Oscar embodied defiance. More than the dirty brown hair shaken over his shoulders, more than the faded jean jacket with the Guns ‘N Roses patch emblazoned across the back, more than the torn black jeans—the spirit of his defiance was greater than the sum of these singular details. He looked like many of the kids who had sat in Carter’s office, but a violence smoldered in him that made the other kids seem like Gandhi in their noncooperation.
Officer Patterson packed the handcuffs back into his belt. “I’ll wait outside.”
“Thanks, Charlie.” Carter regarded Oscar. “I don’t think that’ll be necessary.”
Patterson shrugged. Carter noted the slight shake of his head on the way out and knew he was muttering to himself. Patterson was old school. He saw only the ones who didn’t make it.
Oscar’s glare followed the cop out the door.
Carter faced Oscar, now seated on the chrome-frame chair, the handcuffs gone, his hands poised unseen in his jean pockets. Carter was sure they were packed in fists. When he addressed Oscar, the punk clenched his jaw.
“So, Rock Lake or this place, and you chose the lesser of two evils. Why?”
Oscar fixed him with a look of scorn. What do you think, dumbfuck?
Carter continued as though he had answered politely. “If you finish treatment, the judge might suspend your sentence. But you’ve got to finish treatment. We’re under no orders to keep you. It’s up to you whether you stay.”
Oscar snorted. His street clothes clashed with the hospital decor. He belonged to the street—roaming alleys, preying upon car stereos, staking his territory with spray paint—instead of being boxed within the lime-green walls of Carter’s office.
“Another thing,” Carter said. “There are no bars, no locks here. You can walk anytime. If you stay, it’s because you want to.”
Oscar nodded sarcastically in agreement. He wasn’t buying the tough guy, this-is-the-way-it-is approach.
“If you decide to stay, we’re here to help.”
The gentle tone achieved no better effect. Oscar scoffed at Carter, taking in his slender build, blond curls, and thin nose. Wimp.
Oscar’s eyes paced the room, surveyed its contents. The olive-drab metal file cabinet, a pedestal for the yellowed Mr. Coffee; the particleboard desk with the faux mahogany veneer; the ficus in the corner; the hanging ferns; the orange, closely cropped carpet—“a shag with a crew cut,” Carter joked. Oscar’s eyes did not break stride. The North Stars pennant, the Far Side 1991 calendar (still on February; Carter had not yet flipped it to March), the cluttered desk.
“When I was seventeen, I sat in your chair and wanted out,” Carter said. “You know what made me stay?”
Oscar gazed out the window. The university campus lay across the river, a shadow through the falling snow.
“I thought if I stayed long enough, they would teach me how to smoke pot without getting caught.”
Oscar stared at the snowflakes swallowed by the icy black water six floors below.
“Instead, they taught me I didn’t have to be a slave to drugs,” Carter continued. “I’ve been sober since. Seven years.”
Oscar turned to him. Is this bullshit over yet?
Self-disclosure wasn’t going to work, Carter realized. They were too different. On the surface at least. He sensed they were the same deep down. He could sniff the addict in this kid.
The two sat for a moment locked in a silent showdown, Oscar smoldering, Carter pensive. He searched for a hidden door through Oscar’s defiance.
“You hungry?”
He didn’t flinch.
Carter buzzed the nurses’ station. “Judy, I need a favor. Would you please bring me a sandwich, uh, roast beef and Swiss—” Carter raised his eyebrows at Oscar, who shrugged his shoulders almost imperceptibly. “And a pop.”
“Carter, is this your idea of a joke?”
“For the new admit.”
“Mustard or mayonnaise?”
Carter looked to Oscar.
“Mustard,” he muttered.
“And an extra slice of cheese,” Carter added.
“Coming right up.”
Carter wasn’t fooled. He knew Judy was still pissed that Sister Mary Xavier had asked Carter specifically to handle Oscar’s admission. Judy had already laid out all of the forms on the countertop waiting for Oscar’s arrival when he told her.
“We don’t ask to do your work,” she had said. “Stay away from ours.”
“Sister X asked me to do it. I didn’t volunteer. Believe me, I’ve got enough work of my own.”
“Is that why you don’t do your charting?”
“I’m behind because I get asked to do extra work.”
“So stick to your own work if you can’t finish it. Patient admissions are a nurse’s responsibility.”
“Come on. How hard can it be? Ask a few questions from a form.”
That had been the wrong thing to say.
“Fine. Do it. Have it your way. But if you don’t get it right, don’t expect me to fix it for you. After all, it’s only a few questions from a form.”
“Judy, what I meant was—”
She shoved the forms at him. “I’ll stay out of your way. Live and let live.”
Thinking of Judy slapping mustard onto a slice of bread and chastising him under her breath, Carter wondered if he would have been better off making Oscar’s sandwich himself. He shuffled through the clutter of papers on his desk without finding what he wanted. Finally, his hand landed on a purple folder. He handed it to Oscar. “Inside you will find the scout rules and campfire songs. Memorize your cabin cheer.”
Oscar didn’t smile, and he didn’t take the offered folder.
Carter knew his jokes wouldn’t earn him a living, but he thought they might loosen up this kid. Instead, Oscar sat before him amused as stone.
“Seriously, read this. It’ll tell you all about Six West: the daily schedule, the level system, consequences, privileges, et cetera.”
Oscar scowled at the folder.
“Don’t think of it as submission to someone else’s rules. Think of it more as a willingness to try someone else’s way that might work better than yours has—or hasn’t.”
The fight came back into his eyes.
“Give it a chance.”
Oscar contemplated the folder, finally snatched it, and placed it under his thigh.
The knock on the door startled them both. Judy smiled past Carter with a plastic tray in her hands: the sandwich on a plate, neatly sliced into quarters, decorated with potato chips and a pickle, accompanied by a glass of Sprite with ice and a straw. As a bonus, she had added a pudding snack. “Room service.”
“Thanks, Judy. Meet Oscar.” Then, to him, “Judy is the head nurse on Six West.”
Judy handed Oscar the tray. “Welcome.”
He balanced the tray across his thighs and stuffed a full quarter of the sandwich into his mouth.
“Whoa. Judy dropped everything to make that for you. I want you to thank her, or I’ll have her take it away.”
“Oh, Carter, don’t be