Parole Sucks..........Or does it?

Hey. I’m Grayson Annabelle Sanchez. I’m twelve years old, I love to play music and take photos, I have red hair and freckles on my face, and I’m a parolee. You’re probably wondering, “Why is a twelve year old on parole?” Well let me tell you what happened.

It was a rainy afternoon in New Orleans, Louisiana. No one was on the streets, it seemed abandoned. I had my hood up and my hands in my pockets as  I walked into a local store. The clerk gave me a head nod and I returned it. Only a few people had been in the store that day, so I had to be sneaky but fast about this. I was walking down every isle taking things off the shelves. So far I had seventeen lighters, ten candy bars, five cans of soda, three bags of chips, and thirteen boxes of matches. It wasn’t really hard putting all of that in my coat surprisingly. As I made my why to the door I heard sirens coming down the street. I opened the doors and booked it in the opposite direction of the sirens. I was running as fast as my legs could carry me. But I was getting really tired, no I couldn’t just stop and let them take me in, not then. The sirens were getting closer every second until I heard a car door open. “Grayson Sanchez, stop running, you have no where to go, you’re surrounded!” a cop yelled. And sure enough cop cars were all around me. “Get down on your knees and put your hands on your head now!” I slowly got down to my knees and did as I was told. A few seconds later I was hand cuffed and my jacket was gone.

After I was put into a cop car we drove for about an hour and a half until we came up to a juvenile center. The officer took me out of the cop car and walked me into the building and to the front desk. “Hey Mary, we have a new inmate,” the cop said to the lady behind the front desk. “Oh so we do, what is your name and what did you do?” she asked. I just kept my gaze on the ground and didn’t speak a word. “This is Grayson Sanchez and she stole from a local store downtown,” the cop told her. “Okay cell #19375.” “Okay thanks Mary.” The cop led me down a line of cells until we stopped at mine. He uncuffed me and shoved me in there. “I’ll be seeing you in a few months,” he said and he turned around and walked away. I took a look around, there was a bed, a small table, and a toilet. “So like an actual prison,” I said to myself. 

All of that happened six months ago, and I’m still here. But the officer that had brought me here is supposed to show up today. I was lying on my bed staring up at the ceiling when I heard someone say my name. “Sanchez!” they whisper yelled. I sat up and looked across the hall to see Scott Valentine, another so called inmate, and my best friend. Scott has brown shaggy hair, bright blue eyes and was thirteen. “What do you want Valentine?” I asked getting up and sitting in front of the bars. “I heard your officer is coming today?” he asked doing the same thing as me. “Yeah why?” “’Cause people are saying that you’re getting out of here,” here said looking down the hall. “Really?” “Yeah really and here comes your officer,” he said as he hopped up and got into his bed as I did the same. “Sanchez come with me,” he ordered as he unlocked my cell. He hand cuffed me and took me off down the hall. I turned back to look at Scott and he gave me a nod and I returned it.

The officer took me outside and put me in the back of the cruiser. I didn’t ask were he was taking me, he wouldn’t tell me anyways. About half an hour later we arrived at this ranch type thing. It was pretty big if you ask me. We pulled up in front of a house, I’m guessing the owners and got out. There were other people there and they were looking at me. The officer grabbed my arm and made me walk forward. “Is Tia Torres here,” he asked a girl with black and red hair. “Uh, yeah hold on.” She went inside the building for a few minutes and then she came back with a women who looked in her late thirties early forties, with red hair and brown eyes. “Hello I’m Tia,” she said shaking the officers hand. “And is this the parolee you were talking to me about?” “Uh yes this is Grayson Sanchez, and don’t even  bother she hasn’t said anything to us for the past six months.” “Well bring her into my office and we can talk.” 

I glanced up and I was still getting stares from the people there. Inside the building it was a hell of a lot cooler than outside. I sat down in a chair in front of her desk. “How about you let me talk to her alone?” she asked. “Okay but if she decides to pull anything you let me know,” and with that he left. “So Grayson, tell me a little about yourself.” I was debating on whether I should talk to her or not. I sighed, “Well my full name is Grayson Annabelle Sanchez, I’m twelve years old, I was born in Bolivia but I traveled up to New Orleans when I was eight,” I said looking up at her. “Wait so you’re twelve and you’re a parolee?” she asked shocked. I nodded my head. “What did you do to be put in juvenile?” “I robbed a store downtown and then I ran.” “And where were your parents during all of this?” she asked tilting her head a little. No one has asked or talked about my parents since I was little. “Um well my mom wanted nothing to do with me she said I was a disgrace of a daughter and my father was shot when I was eight. After that I refused to live with my mother and so I set out for America. I walked, rode on trains, buses, and when I reached the top of South America I took a boat up to Florida and walked to Louisiana. And after I got here I got into loads of trouble.” After I finished the look on her face was sympathy and sadness. “Well, um let me tell you about this place. First off this is a pitbull rescue center and we have over two-hundred pitbulls here. I hire parolees who need jobs and when no one else will hire them, and I run this place with my two daughters and two adopted sons,” she told me. “So let me show you around.”