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    Target
    Target
    Target
    Ebook88 pages46 minutes

    Target

    By Patrick Jones

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    About this ebook

    Moving off the reservation and enrolling at Rondo Alternative High School is supposed to give Frankie a new start. But leaving gang life proves harder than Frankie ever imagined, as his cousins are set on bringing him into the family's dirty business. When Frankie's father is brutalized in prison by a rival gang, Frankie is faced with a decision. Will he take revenge and prove his loyalty to his people? Or can he keep his promise to his mother and find a way out?

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherLerner Publishing
    Release dateAug 1, 2014
    ISBN9781467773881
    Target
    Author

    Patrick Jones

    Patrick Jones lives in Minneapolis and is the author of many novels including the Support and Defend series. A former librarian, Jones received lifetime achievement awards from the American Library Association and the Catholic Library Association.

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      Book preview

      Target - Patrick Jones

      1

      Frankie Smith took his time unpacking his few belongings into the tiny bedroom of the apartment on St. Paul’s east side. After years of moving in and out of double-wide trailers and rented houses on the Riverwood Reservation, he wondered if living in a crowded high-rise in a big city would be weird. Frankie’s mom said they were in St. Paul to be close to his father, but Frankie knew it was also to get him away from his friends.

      How’s it going? Frankie’s mother yelled from the other room. Frankie didn’t answer. He’d given her the silent treatment the whole three-hour drive from the reservation; it was one of his few weapons. She already knew people, had a job, and had a plan for them: We’re starting over, Frankie, starting over.

      Frankie wasn’t interested in starting over. He was even less interested in starting next week at a big urban high school. There was nothing school could teach him more than the streets or his grandfather, a Dakota tribal elder.

      His mom knocked gently on the door, but Frankie didn’t open it. He wouldn’t let her in: his door, his business, his life. Frankie, hurry up and get dressed, or we’ll be late to see your father.

      Frankie sat on the bed and looked east out of the eighth-story window. He’d never lived this high up before. Moving slowly, he unpacked his three prized possessions. The first was a handwritten, framed prayer from Chief Yellow Lark that his grandfather had made for him. The second was the best book he’d ever read, which also happened to be the only one he’d ever finished: The Outsiders, by S. E. Hinton. The action-packed story of greasers and socs appealed to Frankie, even though the book didn’t seem that realistic. These weren’t real gangs like he knew in Riverwood. Gangs settled scores not with fists, but guns. Guns like his third possession: his dad’s pearl-handled revolver.

      2

      Frankie! some guy shouted over booming bass outside Frankie’s building. Frankie turned to look as he reached the front door, carrying one of their last boxes from the move.

      Frankie’s instincts told him to run, but before he could move, the car came to a stop. Frankie, I heard you were coming to town. The passenger door opened, and a tall kid with short black hair, acne, and dark sunglasses emerged. It’s me. Billy.

      Frankie took a step toward the car—a beat-up Buick that looked older than he was—as the driver’s door opened. Same basic look, but longer hair and better skin. Forget your cousins already, Frankie? the driver said.

      With a quick nod and smile, Frankie stretched out his hands, but the twins took turns wrapping him in a bear hug. They smelled of cigarettes. Jay! Good to see you guys.

      Even as the words left his mouth, he wasn’t really sure. His mom wanted him to start over here, but that would be difficult if he got involved with members of his dad’s side of the family.

      Get in, let us show you the hood, Jay said. It’s ours for the taking.

      Frankie reluctantly climbed into the back-seat of the clunker. His mouth felt dry from the smoke inhabiting every crevice of the torn upholstery. For the taking?

      They locked up all the OGs, cuz. There’s a need for new blood, Jay continued. The new chiefs are going to need all the braves they can get. You’re in, right?

      Jay rolled up his sleeve to show Frankie his First Nation Mafia tattoo. Frankie had seen plenty of them before at his old school, at home, and briefly on his own left arm, before his mom forced him to have it removed. The area still stung, especially when he was sweating—like in the beat-up car,

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