Chapter 3: The Farm Team

Three months later, I showed up at a reform center for troubled youth, applying for a teaching gig.

They called it a ‘reform center,’ but really, it was less a reform center, more like a farm team for future felons.

This wasn’t jail or a psych ward—these kids were something else.

Most had no empathy. Some were born twisted, some just violent, some hiding out after crimes that’d make your blood run cold.

And of course, Kyle Peterson was one of them.

The director looked like he’d seen every secret in the world. He thumbed through my file, giving me a look. “You got quite the resume. Isn’t this a waste?”

I adjusted my glasses. “Teachers love a challenge. I want something tough.”

He sighed. “You don’t get it. Our place isn’t about teaching. These aren’t normal kids. Especially since we got a new one three months ago—pure evil, born violent. Since he showed up, he’s started gangs, targeted staff, nearly drove a kid to suicide. The last teacher for this post walked out. You gotta have a spine of steel to last here.”

“Kyle Peterson, right?”

The director’s eyes widened. “How’d you know?”

I kept my voice low. “It was all over the news. I’ve heard things. So why not just expel him?”

He shook his head. “His parents are loaded. They’re working on getting him out of the country. If we cut him loose, he’ll just make trouble somewhere else. They paid a fortune to keep him here.”

I smiled. “Got it. I’m ready for the challenge. And, uh, there aren’t any restrictions on teaching methods, right? Mine are… unconventional.”

The director gave me a look that said, good luck, you’re gonna need it. “These kids aren’t normal. If you can just stay alive, that’s enough.”

During the handoff, I saw the female teacher who’d been tormented until she broke.

Her hands shook so bad she nearly dropped her keys. Her voice was barely a whisper. Her whole body looked like it had just crawled out of hell.

She didn’t want to talk, just wanted to run far, far away from this nightmare.

I asked, “Are those kids really that terrifying?”

She stared at me, eyes hollow. “They’re not human. They’re monsters. Living nightmares.”

She’d barely finished when a chorus of jeers echoed down the hall:

“Teacher, who you calling monsters?”

She flinched, almost dropping her keys again. At the sound of that familiar voice, I slowly turned.

The place smelled like bleach and old gym socks. Somewhere, a radio played classic rock, barely drowning out the distant shouts. The other boys fell silent, watching us like wolves scenting fresh blood.

When our eyes met, I let myself smile.

Kyle Peterson froze, eyes going wide.

“You—how is it you?”

His lackeys crowded close. “What’s wrong, boss? You know this guy?”

“Hey, who are you? We’ve never seen you before.”

I smiled, all pleasantness. “First time meeting, so let me introduce myself. I’m Mark Allen, your new teacher. From now on, I’ll be in charge of your daily lives.”

I stepped up to Kyle and offered my hand, friendly. He stared at me like I was a ghost. “What do you want?”

I leaned in, my voice for him alone: “This is the safe house your parents picked for you, isn’t it?”

“Too bad. From now on, welcome to the adult’s game time.”

A hush fell over the hallway. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead. The other boys watched, silent and hungry. For the first time, I saw fear flicker in Kyle’s eyes—the kind you can’t bribe or threaten away. My own reflection in the glass was sharp, focused, and for the first time in years, I felt ready. Justice in America wasn’t always found in the courts. Sometimes, it found its way into the classroom.

Kyle realized it too—his smirk fading as he finally understood: the game had changed, and I was the one setting the rules now.