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Eight years later, Fort Stockton Middle School

At the back of the classroom Scott held a book open on his desk. The student seated at the head of his row was reading aloud. This was supposed to be Advanced English with Mr. Hunt. The substitute teacher filling in for him apparently thought that reading aloud was a skill of great importance. Having English right after lunch was bad enough, but this was bordering on cruel and inhuman.

The revolt started when the student right in front of Scott began reading. There were coughs and other noises as Eddie Mendoza read aloud in a thick, nearly incomprehensible 'Mexican' accent. The substitute teacher sat up in his seat and rapped his knuckles on the desk. There would be no harassment or racial discrimination in any classroom of his!

Somebody snickered, but Eddie kept reading. It was an impressive performance especially for a student who normally spoke with just a hint of West Texas twang. The Mendozas, as Eddie was fond of pointing out, were in Texas a hundred years before most of the gringos of Pecos County had even been born.

Then it was Scott's turn. He went for an absolute dead, almost robotic monotone:

"During this time that Jurgis was looking for work occurred the death of little Kristoforas, one of the children of Teta Elzbieta. Both Kristoforas and his brother, Juozapas, were cripples..."

It was an exaggerated version of the voice that he might have used in the past. At the start of the year his English teacher had a little heart-to-heart with him. Mr. Hunt explained that twenty percent of his final grade depended on class participation. It didn't matter if he read every assigned book months in advance, or aced his tests and wrote perfect reports. The best he could hope for was a 'B' if he didn't start participating in class discussions. Scott's grades were extremely important to his future plans, so he had worked very hard since the start of the school year to overcome his shyness in class.

The reading rotation shifted to the head of the next row. Bo Mason was the best all around jock in middle school, and was destined to be a star high school athlete. He was also very smart. When he started reading the next passage with an effeminate lisp the class devolved into open laughter.

As they walked to the school office with their note from the substitute, Bo and Eddie switched accents.

"Eeeet was worth it," said Bo.

"Oh you shhily boy," replied Eddie.

They 'low fived' saluting their comedic brilliance as Scott just shook his head in resignation.

Principal Acuff stared over her glasses at the trio of seated troublemakers. "It's not often that I see three of 8th grade's finest in my office all at once." Returning her attention to the note from the substitute teacher she read aloud with a raised eyebrow, "Made a mockery of the reading assignment? Care to explain?"

Scott glanced at Eddie who turned and looked at Bo.

Bo took up the challenge, "Ma'am, the class has been discussing Upton Sinclair's writing and turn of the century America. The substitute had us reading aloud like a bunch of—"

"Okay Mr. Mason, I get the picture," Principal Acuff interrupted. She took off her glasses and rubbed the bridge of her nose. "Why don't the three of you go contemplate appropriate classroom behavior in the library until the bell?"

"Is that all ... hey!" complained Eddie as Bo and Scott each kicked the leg closest to them.

As they walked to the library Bo was telling Eddie, "You should be more like the monk over there. His mouth never gets him trouble. She was cutting us a break." He switched the subject, and the two boys started talking about Pony League baseball. The high school team coach was known to scout the Pony League players and they had high hopes for next year.

Scott tuned the baseball talk out as they found an empty table and sat down to wait out their five or six minute punishment. He was thinking about how remarkable it was to have friends like Eddie and Bo, and his early days in Pecos County.

Growing up at Broken Creek

It took a few months, but after settling into life at the boys ranch Scott began to realize that he was different than other people. One morning he'd gotten up early to do his chores. He was using the step stool in the kitchen to take down plates for the morning meal. Mrs. Delgado walked into the kitchen and turned on the lights.

"Mijo! What are you doing in the dark baby?"

Startled, he finally managed to get out that he hadn't wanted to disturb anyone. He hadn't realized it was dark, he could see perfectly fine.

Mrs. Delgado told him that it was better to disturb somebody if meant that he wouldn't hurt himself in the dark.

A thought resonated through him—be careful. He needed to discover just how different he really was. Broken Creek Boys Ranch was the perfect laboratory. His fellow ranchers were some of the most naturally suspicious people that he'd ever met so he became a keen observer of human behavior. When some of the older boys were having trouble moving the tables out behind the barn, he snuck back later to lift an end for himself. He measured himself against his peers at every chance. Put a dozen boys together ranging from six to sixteen and you get lots of horseplay and games. Who was the fastest around a pasture? Could you make a rock skip more times in the retaining pond? Were you brave enough to jump from the hay loft? How long could you balance on a fence post? These tests went on and on. Scott was careful to never win.

No matter how cautious he thought he was he could still be surprised. One example came in the spring. The boys were cleaning out the equipment shed. This required that they move all of the equipment outside. The plan was to sweep out the shed, and then begin servicing all the equipment and tools according to the ranch foreman's directions. Scott had been sent to grab a pile of shop rags.

When he returned with the rags one of the oldest boys jumped, "Damn, don't sneak up on people like that!"

Scott shrugged his shoulders in confusion.

"You're so quiet, you move like an Indian or a ninja or something," the older boy complained.

"Yeah," said another, "he's a little midget ninja assassin come to kill us all."

That got group the group laughing and they returned to their chores.

Scott ran the incident over in his mind. He did move quietly. The other boys were so loud in everything they did. He could always tell where other people were by the noises they made. Private moments and conversations were something he could listen in on if he didn't choose to tune them out. Subconsciously he had been training himself to be quieter than others. It was an economy of motion that allowed his breathing and footsteps to be so silent.

He had done exactly the opposite of what he trying so hard to do. He had nearly exposed himself as being dangerously different. From then on he was careful to always make a little extra noise when around other people.

To avoid getting the wrong kind of attention Scott became very good at hiding in plain sight. Lawrence and Roberta Rewcastle ran the Boys Ranch efficiently, but not warmly. They weren't overtly cruel. Yes, they used corporal punishment to enforce their rules, but never to the point of causing lasting physical harm to their charges. They made sure that the boys got to school on time, well Mr. Delgado did because they paid him. The boys got regular medical checkups. They saw state counselors or psychologists when they were told to. The Rewcastles were very diligent about checking off all the boxes required by the State. What Scott finally decided was that they weren't really interested in children. So staying out of sight and off of the Rewcastles' radar meant that they left you alone.

Things only got bad if you caused trouble. There were always a couple of trouble makers passing through the ranch so lessons were readily available on the consequences of bad behavior. Scott took it to heart. He did his chores quietly and as quickly as possible. Talking back was out the question, and the temptation was easily avoided if you only spoke when it was absolutely required. Never outgoing after what happened to him in California, the transient nature of boys coming and going through the ranch only reinforced his solitude. Making friends that would move on while leaving you behind was a tough early lesson. Eventually, he stopped making friends at the ranch. He could fake being friendly when it was required.

In first grade his teacher suspected that he was developmentally disabled. It was in this class that an assistant teacher observed that he was, "As quiet as a monk." The monk nickname would stick. The school district scheduled an appointment with a state specialist who made regular visits to the county. When the test results came back the elementary school principal and his teacher were shocked to learn that he had scored in the high gifted range.

He found refuge in books, and an old record collection. There was no television at Broken Creek or even radio. The county bookmobile stopped by every other week. It was a lifeline. Scott would haul the ranchers' books back and forth from the bunkhouses to meet the bookmobile out at the road. It wasn't for altruistic reasons. You were limited in the number of books that you could request. Bookmobile volunteers would remark for years about how well read the boys out at Broken Creek were thanks to some very creative request forms.

The ranch had a large collection of vinyl albums. The Rewcastles didn't listen to music so the collection was a bit of a mystery. The records were almost entirely country albums from the 1950s to the late '70s. There were a few classical albums, and a bit of opera. It was an eclectic mix.

As long as you weren't on restriction you could borrow the old turntable. After a year or so it gained a permanent spot by Scott's bed. He was the only one who knew how to operate it, or had any interest in doing so. The albums were stored in four crates stashed in a corner of the boys' dining room. He'd listened to them all, some many times over, through a pair of vintage stereo headphones. They had hard clamshell ear cans and weighed a ton on his elementary school sized head.

He learned to love the voices of Charley Pride and Ronnie Milsap. He got countrified with Conway Twitty, Merle Haggard, and George Jones. There was Tom T. Hall, Lefty Frizzell, and the Bakersfield sound from Mr. Buck Owens himself. Desperado by The Eagles had somehow found its way into the collection. It was subversive. He loved them all. Through the bookmobile he got ahold of a book of music charts for the 1960s and 70s and read it from cover to cover. The music soothed him for reasons that he couldn't explain.

Life at Broken Creek became a predictable pattern. About once a month, Mrs. Delgado would pick him up early on a Saturday morning and drive him into town. She would go shopping after dropping him off to get a haircut. Early Saturday mornings at the barbershop were the domain of the retired gentleman of the county. They gathered to swap stories and catch each other up on the town gossip, although they called it 'just visiting.' The introduction of a little boy from Broken Creek amused them. He loved their magazines and refreshingly honest opinions. Old men, he learned, had earned the right to say what they wanted. He envied them.

Mrs. Delgado was an important figure in his life. On one Saturday trip she told him "Mijo, no matter how smart you are if people hear you talking with that twangy voice they'll think that you're not as smart as them. Some day you will go off to someplace big like New York. I don't want those people to ever look down on you. That's why all my boys learned to speak good English."

"But I love your accent, Abuela."

"I know, but it's better to talk like a smart gringo." She reached over and squeezed his shoulder, "Comprende?"

"Yes, ma'am."

He worked on the accent that he had unknowingly acquired from the kids around him.

During the school year Jorge Delgado would drive the boys in a passenger van to and from Meritt's Diner each weekday so that they could catch the bus into town. Mr. Delgado was a cheerful man. He insisted the boys call him Jorge out of range of the Rewcastles. Scott had no problem calling Mr. Delgado, Jorge, but could never bring himself to think of Mrs. Delgado as Luisa. She would always be Mrs. Delgado to him.

Jorge also took him to his quarterly visits with Judge Upcott. The first meeting with the judge was tense for about five minutes. Then the judge loaded Scott up in his car and they went to lunch. That set a pattern that they would follow for years. The judge taught him a lot of great lessons, and talked to him like an adult. "Always find out where the boys in uniform eat." He explained that if there were law enforcement vehicles parked regularly outside of a restaurant then you could be sure that the food was good and affordable.

When the judge learned that the boys at the ranch didn't have any bicycles the ranch got a donation of used bicycles from the Rotary Club. The judge gave Scott his own bike lock and chain and told him to pick a bicycle for himself.

At first he was too little to ride very far, but as he got older he would be allowed to ride the seven miles to Meritt's. The combination diner, store, and post office was the only bit of civilization close by. There were two houses located between the ranch and Meritt's. The house closest to the ranch was a rental that was usually empty. The next house was owned by a retired couple that waved if they were outside when he rode past. It was a well kept house and there was always a crisp American flag flying from the porch. Depending on how fast he rode he could make it to Meritt's in thirty-five to forty-five minutes. The houses helped him time himself. Ten minutes to the rental. Another eighteen minutes to the house with the flag.

The road was sparsely travelled. What traffic it did have was usually speeding, which meant that Scott would slow down and get as far over on the shoulder as he could. He hated the occasional cattle truck that came by. It meant he'd be riding in a rich miasma of smells for the next ten minutes.

The summer before 5th grade, Scott was a Broken Creek Boys Ranch veteran of five years. His stay was longer than any previous ranch resident. The explanation given was that he was a true orphan with no surviving relatives even several times removed. Only the judge and the sheriff knew he'd been placed there under unusual circumstances. Scott was in the kitchen helping Mrs. Delgado make tortillas after lunch. He would quickly pinch off a ball of dough and pat out a tortilla between his hands and then place it on a damp tea towel. Mrs. Delgado would cook the tortillas on a big flat griddle on the stove. It never ceased to amaze him how she could just grab the hot tortillas with her fingers and flip them over. He had tried to help cook the tortillas once. Mrs. Delgado slapped his hand, gently, and told him in no uncertain terms that cooking was her duty. Besides she didn't want her little mijo burning his precious fingers.

"Would you like to help me this afternoon?" she asked.

"Of course, Abuela."

"Friends of mine have moved here and purchased the rental house. You know it?"

He nodded.

"We're going to help clean the house. They have three boys and two little girls. One of the boys is your age," she said looking carefully at him.

What could he do? She had trapped him nicely.

Mrs. Delgado drove an old station wagon. It may have been twenty years old, but the paint gleamed and the chrome looked brand new. Jorge kept it lovingly maintained, and Scott had often helped wash it. When Mrs. Delgado pulled into the gravel driveway there were already cars and trucks parked in front of them. It looked like a small army had descended on the house. Scott followed closely as Mrs. Delgado made her way inside.

A small woman broke away from a group of others. "Luisa! You came," she cried rushing to hug Mrs. Delgado.

"Of course I came. Constance, this is Scotty," she was patting him on the shoulder. "I thought Eddie might use a little help?"

"Oh, that's a terrific idea," Constance said. "Eddie, get down here!"

Scott suppressed a sigh. They were so transparent, but he loved Mrs. Delgado and could hold nothing against her.

He was being introduced, "Scotty, this is my good friend Constance Mendoza. Her husband Hector is around here someplace. You'll meet all the children; Robert, Tommy, Eddie, Lilly, and Janie."

A boy came running down the stairs. "Yes, Momma?" he asked.

"This is Mrs. Delgado's friend, Scott. Why don't you two go up and start cleaning your room?" she asked.

The boys stood looking at each other, aware that they had suddenly become the center of attention. Mrs. Delgado and Mrs. Mendoza had moved back over to the group of ladies.

Mrs. Mendoza was whispering to them, "Watch what you say. He speaks perfect Spanish."

A lady asked, "Who are his people?"

"Nobody knows."

Scott turned his attention back to the boy.

"You wanna come see my room?" Eddie asked.

"Sure."

They turned and trooped upstairs. The bedroom was about twice the size of the room that he hoped to get when he moved into the junior bunkhouse.

Eddie started right in, "Momma says you don't talk much."

"Uh?"

"Well you can talk to me," Eddie said. "What's it like going to school in town?"

"School's okay," he replied.

"I mean what's it like going to school with all those other kids? We only had thirty-one kids in our entire school."

"Wow. I think there are eighty or ninety kids just in 5th grade here," answered Scott.

"See, you can talk," joked Eddie.

"Your room looks pretty clean to me."

"You're right. Let's go find my dad and see what he's doing." They ran down stairs and out into the back yard where the men had gathered.

That summer, Scott spent as much time at the Mendoza's as he did at the ranch. The Rewcastles didn't seem to care as long as his chores were done. The boys spent hours exploring the land around the Mendoza house.

At Meritt's, what some were now calling "Meritt's Corner" after it had grown, Mr. Mendoza had opened a machine shop and engine repair center in a pair of buildings that he was leasing. The boys spent a lot of time in the field behind the machine shop that had been turned into a storage lot for old farm equipment. In one corner they found a strange machine. When they showed it to Mr. Mendoza he got pretty excited. It was a steam engine. He spent thirty minutes lecturing them on the virtues of steam power and how it worked.

When school started the two were inseparable, but polar opposites. Eddie was a chatterbox and a social butterfly, while Scott was quiet and withdrawn.

By sixth grade Eddie and the entire Mendoza family were well entrenched in Fort Stockton academics and athletics. The older brothers were stand out athletes in both baseball and football. Eddie was expected to be another star prospect by the time he got to high school. Eddie had a big group of friends, but always included Scott. When somebody complained about being seen with 'the monk, ' Eddie set them straight. Bo was a friend of Eddie's, so he was a friend of Scott's by extension.

It never bothered Scott that other kids thought he was strange because he didn't like to talk. If he hadn't finished his homework during lunch or study hall, he would finish it on the bus ride to Meritt's Corner. Sometimes they worked on their homework together. Eddie was a good student, and the two friends had several advanced classes together.

Sixth grade marked the first and last time that Scott ever got in trouble out at Broken Creek Boys Ranch. For their Physical Sciences class the boys were doing a project on sustainability. This was after a week of talking about global warming in all of their classes. By sixth grade most kids were bored stiff with the constant 'green this' and 'green that' they had fed to them. Earth Day was a quasi religious holiday according to the school system. Eddie said that it reminded him of the confirmation classes he had to take at church.

It wasn't a terribly original idea, but they decided to evaluate Broken Creek Boys Ranch to see how it might be made greener. They would refer to it as a generic ranch and leave off any mention of Broken Creek. On the bus ride out to Meritt's Corner the two boys tossed ideas around. They had their plan all worked out by the time they got to Meritt's Corner.

Scott was surprised to see that Mrs. Rewcastle had driven the van to pick up the ranch boys. He decided it was a good time to ask permission for Eddie to come over. Usually, Scott spent most of his free time at Eddie's as the ranch boys could only have visitors with prior permission. When he asked Mrs. Rewcastle she practically spat her answer at him.

"I don't want that wetback anywhere near my horses."

Scott was so shocked he blurted out what he was thinking, "You can't call my friend that."

Roberta Rewcastle was furious. Nobody talked to her that way, and no foster boy dared question her. She grabbed his arm and walked him to the van.

"We'll see what Mr. Rewcastle has to say about this young man!" she sneered.

The other boys boarded the van and it was a silent ride to the ranch. He got a lot of curious looks. As a sixth grader he got one of the rooms in the junior bunkhouse. So far he had the room to himself, and it looked like it might stay that way. The boys knew he was in trouble, but it was so out of character that they didn't know how to react.

At the ranch Mrs. Rewcastle told him to wait in the kitchen. Mr. Rewcastle came in after about five minutes. He squinted his eyes and told Scott in his official voice, "You will report here after supper for corporal punishment."

Scott thought about it for about half a second.

"No, sir, I will not," he replied, amazed at how steady his voice sounded.

Mr. Rewcastle stared at him in disbelief.

"You will report here for your punishment!"

Scott looked at him, "I won't, and if you try to hit me ... I'll tell Judge Upcott."

"Be here after supper or else!" sputtered Mr. Rewcastle.

The evening meal was even quieter than usual. Afterwards Scott walked back to the bunkhouse. The other kids wanted to know what his punishment was for talking back to Mrs. Rewcastle. He shook his head and said, "Nothing."

That night he slept soundly. The next morning Mr. Rewcastle pretended that nothing had happened, and Mrs. Rewcastle refused to even look at him. After that, Scott rarely had any interaction with the Rewcastles. During the school year he did whatever chores were listed for him before school, and during the summer his chores were finished long before the rest of the ranch was up. Notes were left for him if he had a medical appointment, or something else related to the foster care system. Other than chores and the occasional meal he was little more than an absentee boarder.

Scott and Eddie ended up doing their science project on the old steam engine behind the machine shop at Meritt's Corner. Later that year Eddie confided to Scott that his parents had tried to arrange for him to come live with them, but they were told that it wasn't possible.

Present Day, School Library

Eddie stopped talking baseball for a moment and asked, "Why are you smiling?"

Scott looked up, "I was thinking about our 6th grade science project."

Eddie and Bo gave him strange looks and headed to their next class as the bell rang. "See you at the bus," Eddie called as they went their separate ways.

Scott practically slept through Computer Applications. He liked the class, but it was also a bit of personal torture. He fought against temptation every time. There were names that he wanted to search the Internet for and things that he wanted to know. He always stopped himself mindful of the marshal's admonition to keep a low profile and not draw attention to himself. The school monitored Internet activity as their teacher was fond of pointing out. There was another thought running around in Scott's head but he couldn't focus on it.

He headed to the gym for his final period, physical education. There wasn't much education in PE, but he enjoyed it. Coach Phillips was a pretty easy going guy. This semester he was letting them 'self study' every other week. That meant they got to choose their activity. Scott was opting to run and then do a light workout in the weight room on alternating days. Running had been a total surprise to Scott. It was an activity that he grew to really enjoy. He could do laps on the track, or run around the perimeter of the school, and totally lose himself in his thoughts. Coach Phillips had gotten him to give cross country running a try. He didn't compete, but he worked out with the cross country team.

As he ran laps around the cinder track the niggling thought that had been working its way through his brain became clear. The Rewcastles' response to his stand against corporal punishment back in 6th grade made no sense. Adults didn't behave that way. The perspective that he had now looking back two years into the past startled him. Why had he gotten away with it?

The thought preoccupied him as he showered, and continued as he rode the bus next to Eddie. Finally, Eddie asked him, "No homework?"

"Finished already."

"Can you help me with this math homework then?" he asked.

Scott was happy to help. Math was Ed's only weak point as a student. They spent the rest of the bus ride working on it.

Eddie was always amazed at how Scott could make any problem seem so much clearer. His approach to difficult subjects was completely different than anyone else's.

"Eddie, you look at math all wrong," Scott told him. "You think you hate math so you make everything about it harder than it has to be. You should love math. If you do math right, you always get the right answer."

"You're crazy."

"Eddie, trust me. Math will never cheat you, or lie to you. But you can cheat doing math. Every time you have a bad thought about math I want you to say, 'I love math' and I promise you'll stop having so much trouble with it."

Eddie stared at his friend, "You have lost your mind."

"Let's make it a bet. You say 'I love math' every time you think about math and I swear that you'll see the difference," Scott stuck out his hand, "Swear."

Eddie put out his hand, "I still say you're crazy."

"I never said I wasn't crazy."

Their bus pulled into the lot at Meritt's. Scott got off and waved to Jorge Delgado waiting by the van. He walked over and said hello.

"Scotty we don't see much of you anymore," Jorge complained.

"A man's gotta work, Jorge," Scott said, repeating one of Jorge's favorite lines back to him. Jorge chuckled, and Scott walked with Eddie toward the engine repair center.

Scott had turned fourteen that January which made him legal to work part time. Eddie's dad gave him a job sweeping up around the fabrication shop and engine repair center until Judge Upcott had given him a waiver that allowed him to work in more areas. Child labor laws were very specific in Texas. He wouldn't be able to work on engines or in the machine shop until he turned sixteen unless he had an apprenticeship. But he could wash parts in the repair center and do cleanup in both shops. That's what he did for two hours after school, and five hours on Saturdays. The Mendozas, like most of Pecos County, shut down for Sundays.

The judge had helped him open a savings account in town. His bank account had almost three hundred dollars in it before he started working for the engine shop. The judge had given him twenty dollars every Christmas. He had saved almost all of that money and had earned extra doing odd jobs around Meritt's Corner and for Mr. Mendoza. It wasn't a lot to show for eight years.

Now that he had an honest job he could start adding real money toward his goals. The first part of his plan was to buy a small motorcycle when he turned fifteen. You had to be at least fifteen to get a motorcycle license in Texas. He figured that he could afford gas and insurance for a small motorcycle, but never for a car. Once he got a little mobility he could begin to put the rest of his plans into action.

His job at the repair center was paying him just about eighty dollars a week. That was after FICA tax withholdings. Looking at his first paycheck he was shocked to see that money was being taken out by the government. Mr. Mendoza had laughed at his reaction and welcomed him to the 'real world.'

Scott was almost finished sweeping when he saw Rico Lopez slipping outside the back of the machine shop to grab a smoke. Rico was in his mid-thirties and had first come to work for the Mendozas on a work release program from the county jail. Rumor had it that he worked for a lock smith, but decided to start ripping off the clients instead. After he completed the program Mr. Mendoza had hired him on full time. He had turned out to be a solid worker.