SHOUT - Adopted by Lin Manuel Miranda

FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT!

It's time for another meeting with Jeremy. We waited until the end of November because Jeremy wanted to give me time to "cool off" from the last visit. This time, he wants the Mirandas to come along so he's absolutely, positively sure there are no secret torture chambers at Washington Point.

We take the Subway to South Bronx that afternoon. The neighborhood looks different this late in the Fall. The street looks particularly hostile-- probably because I can see more of it, now that the trees are bare. The day is gray, but too dry to rain. The wind blows the branches at unnatural angles to the tree trunks-- the branches, which look like veins against the sky. Rotten leaves are scattered on the sidewalks. Sebastian kicks them into orange piles as we walk. I pull my hat over my eyes so no one sees me. I'm not up for a stare-down with Ricardo from the deli.

The meeting goes surprisingly quick. Jeremy lets Sebastian play with his key chain during the interrogation, and I recite the script I've memorized so well:

"I am happy, I am healthy, yes they feed me, no they don't lock me in the closet, you're using a pencil today, thank God, yes I'm fine, you already asked that, you're growing a goatee, looks awful."

When Jeremy asks Lin how I'm doing, he calls me a firecracker. He says that for the most part I'm harmless, that I'm great with Sebastian and I do my chores, but periodically I have "episodes" where I shut down and cry and puke and don't say a word for the rest of the day.

"That's the only thing that worries me. I hope it's okay I brought that up, Viddie. You're okay, right?" Lin leans forward in his chair to look at me. I pick lint balls from my sweater.

Jeremy smirks. "What do you have to say about that, Viddie?"

I take a break from de-linting my sweater to glare at him. "Nothing. God, you need to shave."

Jeremy gives me a look like, you have to tell them eventually. If there were no such thing as juvie, I would treat him to one of my classic shin kicks. He's the one who told me to keep my mouth shut. All those trillions of words that gnawed at my lips to escape, I swallowed them. It was only a matter of time before I upchucked all those lies. Had to get them out, somehow. Scientists should create a laxative for rotten sentences and expired commas.

I'll wait till Vanessa takes on a chem lab. Let her do it.

When the meeting ends, Jeremy shakes Lin's hand and gives Sebastian a high-five. I throw a peace sign to Ruth from the reception desk on the way out. I turn to head for the subway station, but Lin puts his hand on my shoulder and tells me he wants to take Sebastian to the park down the street, the one with the basketball court. Sebastian is always up for new slides and swing sets, even if they're covered in rust and traces of drug paraphernalia.

Lin takes his sweet time opening the gate-- probably rethinking what seemed like a fantastical shortcut for some Family Fun Time. The blacktop is littered with rotting leaves. One of the swings hangs vertical from one chain. The slide rattles each time a kid goes down. I remember this place. Me and the girls ate lunch on the playground in the Spring and Summer. All afternoon, kids would ask us to move, because we were blocking the entrance to the slide. They stopped asking after they heard the whispers. Group home kids. We jumped from the swings, mid-air, then slammed into the fence and clung to the barbed wire for dear life. I mehndi-ed the brick walls of the next building over with a sharpie. Oh, the stolen sandwiches I ate here. The basketball games I won. The fist fights I fought.

A guttural voice barks in the distance. " 'Aye, Charandowa!"

Here we go. It isn't Lin, and it definitely isn't Vanessa. Is it God? I know I'm no Mother Theresa, but a face-to-face confrontation is a bit extreme. I spin around to see Jamal From The Basketball Court storming towards me, a bull chasing one stunned red flag. "OhMyGod," I say when he stops with his nose inches from mine. It hits me: the bet I made a year ago, the basket I didn't make and the $250 I still owe him.

His hands are on his hips. "Where's my cash?"

"No one is serious when they make bets like that!"

"I'll show you how fucking serious I am."

"Cool it Jamal, I have a kid with me."

Jamal turns to look at Sebastian cowering in Lin's arms. Vanessa stands with one hand on Lin's shoulder. I shift my glare back to Jamal. He breathes like a dragon. The good news: he's not messing with the Mirandas. The bad news: he's messing with me. He should know better. This is the South Bronx. Everyone knows how to land a punch, with the expectation of the Mirandas, who would be smart of they hailed a taxi back to Manhattan and let me take care of this with no distractions.

Jamal takes a step back and balls his fists. "You ain't gonna walk away from this."

"You ain't gonna put me on blast in front of my foster parents."

A gust of wind lifts a cluster of leaves from the ground. They flurry past my feet and over to the brick wall of the building next to the park. I turn for a moment to take that in, but hands push me back the world blurs past me and I slam into the wall so hard, my ears ring on impact. Jamal must have thought I was plotting my escape route. I look past his shoulder at the Mirandas, who have migrated with us and are now spectating at a safe distance.

"You don't hang around any more," says Jamal. He's the calm type of angry. The scariest kind.

"What's with you, J? No one gets this fired up over a basketball bet."

"None of your god damn business."

"Is is my business when you're pushing up on me like some bitch you took home--!"

Jamal adjusts his stance-- noticeably, I guess-- because Lin shouts, "Hey!" It was meant to be a warning, but measured against Jamal, Lin is helpless. His words mean nothing.

Jamal leans in so close that I can smell the two joints he smoked for breakfast. "You don't want to know what the fuck is gonna happen if you don't get me that cash."

The tough, calloused, Hope House Vidya takes over. "You think I'm scared, you fucking deadbeat?"

Jamal yanks me towards him and slams me back into the wall so hard that the world vibrates. Something stings my cheek-- Jamal's Hand-- and for a moment he warps into Him, wearing a kurta and turban with knife-hot hands, tearing off my skin--

Footsteps pound against the concrete and a voice screams. Not me or Jamal. It's Lin, who pushes me out from beneath Jamal and tells me to run to Vanessa and Sebastian by the gate. I run for a moment before turning around. I can't believe my eyes. Lin has Jamal pinned to the wall, and he's talking-- no, hissing at him. I have never seen Lin this angry, and I get this image like a slap in the face (ha-ha) of him hissing like that at Vanessa, or Sebastian. But no, that's not him, that's the scary imaginary Lincarnation that I seriously need to evict from my head.

Lin growls something that sounds like a vibration from this distance. Jamal nods in confirmation. Lin gets even closer to him. "Do you understand me?" He shouts. Jamal raises his hands in surrender and nods again. Lin pushes him back against the wall and walks back toward us. I must be smiling, because he asks me what's so funny.

"I-- nothing," I say. I don't want to explain that I didn't know he could be this macho. Don't want to offend him.

We leave in a hurry and take a detour around a cluster of buildings to make it to the subway station without crossing paths with Jamal. Vanessa examines the handprint on my face. Lin's fists are still clenched. Sebastian skips and upchucks rotten leaves from beneath his sneakers. Being slapped didn't bother me. I've had worse. What startles me more was seeing Lin jump in like that. What's even more starting is how guilty I feel. I lean my forehead against the window of the subway and feel my cheek pulse and sting. I don't need their help. I don't need anyone or anything, and it occurs to me as I watch Sebastian draw airplanes in the fog on the window that I don't know whether that's a good thing or a bad thing.