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    The Program
    The Program
    The Program
    Ebook109 pages1 hour

    The Program

    By Carol Thomas

    ()

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    About this ebook

    Diane never imagined her life would take such a dramatic turn when she was hired to work with gang kids between the ages of 12 and 17. All she wanted to do was get the experience of working with kids so the University would accept her application to the College of Education. But, she got a different kind of education; one she would not soon forget After she learns the adults in The Program are not what they appear to be, Diane finds herself surrounded by violence and betrayal, and in the company of some unexpected heroes.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherAuthorHouse
    Release dateMay 31, 2011
    ISBN9781456758622
    The Program
    Author

    Carol Thomas

    Carol Thomas lives in rural Canterbury and has published two previous historical novels, - Consequences, was published by HarperCollins (NZ) in 2001 and Cost of Courage, in 2003. She has previously had a novel, Dark Talisman, published in the UK by Robert Hale.

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      Book preview

      The Program - Carol Thomas

      Chapter 1

      The company I was going to work for was set in one of the worst parts of town. A part of town I had always avoided. It was primarily a Black neighborhood that was always on the news as a high crime area. The business itself was predominantly Black and Mexican, and though I had never felt out of place in any cultural setting, I did feel a little like the odd man out being a white woman.

      I had worked in retail for the last eleven years, but had decided to go back to college and finish my degree in education. The University denied my application saying I didn’t have any experience working with kids. So I left a $13 an hour job, money I desperately need to pay for school, and landed a job at a place called The Program for $5.25 an hour.

      I had received, and read, a brochure about The Program. It was designed to provide court adjudicated kids, between the ages of 12 and 17, an education and individual and group counseling. My responsibilities would include attending court hearings, meeting with probation officers, and taking students for drug testing, all of which were conditions of their probation, as well as assist the teacher in monitoring behavior and helping students with assigned work.

      I pulled into the parking lot, trying to miss the pot holes, and went inside. The building was an old house they had transformed into a make-shift school, the paint faded, with a vegetable garden on the side. A secretary sat just inside the door behind an old metal desk.

      Hi. Can I help you? She smiled politely.

      Working at the same place for fourteen years had left me a little rusty on interviewing, and meeting new people made me anxious, but I’d somehow managed to get the job anyway.

      Hi. I’m here to see Richard, I said softly.

      He hasn’t come in yet. Is there something I can do for you?

      Well, today is my first day… My sentence dropped off cold as the door behind me flew open and a woman came roaring through, pulling a Hispanic, teenage boy, by his shirt. She flung him into a chair sitting against the wall. The chair rocked backwards and hit the wall. The boy grabbed the chairs next to him to keep from falling to the floor.

      You can just sit right here and wait until Richard gets here, she barked.

      She was a middle aged Hispanic woman, dressed in Wranglers, boots, and western shirt. Her black hair was frosted with gold highlights and hung almost to her shoulders. The buckle of her western belt was hidden by her pot belly.

      You know you don’t come here and disrespect us by wearin’ colors! She turned around and flipped her hair with her hand, seemingly pleased with herself.

      The boy didn’t say a word. He sat in the chair, hunched over, and played with his shoelaces. His face grimaced with anger. I guessed he was about sixteen years old. His head was shaved, and he was wearing a royal blue shirt and blue sweat pants. The elastic around the bottom had been cut so the pants would hang down over his shoes.

      Without missing a beat, the woman looked at me and said, Can I help you?

      Yeah, well, I stammered, shocked over how she had treated this boy. I’m waiting to see Richard. I’m the new employee here.

      Oh, yeah. He told me you were coming, but he’s running late this morning. Come on in. I’ll show you around. She turned and walked through a set of double doors. The sign on the doors read Authorized Personnel Only Beyond This Point.

      Just inside the doors and to the left was a small room with windows on two sides. One window faced the hallway, across from the bathrooms, the other faced into a room on the left. A poster on the door had a large hand-made drawing of a skull and crossbones with the words The Dungeon across the top.

      We call this room the dungeon, as you can see. We use it for time-outs when the kids are doing something they shouldn’t be doing, and then she turned into another room on the left.

      This is the computer lab, she said. It was a fairly large open room with computers lining the walls. More computers sat in rows across the center of the room. There were a few students sitting at the computers, who all stared at me as we walked.

      This is Janie. She’s the teacher here. Janie was busy talking on the phone and gave me a polite wave.

      Over here is the classroom. She walked back out the door, across the hallway, and into another room. It was filled with about 50 desks, all of which looked like they had been salvaged from a city dump. The paint was chipping off the walls and there was one blackboard at the front of the room.

      Back here is the kitchen and the lunch room. We make their lunch every day, she continued.

      The kitchen was no more than three by five feet. There was a double sink against the back wall with cupboards above and below it. The two side walls held the coffee maker and microwave, both on stands. There was only enough room for one person to stand inside. The lunch room sat just behind the kitchen. There were four wooden tables and stacks of chairs against the walls.

      To my surprise, although the entire building looked like a wreck, it was meticulously clean.

      This is Richard’s office in here. She pointed to a door off the main classroom. And you don’t ever go in there without permission. She glared at me as if she was trying to assess whether or not I understood. I simply nodded.

      We walked back to the computer lab. Almost every computer was being used now. By the way, my name is Margie. And you are? her question faded off as if I was to fill in the blank.

      My name is Diane Martin, I said shyly.

      She introduced me to the class, to which no one really paid attention, and went on to tell me that the kids come in at 8:00. We would be in here for the first hour. Janie was busy helping kids find their files in the computer.

      I wandered around looking at the posters on the walls and the students.

      All the posters appeared to have been made by the students. They were rudimentary and pointed. One read, No sagging, with a picture of a boy whose pants were so far from his waist they looked like they were going to fall off. Another read, No tagging, with a drawing of several different gang and tagger insignias. And finally, No signs, with a picture of several hands; the fingers twisted, and shaped in different ways to form letters.

      The students seemed disinterested in their work, but did it just the same and the hour went pretty slow. Margie continued to talk about The Program and how great Richard was. It didn’t take long to realize the students disliked Margie. The mumblings under their breath were crude and cutting, at least what I could understand. They had a language all their own – one I didn’t yet understand. Margie was rough and abrasive. I learned very quickly that she had no respect for these kids, and these kids had no respect for her.

      We switched to the classroom at 9:00. I stood in the hallway, against the wall, and watched the students move across the hall. One student asked if he could use the bathroom and stepped out of line. He stood about 5’11. Towering over my thin 5’4 frame, he stopped directly in front of me, looking me up and down. Most of the other students, and all of the staff, were in the classroom. He jutted out his chest and flailed his arms to the side, his face about two inches from mine. Startled, I jerked my head back and slammed my skull into the wall. He and the few students still left in the hallway, laughed and walked away. I grabbed the back of my head and felt a knot immediately begin to rise. I quickly stepped into the classroom so as not to have to face him again on his way back.

      My head began to throb, but I thought it best not to say anything. Each student had a manila folder with math assignments in it. Janie instructed the class to take out a particular sheet, explained how to do the problems, and left them to work on their own.

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