Excerpt from THE RUNAWAY
by Bernice Thurman Hunter
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GREYSTONE SCHOOL FOR HOMELESS BOYS. The big scrolly letters across the black iron gates made Graham feel more of an orphan than he had ever felt before.
Mother Button pushed open the heavy gates and they walked up the flagged path to the huge grey stone building. Two wide steps flanked the heavy arched doorway.
Standing on the top step, Mother Button said, “Ring the bell, Graham.” He didn’t budge so she reached up and pushed the button herself.
The door was opened almost instantly by the biggest man Graham had ever seen. His body filled the doorway, towering over him and Mother Button.
“Welcome to Greystone,” he boomed. “I am Captain Flagg. You may follow me.” He led the way down a long hall into an office and motioned them to sit on two brown leather armchairs in front of a massive desk. Then he sat behind the desk on a swivel chair. He was an imposing man with thick black hair, a thick black moustache, and steel grey eyes.
There were papers for Mother Button to sign, and Graham had to sign them, too. He could hardly see through the blur of tears so he just signed on the dotted line where Mother pointed.
Glancing at the signatures, the Captain remarked, “Robbertson with two b’s. Are you sure?” The steel grey eyes seemed to bore into Graham like a drill.
Graham swallowed the lump in his throat and managed to say, “It’s spelt that way on my birth certificate. So it must be right, mustn’t it?” then he added, “Sir.”
“Humph!” grunted the Captain, then he slid the signed papers into a large brown envelope. “How old are you, Robbertson?” His voice rumbled like thunder.
“I’m twelve, sir,” answered Graham.
“Then we’ll try you in Mister Bolton’s class. Mr. Bolton is hard on rules. And so am I. Greystone’s Rules are as follows:” He held up his left hand and began counting on his fingers: “No running in the halls, no swearing, no shouting, and no bullying and no talking after lights out.” He reversed to his right hand. “Your daily chores are as follows: making your bed, cleaning the washbasin, and taking your turn stoking the boiler and scrubbing the halls. If you behave yourself and follow these rules you should do well here at Greystone. Do I make myself clear, Robbertson?”
“Y–y–yes, sir.”
“Then you may say goodbye to your foster mother.”.
From The Runaway. Copyright © 2001 by Bernice Thurman Hunter.
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