But Danny’s mind was still racing. I can’t stay here. Can’t leave Laurie alone on the outside. Some other guy will grab her. By the time I get out, she won’t even remember me. Got to get out fast!
Joe pushed open the glass doors of the cafeteria building. It was warm inside, and noisy. And it smelled of cooking.
“DR. TENNY,” called a loudspeaker. Danny thought it sounded like SPECS’ voice only much louder and with a bit of an echo to it. “DR. TENNY. PLEASE REPORT TO THE ADMINISTRATION BUILDING.”
“Looks like I miss lunch,” Joe said, glancing up at the loudspeaker. Danny saw that it was set into the panelled ceiling. There was a TV lens with its unblinking red eye next to it, watching them.
“Have a good feed, Danny. The rest of the day’s yours. Move around, make some friends. SPECS will get you up at the right time tomorrow morning and tell you which classes to go to. See you!”
And with a wave of a heavy, thick-wristed hand, Joe headed back for the glass doors and outside.
Danny watched him go. Then a half-dozen boys pushed through the doors and walked in toward the cafeteria. They were laughing and wise-cracking among themselves. No one said hello or seemed to notice Danny at all.
Turning, Danny headed for the food. Around a corner of the hallway was a big, open, double doorway. Inside it was the cafeteria, noisy and busy with at least a hundred boys. They were standing in line, waving across the big room to friends, rushing toward tables with trays of steaming food, talking, laughing, eating. They moved as freely as they wanted and they all seemed to be talking as loudly as their lungs would let them.
The tables were small, four or six places each. In a few spots, boys had pushed together a couple of tables to make room for a bigger group.
Danny remembered the dining room in the State Prison. You marched in single file and ate at long, wooden tables that were so old the paint was gone. The wood itself was cracked and carved with the initials of fifty years’ worth of boys.
This cafeteria was sparkling new. The walls, the tables, the floors all gleamed with fresh paint and plastic and metal. One whole wall was glass. Outside you could see a stretch of grass and a few young trees.
He took a place at the end of the food line. The boys moved along quickly, even though some of them were talking and kidding back and forth. Soon Danny was taking a tray and a wrapped package of spoon, knife, and fork. All plastic.
It surprised him to see that there were no people behind the food counter. Everything was automatic. Boys took a bowl of soup, or a sandwich, or a metal-foil dish that held an entire hot dinner in it. As soon as one piece was taken, another popped through a little door in the wall to replace it.
“You’re new here, aren’t you?”
Danny turned to see, in line behind him, a tall boy with sandy hair and a scattering of freckles across his snub nose.
“My name’s Alan Peterson, No, don’t tell me yours. Let me see if I can remember it. SPECS flashed pictures of all the new guys on the news this morning. You’re… emm… Danny something-or-other. Right?”
“Danny Romano.”
Alan grinned. “See, I got it. Almost.”
“Yeah.” Danny reached for a sandwich and an apple. The only drinks he could see were milk, either white or chocolate. He took a chocolate.
Stepping away, Danny looked around for a table.
“Come on with me,” Alan said cheerfully. “I’ll sit you down with some of the guys. You ought to make friends.”
Alan steered him toward a six-place table. Three of the seats were already filled. Danny stopped suddenly.
“I ain’t sittin’ there.”
“Why not?”
Danny jerked his head toward one of the boys at the table. “‘Cause I don’t eat with niggers, that’s why not.”
CHAPTER THREE
Alan looked at Danny in a funny way. Not sore, but almost.
“Okay,” he said softly. “Find your own friends.”