Small Steps - Louis Sachar [1]
After leaving Camp Green Lake, he first spent six months at a halfway house in San Antonio, where he attended school and received counseling. There were sixteen boys at the halfway house. The counselor there told them that the recidivism rate for African American boys was seventy-three percent. That meant, according to the statistics, that eleven or twelve of them would be arrested again before they turned eighteen. The counselor said the rate was even higher if you didn’t finish high school.
“If you think life was unfair before you went to prison,” she told Armpit, “it’s going to be twice as bad when you go back. People are going to expect the worst from you, and will treat you that way.”
She said his life would be like walking upstream in a rushing river. The secret was to take small steps and just keep moving forward. If he tried to take too big a step, the current would knock him off his feet and carry him back downstream.
Upon returning to Austin, he set five goals for himself. Five small steps. 1. Graduate from high school. 2. Get a job. 3. Save his money. 4. Avoid situations that might turn violent. And 5. Lose the name Armpit.
He picked up his shovel and went back to his trench.
Jack Dunlevy always brought a radio to the work site, and it was now playing a song by Kaira DeLeon.
I’m gonna take you for a ride,
And we’re gonna have some fun!
The mayor, who had started to walk away, came hurrying back. “Oh, I love this song!” she exclaimed.
I’m gonna take you for a ride,
Ooh, and we’re gonna have some fun!
Cherry Lane raised her arms in the air as she wiggled to the music. Armpit tried not to laugh. At least there was music. There had been no radios to listen to when he was digging holes at Camp Green Lake.
I’m gonna take you someplace
you never been before,
And you’ll never be the same again!
2
A rusted Honda Civic drove noisily down the street and parked across from the mayor’s house. Armpit had finished digging his trench and was attaching PVC pipe. The mayor had gone back inside.
The driver-side door had been bashed in, and it would have cost more to fix than the car was worth. The driver had to work his way over the stick shift and then exit on the passenger side.
The personalized license plate read: X RAY.
“Armpit!” X-Ray shouted as he crossed the street. “Armpit!”
The guys at work didn’t know him by that name, but if he didn’t say something X-Ray would just keep on shouting. Better to answer and shut him up.
“Hey,” he called back.
“Man, you’re really sweating,” X-Ray said as he came near.
“Yeah, well, you’d sweat too if you were digging.”
“I’ve already dug enough dirt to last one lifetime,” said X-Ray.
They had met each other at Camp Green Lake.
“Look, don’t call me Armpit around other people, all right?” Armpit said.
“But that’s your name, dawg. You should never be ashamed of who you are.”
X-Ray had the kind of smile that kept you from hating him no matter how annoying he was. He was skinny and wore glasses, which were now covered with clip-on shades.
He picked up Armpit’s shovel. “Different shape.”
“Yeah, it’s for digging trenches, not holes.”
X-Ray studied it awhile. “Seems like it would be harder to dig with. No leverage.” He let it drop. “So you must be making a ton of money.”
Armpit shrugged. “I’m doing all right.”
“A ton of money,” X-Ray repeated.
Armpit felt uncomfortable talking about money with X-Ray.
“So really, how much you got saved up so far?”
“I don’t know. Not that much.”
He knew exactly how much he had. Eight hundred and fifty-seven dollars. He hoped to break a thousand with his next paycheck.
“Got to be at least a thousand,” said X-Ray. “You’ve been working for three months.”
“Just part-time.”
Besides working, Armpit was also taking two classes in summer school. He had to make up for all the schooling he’d missed while at