3) A New Home

            Once they had finally reached Mr Phillipson’s office, Mr Phillipson said to his secretary, ‘Hold all of my calls.’

            ‘Yes sir.’ replied the secretary.

            Mr Phillipson still held Jono by the scruff of his shirt, he opened the door of his office and ordered, ‘Get in!’ and let go of Jono. He didn’t need telling twice so he walked into the office. Mr Phillipson’s office was a large square room with numerous framed paintings hanging on the walls. Towards the far end there was a dark wood desk with family photos, a wooden name-plate announcing ‘PQ Phillipson BS’ and an open laptop computer. There were packed bookshelves lining the wall behind the desk and a large filing cabinet next to the desk.

            ‘Sit down,’ said Mr Phillipson, gesturing to the seat opposing his desk. Jono sat down and said nothing. He knew that he would be in less trouble if he said nothing until he was asked a question.

            ‘You attacked a senior student,’ Mr Phillipson said accusingly to Jono, pacing around the room.

Jono was surprised at the accusatory tone in which Mr Phillipson spoke. Mr Phillipson usually addressed the students with as much respect as the teachers. He was in his late forties and a little on the short side at about five-foot-nine-inches. His light ginger hair was wispy and combed over with a small bald patch on top of his head, with a beard which was the same colour as his hair, a slightly hooked nose. Perched on his nose were squarish glasses.

Mr Phillipson always wore grey pants, white buttoned shirt and a grey blazer, with a different patterned tie every day. Today he had a diagonally-striped, wine red and deep blue one on.

‘Well, aren’t you going to say something Green?’ asked Mr Phillipson. Jono shook his head and Mr Phillipson pulled open a drawer in the filing cabinet and pulled out a large file about one inch thick dropped with a " FLOP " on his desk in front of Jono, rolled out his chair and sat down. Mr Phillipson sighed.

‘Whose file is that?’ he asked.

‘I don’t kno-’ started Jono.

‘Yes you do,’ interjected Mr Phillipson.

Jono looked at the label on the file, it read, “Jonathan Green”.

‘Why is your file so thick?’ asked Mr Phillipson.

Jono looked at him nervously. He replied, ‘Because I keep getting into trouble.’

‘Yes,’ Mr Phillipson agreed. ‘But Green, why am I so angry?’

Jono still silently crying mumbled, ‘Because I got in a fight.’

Mr Phillipson stood up leaning on his desk, shouting, ‘No! It’s because you promised me that you would stop fighting other students!’

There was a sudden knock at the door, and Mr Phillipson sighed heavily.

Mr Phillipson cleared his throat and said, ‘Come in.’ The door opened and in stepped the five rugby league players.

‘We were sent to you by Mrs Lee,’ said Mitchell Smash.

‘Why?’ asked Mr Phillipson, ‘How did you get through? I told my secretary I was going to be very busy!’

The entire group looked very nervous. One had two very bloodshot eyes; another was griping the door handle so hard that his knuckles were white. Mitchell Smash handed a piece of paper to Mr Phillipson and, as he read the letter, he rolled out his chair and sat down, his brow furrowed. Jono just looked at Mr Phillipson, curious about what the letter said.

‘Sit down,’ he said, gesturing to the small stack of plastic school chairs in the corner. As the group picked up a chair each from the stack and sat down, Mr Phillipson picked up the phone on his desk and dialled a number.

‘Oh. Hello is this Mr Smash? There’s been a bit of a...’ Mr Phillipson’s voice began to trail away as the fear of what will become of him overtook his mind. His heart was sinking; he could not believe that he was here again. The same questions and feelings of fear were flooding his brain. What would happen? What would he say when Mr Smash turned up at the school, demanding action. Mr Phillipson slammed the telephone back onto the receiver, bringing Jono back to reality.

‘I have just got off of the phone with Mr Smash and he is on his way. Mr Smash wants to wait until he sees the condition of his son before he decides whether or not he wants to press charges,’ Mr Phillipson said looking over his glasses and down at Jono.

‘Mr Phillipson,’ Jono stuttered, ‘can I please tell you what happened?’

Mr Phillipson looked disapprovingly at Jono.

Mr Phillipson looked disapproving at Jono.

‘But this letter, from Mrs Lee, tells me what happened. These boys were brutally attacked by you without any personal provocation. And I saw the end. I have already trusted you by thinking that you were telling the truth and were going to put a stop to your fighting and outbursts! You have betrayed my trust so I will be advising Mr Smash to involve the police on this matter and you will be charged,’ Mr Phillipson replied.

‘I don’t care if he is in a meeting I want to talk to him!’ shouted a voice. The door of Mr Phillipson’s office was opened suddenly by a man standing panting hard staring directly at Mr Phillipson. The man was short and plump with a bulging stomach. He was wearing an expensive onyx suit with a plain brown tie and a white shirt. The man had short blonde hair with a balding spot on the top of his head. He had a handsome, but ruthless face.

Mr Phillipson began, ‘Ah, there you are Mr Smash how are-’

‘Where is he?’ Mr Smash cut over Mr Phillipson. ‘Where is my son?’

‘Over there,’ said Mr Phillipson, pointing towards Mitchell Smash.

Mr Smash just stared at his son and the group of boys. Then he rounded on Mr Phillipson saying, ‘Where are the boys who did this to Mitchell?’

Mr Phillipson just nodded towards Jono and replied, ‘Just the one.’

‘You only got one of them!’ yelled Mr Smash, his anger rising again.

‘There was only one,’ replied Mr Phillipson.

‘I want that little b*****d charged with assault! You call the police about this, or else I will and I will tell them that you put no effort into calling them yourself!’ said Mr Smash in a dangerous and demanding voice.

Mr Phillipson picked the phone up off of the receiver again and dialled the police.

Jono felt his heart fall, further still into the pit of his stomach. They were calling the police and were going to have him charged. He knew that his parents couldn’t care less and that, without a lawyer, he would lose the case and he would be sent off to a Juvenile Detention Centre. He was doomed. Jono hated himself more than ever now. And he was angry with Boris. Why he would help him. He was not even friends with him. Lost in his own mind, he did not even see the time pass. It seemed like an instant, as if time had not passed at all before the police officer walked into Mr Phillipson’s office.

Jono was so dazed. He did not even hear the rough voice telling him to get up and put his hands behind his back. He didn’t even notice the small hand forcing him up off of the chair and against the wall. He barely noticed the cold handcuffs clipping around his wrists. He could barely hear the students gasping and laughing as he was hauled out by the police officers. And along the corridor, Jono just hang his head in shame as people continued to laugh and gasp. Many people just pulled pained and fake crying faces.

Everything was like a blur, a nightmare. He couldn’t distinguish faces, not that he wanted to. He couldn’t hear properly. All he could feel was the weight of his own heart, of his own pain. As his legs dropped from stair to stair down the front steps, Jono lifted his head and saw a paddy wagon just beyond the gates.

Jono looked around at who was out the front watching. To his dismay, he saw Veronica silently crying. Her books held close to her body. Jono could feel slow hot tears beginning to run down his cheeks and fall onto his jumper. He felt so ashamed! He hanged his head again, his hair shielding his face from sight.

The police officer marched jono towards the paddy wagon, reciting his rights to him as they went, ‘You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in the court of law...’ Upon reaching the vehicle the police officer helped Jono in and then closed the metal door behind him.

On the ride to the police station, Jono was slumped against the wall wondering how much further. It had seemed like it had been forever when the doors were thrown open and he was heaved out. The police officers took him into the building, through the lobby and into a room where there were four small cells. Jono was asked what his telephone number was.

The police officer dialled the number, ‘Oh. Hello Mrs Green. Does a Jonathan Green live at this residence? Yes we have him here at the police station. I was wondering if you could come in for a meeting with a psychologist. Then after that you can take him home with you. Well if you don’t want to take him home than he will remain here in our holding cell until someone pays for his release or his court date arrives. I strongly suggest that you come in and attend this meeting.’

The police officer put the telephone back on the receiver and turned to face Jono.

‘She’s not coming is she?’ Jono asked the officer.

The officer shook his head as he guided Jono into a cell.

As the door swung shut, it creaked loudly and clanged as the lock was turned.

The cell was small and damp with a wooden bed which hung from the side of the wall. Had one pillow, a dirty old sheet and a grimy old toilet with no sink to wash your hands. It was about six feet long and nine feet wide.

In the next cell, a man (only about a few years older than himself) looked through the bars at him.

‘What are ya in for mate?’ the man asked.

Jono just stared at him before he replied, ‘I assaulted a group of students who were ripping off the only guy who was nice to me.’

‘Ah, okay, so you protected your mate by beatin’ up a bunch of guys who were dissin’ him,’ replied the man.

‘No, he wasn’t my mate, I had only just met him. That was the weird thing.’ Jono said awkwardly. The man just chuckled to himself. Jono looked at the man, puzzled.

‘Sorry mate. I haven’t introduced myself, I’m Sean Greyland.’ said the man. Jono took one good look at Sean Greyland. He had blonde, short and spiky hair and was cut with a wide long rat’s tail that went down his back, to the middle of his shoulder blades. Hair for had bits of dirt strewn through it. He had cold, steel-coloured eyes. His head and face was slightly smaller than average, with a severely broken nose and slightly yellowing teeth. He stood at five feet, seven inches. His body was reasonably toned, with two tattoos one on each bicep. The one on his left arm said in graffiti, “Repin’ Woy Woy 4 Life”, and on the right arm it said in calligraphy, “In Memory of My Brother, Mother and Father, You Did Not Die In Vain”. He had a large scar, about four inches long, across his lower right ribs.

Sean was wearing dirty and ripped orange Dickies which were sitting half way down his buttocks to the point that you could see the top of his shiny black boxers. He was not wearing a shirt but an old stained white singlet.

‘I’m Jono Green,’ said Jono.

‘Ah, I’ve heard of ya. Ya are “Jono the Psycho”?’ Sean replied.

‘Yeah, that’s what some call me. What did you do?’ Jono asked Sean.

‘Tagged’ the side of Big W.’ Sean replied casually. ‘Is this the first time you have been put into lock up?’

Jono nodded.

‘Oh, I remember my first night in the lock up. Do ya gotta go to court or is this just a warnin’?’ Sean asked.

Jono waited a few moments before he replied to Sean. But all he could say was, ‘Court.’

Sean was about to reply when the sound of metal clanging against metal made him close his mouth. He got up and walked over to his toilet, dropped his pants and crouched over the toilet.

The guard called to everyone in lock up, ‘Hurry up! Go to the toilet, then bed!’ He knocked his baton against the bars with another clanging sound. Jono looked at the toilet and felt sick. Then he unzipped his fly and urinated in the toilet and got onto the wooden bed.

The following morning he lay on his wooden bed all the way into the afternoon but no visitors. He hadn’t expected any. He spent the second night just as sleepless the first. When the breakfast came, Jono could feel how little strength he had left. He knew that he couldn’t keep going on like this. So he forced himself up and over to the door, took the spoon and bowl of food that the guard gave him. Leaning against the bars he slid down to the ground and looked at the disgusting food. Jono sighed. It was one and a half Weet-Bix with a little bit of warm skim milk. But it looked as if they had had it way past the expiry date.

‘Be happy that they vary the food ’round here,’ said Sean, smiling.

‘Why?’ asked Jono.

‘Cause ya would hate it if ya got the same stuff everyday for a week.’ laughed Sean. ‘Ya look tired. Haven’t ya been sleepin’?’

Jono shook his head, then shuddered as he took his first bite of his breakfast. ‘I know that I’m screwed because my parents won’t come to help me,’ he said, ‘What bout yours?’

Jono thought that he almost saw a tear in Sean’s eye when he said, ‘Got none.’ and he pointed to a tattoo his right arm.

Jono asked, ‘What happened?’

‘Because it reminds me that when I catch that b*****d who killed my family, that I will return the favour.’ replied Sean, sorrowfully.

‘But you don’t need to kill someone just because that killed your family. That’s how wars start. You can still live the principle that your family “Did Not Die In Vain” just by showing everyone that you can push your limits and keep going to be the best that you can,’ Jono said wisely, ‘And I know that that sounds a little hypocritical.’

‘There’s nothin’ that I can do better than others.’

‘Come on!’ exclaimed Jono, ‘Okay, there’s gotta be somethin’ that you can do. Can you draw?’

‘Nup.’

‘Can you dance?’ asked Jono.

‘Nope.’

‘What about rap?’ said Jono slyly, ‘Can you rap?’

‘Dunno.’ said Sean.

‘Try.’

‘Okay,’ whispered Sean, psyching himself up.

Then he began:

‘Right from a baby, I was condemned;

And we all knew that no one could save me;

When I was thirteen, a man came to my house;

And butchered up my family, he was nineteen;

Left a fat scar, where he took a swipe at me;

I grew up on petty crimes, now you can see;

That I’m screwed up and I’m doin’ some time;

Yeah, I’m in the lock-up, I can’t do nothing about it;

I’m not gonna rest til I find that gutless arsehole;

And butcher him up, cause he took my soul;

When he took my family, And there’s nothin’ left for me.’

When Sean finished he was out of breath and was panting as he said, ‘What are ya looking at me like that for?’

Sean had said this because Jono was looking at him with utter bewilderment. Jono couldn’t believe that Sean had just thought of that off the top of his head.

‘You got paper and pencil?’ requested Jono.

‘Of course not. Why?’ replied Sean.

‘So that I can write that down.’

‘Oh, okay. So it was good?’ asked Sean.

‘Unbelievable. I wouldn’t have believed it if I didn’t hear you myself.’ said Jono, already beckoning the guard over to speak.

‘Can we have a piece of paper and a pencil, mate?’ Jono asked the guard.

The guard straightened up and seemed to be thinking hard. After a few moments the guard turned around and walked back to his desk opposite the three cells. He sat down, pulled open a drawer and took out a pencil and a small piece of paper. He flipped it over and was writing something on it. Then he folded it in half with the pencil inside, got up and walked over to Jono.

‘DON’T YOU DARE ASK FOR SOMETHING FROM ME!’ he bellowed at Jono, but he then winked and slipped the paper and pencil into Jono’s hands.

‘What the hell was that all about?’ Jono asked Sean, shocked.

‘They ain’t supposed to give ya anything to do in ya cell. He was covering for himself, so the other guards don’t think it was him later.’ Sean answered Jono.

‘Okay,’ said Jono unfolding the paper on the grimy floor and smoothing it out, ‘Wait, he wrote something on it.’

Together they read the guard’s note in their heads.

It said:

“I am sorry that I had to shout at you. I suppose that you

are planning to use this piece of paper to write down those

lyrics to keep for later. I reckon that you are good, kid.

Keep it up. Don’t give up you could be a rapper one day.”

            So he did want to help us, thought Jono.

            ‘Okay, let’s get started.’ said Sean out loud.

            So together they wrote down Sean’s lyrics. They did this by Sean reciting each line out aloud, and then Jono wrote it down, making changes. When Jono and Sean had all the lyrics written down. They were brought lunch (a sandwich with no butter, devon and a slice of cheese), then Jono and Sean talked about their lives all afternoon, then they were given dinner (two over-cooked sausages, a small over-cooked steak, some beans and a carrot). Jono had to go to the toilet but didn’t want to sit on it, Sean told him that he had to crouch and lean against the wall. And finally it was time for bed because as usual the guard (which had changed shifts) rapped his baton condescendingly on the bars until they got on the wooden beds.

Jono was lying in bed long into the night when he could hear a soft sobbing coming from Sean’s cell. He could hear Sean whispering his lyrics to himself. It was almost torture listening to Sean for hours, until Jono finally fell into a deep sleep. A sleep full of sobbing squirming shapes and Jono going to court (and hearing the banging gavel) and losing and screaming at Boris that it was all his fault, while being dragged away into a cell and locked inside in solidarity to go insane.

Jono jerked awake suddenly. He was on the floor. He must have fallen off the wooden bed. Even though he had gotten a couple of hours of sleep, he was still exhausted. His eyes were burning as if someone had sprinkled salt into them. And as he got up he felt his knees barely supported his weight. Jono sat on the edge of his wooden bed and leaned forward, and stared at the ground.

About an hour later, during breakfast (Cornflakes with cold skim milk) the door buzzed outside of Jono’s cell. He looked up slowly.

Jono asked Sean, ‘What does that sound mean?’

‘It means that one of us has a visitor,’ said Sean, without getting up. But the man in the cell on the right did. But the man sat back down, disappointed.

‘Jono?’ came a voice that he recognised. He looked up slowly. It was Boris and two other older people. Out of the two people, one was a man and the other, a woman. The man was tall and dark tanned, just like Boris, with a strong chin and dark hair. Jono supposed that this was Boris’ father. The man was wearing a plaid chequered button up flannelette shirt, blue jeans, hi-top brow leather hiking boots and an Akubra hat.

The woman was shorter than Boris with long, straight blonde hair, a pretty face and rounded-rectangle glasses. She had an athletically curved body. This is Boris’ mother, thought Jono.

The woman was wearing tight blue jeans, an expensive turquoise blouse with a white undershirt and hi-top leather boots. She was smiling at him. Jono looked away quickly when he made eye contact, and her smile fell.

Jono looked away quickly when he saw Boris.

‘I know that you must be pretty angry with me now mate,’ Boris began, ‘But my parents and I wanted to thank you for helping me with those guys at school on Monday-’

‘Yeah, well fat load of good it’s done me,’ said Jono cutting over Boris. Jono glanced at the guard, then at Sean, who was both looking back and forth from Jono and Boris and his parents.

‘We know that you don’t have anyone to help you with the court battle.’ It was Boris’ mother who had spoken this time. She had a soft pleasant voice.

‘We’ve been around to your parents’ home to speak to them and well, they don’t wanna help you mate.’ It was now Boris’ father who was speaking.

‘Why are you telling me something that I already know?’ replied Jono aggressively, he was standing now with balled fists. ‘I know that they don’t care if I’m at the police station in lock-up. OR EVEN IF I’M ALIVE OR DEAD-’

‘We want to help you,’ Boris’ father said cutting over Jono.

‘BULLSHIT!’ shouted Jono, starting to pace his knuckles turning white now.

‘Oi! Cool down! Otherwise I will be coming in there to give you a sedative to make you calm down!’ bellowed the guard.

‘Please let us help you mate,’ pleaded Boris, ‘we feel in debt to you for saving me. I feel so much remorse seeing you in there locked up and me out here free. My mum and my dad feel the same and want you to accept our offer-’

‘What could you offer me? What could you offer, to repair what I have done for you? HUH, WHAT COULD YOU POSSIBLE OFFER ME!’ yelled Jono, shaking his fists, his rage getting the better of him.

‘A LAWYER!’ bellowed Boris, ‘If you had stopped telling us off for one second, we may have been able to tell you that earlier.’ Jono slowed to a stop and just stared at them utterly dumbfounded. ‘We need you to have a talk to the lawyer,’ Boris continued, ‘So we will be bailing you out and making an appointment.’

Jono just stared at the ground. He felt nervous. He couldn’t believe that he had just been yelling and shouting at the only people that could help him, and yet they still want to help him. Jono didn’t know what to do. His eyes still stung and were itchy. Lifting his hands he rubbed his eyes and pushed his hair out of his face.

            ‘If I can but in here,’ said Sean, ‘This is an awesome deal Jono, I would take it.’

‘Okay,’ said Jono, pacing back and forth across his cell again, ‘So if I take your offer, where will I stay? My parents won’t let me stay in their house.’

‘You can stay with us.’ stated Boris’ father, ‘It looks like you need some sleep mate.’

Boris’ father then walked over to the guard, bent down over the desk, took a piece of paper and signed it. The guard got up and walked over, while taking out a ring of keys, selected one and fitted it into the lock. He then turned the key with a click and swang the door open. Jono slowly walked out of the cell and over towards Boris and his parents.

‘Steve Brown.’ said Boris’ father, holding out his hand.

‘You don’t wanna shake my hand.’ replied Jono showing Steve Brown his dirty palms.

‘And I’m Andrea Brown.’ said Boris’ mother. Boris was nervously looking from Jono and back to his parents. Boris began to walk towards the lobby door and he opened it, gesturing for his parents to follow. As they signed out of the Woy Woy Police Station they walked out onto the street which was on the main road of Woy Woy. In the left direction was the Shopping centre and in the right direction took you toward Ettalong. On the side of the road was a white Nissan Patrol Four-Wheel Drive. Steve Brown lead Jono towards the 4WD and opened the back door to let him in. Jono climbed in and Boris after him. The 4WD was quite spacious with two extra seats that were able to be unfolded in the boot to make the 4WD a seven seater. Once Steve and Andrea Brown had got into the 4WD and buckled up, Steve ignited the 4WD and put is right indicator on. Steve then pulled the 4WD out onto the road. Jono assumed that Steve was driving to their home. Jono gasped out aloud, just realising that he was expelled from school. Andrea looked at him with alarm.

Steve cleared his throat before saying, ‘Not everyone in my family agrees with this, but you may be able to live with us after the court case is over mate.’ Jono stared blankly at each of them in turn.

‘Really? You like wanna adopt me?’ he replied, with a hoarse voice. ‘I thought that this was temporary.’

Boris answered this one, ‘Well, for the moment it is, but we saw the condition that you live in.’

‘How do you know how I live?’ Jono snapped.

‘Because I climbed into your window and took some photos of your mouldy mattress, your dirty cockroach covered floor and burnt walls. And if you can’t live with us by our rules, than you will have to go home after the court case, but if you can than we may talk about adoption.’ said Steve brown. Jono nodded. His heart was beginning to rise. He was wanted; if he was good he might be able to live with a loving family.

            Jono was jerked back into reality when Steve Brown pulled the 4WD into the driveway of a huge white beach house. They were in Ettalong. Jono couldn’t help smiling broadly.

            ‘It’s alright isn’t it?’ said Boris.

            ‘It’s unbelievable.’ mouthed Jono, as Steve Brown walked Jono and his family to the front door, smiling. Once Steve Brown had unlocked the big oak front door and opened it, Jono saw that it was like mini-mansion. The floors were all tiled with white stone (almost like marble), and there was twin stairs sweeping down from the top of the second floor. All of the walls were white with various photos of the family and some artworks (the artworks looked expensive). The roof was a white-cream sort of colour with a large hanging chandelier and around the roof was various swirling patterns, engraved around the edges of the roof and such. As Jono walked past the threshold of the house he heard his footsteps echo slightly and he saw to his left and right, two separate large arching doorways.

            ‘Upstairs are the six bedrooms and four bathrooms,’ said Steve Brown, as Jono just gaped at him, ‘To your right is the two family rooms, two your left is the dining hall, and straight ahead, between the stairs, is the kitchen.’ finished Steve.

            Jono began to start to thank them when Andrea Brown finally said, ‘If you want to wash up than just take off your shoes and leave them here, next to the door. I will show you where your room and bathroom is.’ He followed Andrea up the stairs and turned right. The hallway up on the second floor was just as excellent as the first floor. They walked past two rooms to the end of the hall.

            ‘This is your room,’ she said, indicating to the third room, which was on the left. She then opened the door and walked in. Jono gazed around the room wordlessly. The carpet was white with small criss-cross patterns. The roof and walls matched the ground floor. There was a magnificent four-poster king sized bed made out of cedar wood with matching bedside tables. On the wall was a large seventy-two inch Samsung plasma flat screen television. Connected to the Plasma was: a Sony Play Station 3, a Microsoft Xbox 360, a Nintendo Wii, a Nintendo GameCube, and a Foxtel Set-top Box. Over towards the left of the entrance to the room was doorway. Jono strolled over to the doorway and looked inside.

            Through the doorway there was a large, classy bathroom. With a large spa-bath that was about twelve feet wide and ten feet long and looked like it could fit several people inside of it and still have plenty of space. There was a large shower next to the spa-bath that was about five feet long and three feet wide and enclosed with a glass door in a gold frame. The bathroom wall was tiled with large, square and turquoise tiles. The floor was tiled with a two-toned checker pattern using white and grey, square tiles. Opposite to the shower and spa-bath was a large white coloured basin with a gold tap and tall, wide mirror. Jono stripped down to his underwear and reached in to turn the shower taps on, then grabbed his towel and walked into the shower.

            Once Jono had finished his shower, dried and was ready to get dressed, he strolled out into the bedroom to find, laid on the bed, ironed and clean clothes ready for him. He pulled on the grey cargo pants, the white socks and the green t-shirt. He wandered out of his door and down the stairs, then towards the living room, to find that Boris was playing an Xbox 360.

            ‘Wanna play Halo mate?’ he asked, holding up a controller.

            ‘What’s Halo?’ Jono replied, intrigued. Boris raised his eyebrows.

            ‘You have never heard of Halo?’ he asked.

            ‘Not really.’ said Jono, slightly embarrassed.

            ‘Come on and sit down, I will teach you how to play.’ Boris replied.

            So for the rest of the afternoon they played the Xbox 360. Once dinner came they ate. Jono was bewildered by the amount of variety and how there were foods that he had never seen but seemed normal to them. After he ate, he decided to go upstairs to his bedroom to sleep because he had barely slept in the lock-up. When he had gotten into the four-poster bed, he was overwhelmed with happiness.

            This has been the best day of my life, thought Jono. And he fell asleep.

Author's Note

(i have been rewriting my book, as i lost pretty much all of my works in a powersurge during a back up, [so my back up got damaged with my original])
I am open to cover designs.

Reviews

[SlightlyOdd]

What luck he saved a rich kid and jail does not sound pleasant