He left Danny standing there with the tray in his hands and went to the table. Another black came up at the same time and sat beside Alan.
Danny found a small table that was empty and sat there alone, with his back to the doors and the food line. He was facing the glass wall and the outside.
He ate quickly, thinking, Don’t waste any time. Walk around, see how big the place is, how hard it’ll be to get out.
He got up from the table and started to walk away. But SPECS’ voice came from an overhead loudspeaker:
“PLEASE TAKE YOUR TRAY TO THE DISPOSAL SLOT IF YOU ARE FINISHED EATING. THANK YOU.”
Danny looked up at the ceiling, then turned and saw other boys bringing their trays to a slot in the wall, not far from the table where he was. With a small shrug, he took his tray to the slot.
He watches everything, Danny thought as he glanced up at one of the TV cameras in the ceiling.
It was still chilly outside after lunch, even though the sun was shining. Danny thought he had seen a jacket—a windbreaker—among the clothes on his bed. But he didn’t bother going back to his room. Instead, he jammed his fists in his slacks pockets, hunched his shoulders, and headed toward the trees that were out at the edge of the campus.
He didn’t get far.
From behind him, a soft voice said, “Hear you don’t like eatin’ with black men, skinny.”
Danny turned around. Two blacks were standing there, grinning at him. But there was no friendship in their smiles. Danny thought they might be the two boys who had been at the table Alan tried to steer him to.
For a moment they just stood there, looking each other over. There were a couple of other boys around, white and black, but they stayed a little distance away. Out of it. Danny could feel himself tensing, his fists clenching hard inside his pockets.
One of the blacks was Danny’s own height, and not much heavier. The other was tall and thin, built for basketball. He had sleepy-looking eyes, and a bored, cool look on his face.
“That true, skinny?” the tall one asked. “You don’t want to eat with us?”
Danny swore at him.
“My, my, such language,” said the smaller of them. “Real rough one, this guy. Hard as nails.”
“Yeah… fingernails.”
They both laughed. Danny said nothing.
The tall black said slowly, “Listen baby. You got a problem. You’re bein’ put down in the schedule to fight Lacey here, first of the month.”
Lacey nodded and grinned brightly. “So start workin’ out in the gym, Whitey, or you won’t last even half a round.”
“Yeah.” The tall one added, “And in case you don’t know it, Lacey here’s the lightweight champ o’ this whole Center. And he ain’t gonna be playing games with you in that ring. Dig?”
And they both walked away, as quickly and softly as they had come. Danny stood there alone, trembling with rage. He was so angry that his chest was starting to hurt.
The other boys who had been hanging around, started to drift back toward the buildings. But one of the white boys came up to Danny.
“My name’s Ralph Malzone. I seen what them black bastards done to ya.”
Ralph was a big redhead, huge and solid, like a pro-football player. His face was round and puffy, with tiny eyes squinting out, and little round ears plastered flat against his skull. He looked as if his skin was stretched as tight as it could go, another ounce would split it apart. But Ralph didn’t look fat; he looked hard.
Danny looked up at him. “I couldn’t even understand what they were saying, half the time.”
“I heard ’em,” Ralph answered. “You’re new, huh? Well, there’s a boxing match here every month. You been put down to fight Lacey. He’s the lightweight champ. If you don’t fight him, everybody’ll think you’re chicken.”
Danny didn’t answer. He just stood there, feeling cold whenever the wind gusted by.
“Lacey’s fast. Hits hard for a little guy.”
“I’m shaking,” Danny said.