"Up and at 'em, Fenton!"

Man. I miss the days when I'd get, at most, a good five, ten minutes of sleep after someone woke me up. Usually, it was Mom. Once or twice, it was Dad. He wasn't quite as forgiving as she was. Then there were the times when… I gulp and clutch my pillow. I still can't believe she's gone. It's like there's this…giant wound that hasn't healed. I don't know if it ever will.

I glance out the window of my door. The guard is still there. Better get up. If there's one thing I don't want, it's being manhandled for staying in bed too long.

XxXxXxXxX

8:31 am. I head to the cafeteria for breakfast. Even prisoners need to start the day right. The line is filled with boys around my age. I'd seen guys like this in the movies from time to time, but I never thought I'd end up so close to them. These guys don't mess around. I've learned very quickly of a rule here: you leave them alone, they leave you alone. You don't get that on the outside too often. I guess it's some small consolation that Dash would probably wet himself if he ran into any of the people in here. I tend to overhear things in the cafeteria. That's how I picked up that 'catch you next Tuesday' line I delivered to Spectra. Not sure what it exactly means, but hearing the context of the line, it must've been some insult.

I walk around, holding my tray with food of indeterminate origin. I try not to feel foolish as I pass by these cruel-looking strangers searching for a seat. It's as if I was never convicted. I find a table at the end. I try to take my mind off of the loneliness - the depressing, soul crushing loneliness - by eating my breakfast. Okay, so 'eating' is a pretty broad term, and, looking at this food, not really what I'm up to doing. I wouldn't call this oatmeal. In fact, it looks more like gruel. And here I thought the idea was made up; this gets served in cartoons and Charles Dickens novels. It sticks to the end of my spork like glue. I will definitely not be asking for more.

XxXxXxXxX

After choking down breakfast, I head to my classes. Unbelievable. I'm humiliated, accused, convicted and I still have to go to classes. Talk about a whoopee cushion on the electric chair…ugh. I hope it doesn't come to that.

The subjects are, more or less, the same: math, literature, history. One of the main differences is that I can focus on the material and get some answers right. I mean, it's not like I have a choice to focus on much else. I try not to get too many answers, though. It's the same as out there: you get pegged as a geek, and while a swirly is what awaited the geeks in Casper High, this place holds punishment that's a bit more…lasting.

XxXxXxXxX

The classes last the morning, then I'm off to lunch. Though there's more variety, it's about the same two-star caliber as breakfast. It looks like…stew. Note: looks like. I've had stew, but this… I'd better not dwell too much. If I do, I can say goodbye to what little appetite I have. I guess I should give it a try. I'm going to be eating this for a while. My eyes close as the food slides down my throat…

Hey. This isn't too bad. A little salty, but it's pretty tasty. I really could see myself living on this stuff. Not too long, though, but it's pretty bearable. I look around. Apparently, the other guys here have learned to adapt to it.

I've been pretty lucky, so far. I've managed to avoid trouble here. All I want to do is serve my time until, by some stroke of legal fairness, I'm allowed to get out of here. Man, I could write a book about the things I miss on the outside; the things I took for granted. My friends, my parents, my school…what I wouldn't give to have those things in my life without being separated by a pane of glass.

XxXxXxXxX

This is the weight room. I kind of never thought I'd have to see one of these. I'm what people call 'scrawny', and the ghost-fighting keeps me pretty trim. Still, I guess it wouldn't hurt to bulk up.

There are a lot of other guys in here. Some of them are weightlifting. I glance at the weights. 75 pounds?! No…spinning…way. Now, I don't consider myself weak, but that would take a lot out of me, more than I'd need to get through the day.

Well…there's always the treadmill.

XxXxXxXxX

Tucker and Sam are here. Like my parents, they've been visiting pretty often. I can't get over how much these two mean to me. Ever since my family moved here when I was eight, they've supported me. Even when I got my ghost powers, they were more impressed than freaked out. When ghosts started attacking Amity, I didn't even have to ask them if they would help me. They looked me in the eyes and said 'yes'.

"…Invasion of the Body Snatchers is a classic! Now, if you're talking about the 1993 version…"

"Tucker, focus! Besides, I was thinking along the lines of the Invaders from Mars remake."

"Okay, see, now that sucked…"

I tap on the glass. "Guys…?"

"Sorry," they said together.

In spite of how off the subject the conversation was getting, I have to say that I miss these little arguments we'd have: meat-eating vs. vegetarianism, certain movies vs. others and their remakes… How did I get so lucky to have these two in my life?

Sam leans forward in her seat. "…what if a…" She cups her hand over the mouthpiece. "…you-know-what should attack while you're in here?"

Damn that Spectra! I've been so worried about her, I forgot about the other ghosts. I slam my fist down. I don't care how much it hurts…at least, not for a while. "I never thought of that.

"But I did. Now, you might not like this…" Is she kidding? The way she's saying it is an automatic tip-off.

"I don't."

"Anyway, I thought that maybe Tuck and I could do some…spare-time 'busting."

I stare at her a little. No way did she just say what I thought I just heard. Wait. Maybe there's a way out of this… "But what if you come across someone really tough?"

"Danny, you worry too much." I think I'm worrying just the right amount. "We know what to expect from your enemies." …and that's why I'm worried. "Besides, someone's got to do it." Here, she makes a good point. My parents have lost some of the spice they once had for ghost hunting. They try to put on a brave face for me whenever they visit, but I see right through it.

I let out a deep breath. "Fine." She smiles. Man, I love it when she smiles. "But be careful. I mean it. Tucker, if anything happens to Sam, I'm holding you responsible. Sam…keep an eye on Tucker."

I really should've said 'no', but, well…it's Sam. When she puts her mind to something, it's getting done. I'd have better luck stopping a bull from charging a matador.

And I certainly can't discount Tucker. He knows just how to defuse a tense situation with a well-placed comic aside. I could certainly use some humor in here. Wait! That reminds me!

"Tuck! I can't believe I forgot this. Could you clean out the Thermos when you get to my house? I left it behind the bush next to the gym."

"You got it, Danny." And off he goes. I had wanted to pick it up, but things were already too suspicious. You'd think that Spectra would have freed that lap dog of hers. I'd like to see her try something next time. I'll be ready for her and anything she has to say. Unlike her, I've got friends on the outside.

XxXxXxXxX

Given the whole Spectra ordeal, you'll forgive me if I'm not too receptive to the idea of therapy, but here I am, among other guys. 'Special cases', we're referred to, sitting in a circle. A woman who looks a little older than my mom sits in the circle, holding a clipboard.

"Now, I want you to share how you're feeling." She glances around the room. I've got a very bad feeling about this. "Danny. How are you feeling?"

I rub the back of my neck. "Trapped. Helpless. Alone."

The woman nods her head. "I see." Somehow, I don't think she does. "Danny, I can't help but notice that this is what you said the last time."

I shrug. "I can't help it. Things aren't changing for me very much."

"Interesting." I watch her pretend to write something meaningful. "And how about you, Mitch? How are you feeling?"

A couple seats down is Mitch Patrick. Except for a few years and a couple scars, he doesn't look too different from me. From what I hear, he was found upstate with blood on his hands and soil under his fingernails. I didn't want to push the issue too strongly, but word is he had been fighting with his sister. They never saw her again.

"Well, how does one gauge how one feels when one's basic liberties are denied? I would have to say that I feel downright shitty. Thank you for asking."

"Intriguing." More scribbling from our den mother. "Joe. Can you tell me how you're feeling?"

Joe Vallely. Right across from me. His eyes dart around. He looks incredibly nervous, like he's constantly dodging punches that nobody's thrown.

"Well, I'm just really, really nervous, you know? I-I-I can't tell what going to happen, you know? I'm in here, and I can't stand it. Every day, it's the same thing. The same, damn routine!"

Though his speech pattern reminds me of an over-caffeinated squirrel, I can't help but agree with him there. The murmurs from the rest of the group make it unanimous.

I never did catch why he was locked up, but given how jittery he is, maybe it's for the best. I might end up finding out more than I need to know.

"Fascinating." Is this woman even listening to us? Still, any attempt at analyzing me that doesn't include mind games or put-downs is good with me. "And what about you?"

This continues for quite some time. It's a good thing that it's only once a week. A guy can only take so much boredom.

XxXxXxXxX

I can't wait to go to bed. By the end of the day, a lot of guys are too wiped to want to do much else. I had to do homework for my classes…Homework in juvenile hall? Twist the knife, why don't you?

I just want to sleep and dream about not having to repeat this grind for the rest of my young life.