The Chosen (Contender #1) - SAMPLE OF NOW PUBLISHED BOOK!

Chapter 6

"Turn."

Cade turned sideways, and the counselor leaned closer with his flashlight. They were doing body checks on all the boys, making sure there were no unusual bruises. If they found injury or markings, it was a sign that they'd been in a fight. That meant punishments—if you didn't rat out who'd done it.

Cade couldn't believe that the adults didn't differentiate between fighting and a beatdown. How was it fair that if some boys jumped Cade, the counselors would punish him for get- ting beaten up?

Luckily, his strategy of keeping to himself had kept him mostly safe so far. He got bullied in passing, which had never happened at his old school, but here nobody hated him enough to risk being punished for attacking him.

It wasn't much of an existence, but it would be over eventually. 

The counselor grunted with approval before moving on. They were in a barracks-style room, among wall-to-wall bunk beds. The place was cramped and smelled like a locker room, and he'd even seen mice scampering about. And the counsel- ors only seemed to care about getting through the day and keeping the boys in check. Even the therapy sessions often devolved into sports talk.

He knew not all therapeutic schools were like this. In fact, he knew many of them were good places that helped troubled kids learn leadership and discipline.

He just didn't think this was one of them. And he knew he didn't belong here.

Cade had almost told his parents about the conditions here. But he didn't want to worry them, especially since they couldn't change anything. He didn't mention it on his weekly calls, or the few times they visited.

His dad hadn't visited him for two months. His mom said it was too painful for him, so she came alone the last time. Cade had asked her to stop coming so often. After all, when he had been at the private boarding school, he had seen his parents only a few times a year.

But now Cade couldn't forget the distrust in his father's eyes. The suspicion. The doubt. Before, they had been thick as thieves. Now . . . he didn't want to think about it.

"Nice chicken legs," said a kid standing behind Cade. "You got some spaghetti arms too, damn. Yo, guys . . ."

Cade swiftly tugged his uniform back on, and the kid gave up, his friends uninterested in mocking Cade's body. He'd always been thin and had already lost weight at the school, in part because Gobbler stole his food several times a week—and what he didn't steal, Cade rarely finished.

This was compounded with the exercises they did, seem- ingly endless push-ups, jumping jacks, and interval courses. Despite the exercise, he felt himself weakening. Drifting through the corridors like a ghost, careful not to be seen, not to be heard. He never spoke at their group therapy sessions— but then, few did.

A shout snapped Cade out of his reverie, and he suddenly saw two kids wrestling further down the room. The counselor had moved on to the rec room to check on the others.

It was typical. Scores were always settled directly after the body checks; it gave the best chance of any bruises to heal before the next inspection.