Disclaimer: Exactly. I own Holes. That is exactly the reason for me writing this crappy FANFICTION. Because I wrote the book. Yes, that makes perfect sense…OF COURSE I DON'T OWN IT! I do however own my original characters. And there will be many. Just you wait.
(A/N: The odd number of stories I have posted was bugging the hell out of me. So I've decided to put this one up! Tell me if a character list would be helpful. Also I realize usually people don't really like Holes stories with girls in them but I don't really care so it doesn't matter! Mwahahahaha)
Uncovered Holes
Chapter 1: Poco Combatiente
POV – Caden AKA Fighter
All my life I've been given shitty choices. Foster home or girls' home. Bad soup or table scraps. The latest was different. Actually, it wasn't really a choice at all. It was Camp Green Lake or Camp Green Lake. A juvenile boys work camp. JUVENILE BOYS CAMP. I guess that's what you get when you're the descendant of the greatest female outlaw in the Southwest. I think you know who I'm talking about. You're really daft if you don't. I don't know why they wanted to sent me to an all boys camp in Texas. Can you believe it? Texas, of all places.
The bus was hot and smelly. The driver was old, fat, and unfriendly. The cop with the rifle had the personality of a wet mop and was about as talkative. The first person I met was a stocky old man with a potbelly and a pistol in his belt, a cowboy hat, a scowl, Elvis sideburns, and a bag of sunflower seeds on his poor excuse for a desk. He was sitting in an air-conditioned office, if you could call it that. Really it was only a small cramped room with a desk, swivel chair, filing cabinet, and a hard-backed wooden chair for the new prisoners. Upon entering I read the grimy sign nailed to the front of the building, which read:
'You are entering Camp Green Lake Juvenile Correctional Facility. It is a violation of the Texas Penal Code to bring guns, explosives, weapons, drugs, or alcohol on the premises.'
What a useless sign. A caveman would know that.(a/n: no pun intended) They didn't need a sign to declare it. "You ain't gonna get no fancy treatment at Camp Green Lake, 'cept I can't check your bag on account of what the Warden here calls 'ladylike reasons'. When you speak to me you will call me Mr. Sir, got all that?" We went into a small building next to the 'office'. He threw two large hideous orange jumpsuits and a heavy pair of black boots at me, narrowly missing my head. I squeaked and ducked. "Judge says she don't talk." The cop said, leaving me stranded in the desert in a camp full of boys who had broken the law. "Change." He ordered, and I gave him an incredulous look. "Go on, change." The boy behind the clothes desk looked amused. I crossed my arms over my chest, matched his scowl, and stomped my foot like a four year old child. "Fine, whatever. Change in the tent, then. You'll be surrounded by boys anyway. I hope you brought a swimsuit for the showers." I didn't care. The tent full of boys were not all 50 year old men.
"Caden Barlow, I want you to know that even though you've done some bad things – "I turned around, glaring, expecting to see a tough looking person. Instead I was met with dead air. "D-doesn't m-make y-ou a b-bad p-p-person." He stammered shakily. I looked down about a foot. There he was, the dorkiest looking little man I'd ever seen. I'm about pretty tall to begin with, so naturally I'm used to being taller than quite a few people, but this was ridiculous – he had to be five feet or less. He wore long shorts, (now this is a contradiction) brown knee socks which I presumed were a considerable amount whiter when he bought them, a long sleeved sand coloured safari shirt, and a dirty floppy sun hat. White sun block smothered his nose, his ears stuck out comically, and the entire side of his face was bruised in what I could have sworn was the shape of a shovel. I raised my eyebrow at him. "Well." He squeaked, his voice higher than before if that was physically possible. "You'll be in D-Tent. Follow me." He pointed out buildings scattered around and named them as we went. "And that's the Warden's cabin. Number one rule here is do not upset the Warden. This tent." Inside were eight cots and seven boys scattered around, mostly on the floor. "Mom you told her about the lizards, right?" A tall boy with frizzy blond hair asked as soon as they set foot inside the tent. "Now Ricky, lets not scare her on her first day. She'll find out about the lizards soon enough." I looked around. There were two African-American boys, one skinny with coke bottle glasses and the other considerably round, a Hispanic boy, a twitchy little boy who looked no older than thirteen, an average sized boy wearing a torn white baseball cap, and another younger looking boy in the corner cot with his back turned.
"Caden –" He squeaked, trying to sound cheerful while eying her suspiciously. "This is Theodore, Alan, Zero, Brian, Rex, Jose, and Ricky." He pointed them all out one by one. "Naw man, that's Armpit, Squid, Zero, Twitch, Magnet, Zigzag, and I'm X-Ray. Get it right mom." The skinny boy with glasses corrected matter-of-factly. He seemed to be the leader. "Whatever makes you feel more comfortable, Rex. Behave, Caden. Boys, don't bug her." The sadly short and dorky counselor left the tent. He had said his name, but I didn't really care. What're you here for?" I didn't say anything. "Man, she's just a female version of Zero. Don't even bother. Girl, your cot's over there." The round boy, Armpit he was called, pointed to the mattress at the back of the tent, closest to Zero. "'Cept Zero don't wear stilettos or miniskirts or baby doll t-shirts though." The one called Magnet sensibly pointed out in his Spanish accent. "Or make-up. Hey Zero, is there something you're not telling us?" Zigzag snickered. I wanted to punch him. I was about level with him, or close enough to look straight into his eyes. He happened to be standing straight in front of me, but I hadn't been paying attention 'till he spoke, so when he spoke I snapped out of it and squeaked at his closeness and backed up a bit, walking into Squid. Sidestepping both of them held my plaid Dickies messenger bag in front of me and went over to the cot. It stunk like sour milk, among other things. "I heard she's a foster. Hasn't spoken a word since she went in when was six." X-Ray shared with the entire tent. "Seven." I muttered, stuffing various coloured clothing into a crate next to the supposed 'bed'. I don't like it when people get facts wrong. "See! She does too talk, just like I thought!" Zigzag shouted indignantly, bouncing on his heels.
Everyone stared, looking back I'm not sure if they were staring because I had just spoken or because Zigzag was right for once. "So… where do you come from?" Twitch broke the silence with his unanswerable question. "Nowhere." Truthfully I had no idea where the heck I came from. Why I decided to start talking here and now I don't know, maybe it's because I don't feel threatened here, like everyone is my equal. I'm changing now, even though they were still all there. I don't really care. "C'mon, everyone's from somewhere." Magnet prodded. "My mother, OK? I don't know where I come from. I don't come from anywhere. Is that good enough for you?" I bursted. Stupid boys ask too many damn questions. This is why I quit talking in the first place. Everyone was always asking stupid useless questions and then prodding until I answered them. So I just stopped answering altogether. They were all watching me, eyes glued to me. I realize they probably haven't seen a girl in ages, much less an half-naked one. I was still wearing my black Nena 'Leck Mich' baby tee, but I guess just legs and a bit of stomach were enough. "Y'all quit staring." I demanded, pulling the hideous jumpsuit on and tying the sleeves around my hips. I'm somewhat repulsed from the following wolf-whistles. "Sod off. Stupid idiots have no respect for women." I brush my side swept hot pink bangs out of my eyes. I turn around, rifling through my bag. Finally I find what I'm looking for, a small razor blade. You can never be too careful. I'm at a boys detention camp, for gods sake, and if they were stupid enough to not check my bag then I was gonna carry something to protect myself with. "Damn, Chica you got long hair." I flinch away from him. Not particularly fond of being touched by complete strangers. "I said bugger off, you." I snap, eying him warily. You can never be too sure of one's intentions.
"Well what'd you do to get in here, Fighter?" X-Ray asked. Funny, I hadn't remembered anyone called Fighter. "Who the hell is Fighter?" I ask from my perch on the mattress, sitting up on my heels, answering his question with my own. "Fighter is you, shorty." Zigzag answers, patting the top of my head. I'm pulling my long hair over my shoulder now to braid it. It ends up in a single loose plait. "What did YOU do, X-Ray?" She loved playing this game with people, answer all the questions with the same question to the other person. "Stole." He mumbled. It was probably something stupid, too. "Lemme see, I'm in here for… arson, fighting, underage drinking, fake i.d., graffiti, excessive violence, eluding the police, injuring an officer, running away from a girls' home, theft… and a few other things, it's hard to remember all of them sometimes. I have my flaws. I'll be here long after you boys leave. Good old great grandma Kate… just following in her turquoise-studded boot steps."
"Holy Mary, mother of God, she's more loco than Ziggy! No offense, 'Zag. Eso es caliente, yo tiene gusto de ella." (I'm not Spanish so I don't know if that would work in the sentence…)Magnet almost yelled, getting excited. "Calm down, you insane little Chihuahua. It's not that impressive." I retort. "Hey Twitch –" I randomly turn to the kid who had unfortunately been standing next to the cot as I whacked him across the face with my braid. "You ever hotwired a Camaro?" "Uh-uh." "Seriously? Boy, you don't know what you're missing. It is so awesome." I launch my plot to get them off the subject of my arrest. Twitch's short legs are bouncing and his fingers are drumming on his knee. "I stole a Mustang." Twitch half boasted. "Oh god, 'Stangs are a riot! One of my foster brothers had a 'Stang. He let me drive it once. He was one cool guy. But see then I got arrested for… well you don't really need to know what happened. Shame, though. I really liked Hawaii." "No shit, you lived in Hawaii? I think I love you! I'm only from Arkansas. Lucky." Zigzag was enthused. "Yeah, and about every other state, not to mention Canada, London… But I think Puerto Rico was my favourite. New Zealand was beautiful." "Chica, you can come to Puerto Rico with me any time." I wasn't sure if he was just trying to get me into – er, his cot – or if he was genuinely serious. I arched my left eyebrow at him.
"Let's go to the wreck room, who's in?" Armpit asked after intently watching me and Magnet bicker back and forth over the underlying intentions of his statement for about 10 minutes along with the rest of the tent. Our argument went something like this:
"That was totally a line to get in my pants – erm – hideous orange jumpsuit!"
"Was not! I was serious! Amo Puerto Rico!"
"Was too!"
"Was not!"
"Was too!"
"Was – what, Armpit?"
"I asked if y'all wanted to go to the Wreck Room with us, but y'all were too busy fighting over if Magnet was trying to get into C – Fighter's pants or not, which he wasn't." Armpit huffed, out of breath. "Sorry." Magnet and I spoke at the same time. "That's better. Y'all comin' or not? I ain't gonna wait no three hours for y'all to sit around to argue about it, neither."
The next week wore on for what seemed like years, and by Saturday my blisters became callouses, I had been harassed multiple times pertaining to my gender, and had exploded at Magnet about every single word he said. I refused to eat the food for the first three days, couldn't sleep on the wretched cot for three, and learned another girl would be joining us on Wednesday.
