "Well who sleeps in the bunk below you?" He asks, looking suspiciously at the patient boys lined up in a row behind us.

I shrug, then think about it. I remember the blonde-headed kid that called Tim a good-for-nothing hood. Called Angela a drunk whore. Called me a follower and tagalong. My fists clench again, just thinking about him. Probably a Soc. I smirk, because the man won't see me do it. "I don't know his name, but he has yellow hair and buck teeth."

The big man screams, "MCDANIELS!" and walks away from me. I don't even turn back. I'm still smirking.

"Genius" isn't the right word, but it surely is the first that comes to mind.