wild cats chapter 3

Chapter Three: Borstal
Tonight was miserable, so I decided to do what I always did when there wasn't a party, a fight, or a meeting with the Wild Cats: I stole a car for a joyride. That was the start of it all.
I was too young to drive legally, but that didn't stop me. I walked to West Watford and found a car. The door lock was a doddle; I inserted a small screwdriver, lifted it, and gave it a sharp twist. Within seconds, I was sitting in the car, fiddling with wires under the dash. My fingers, practised and quick, found the right wires, and with a final twist, the engine of the Ford Escort sputtered and coughed to life.
I'd done this countless times. I'd just drive around, tearing up a parking lot doing doughnuts, or try to tip the car onto two wheels on a tight turn. My boredom faded with every reckless turn. I remembered one night I hit a humpback bridge at about 80 mph. All four wheels left the ground, and for a split second, I was flying. When I landed, I lost control, slammed into another bridge, and splashed into the canal below. Tonight, with the same old familiar boredom, a joyride was exactly what I needed.
The Ford Escort rattled and howled as I whipped it around a tight corner, gravel spitting everywhere. Out of nowhere, a police siren kicked in—a sharp, wailing blast that crawled right under my skin. I checked the mirror. There it was: a late-night patrol car, stripes glaring, lights blazing like it wanted to eat me alive.
I yanked the wheel hard, way too hard, and the Escort shrieked back at me. The whole car tilted—suddenly I was riding on two wheels, stomach in my throat, teeth chattering. Then the car slammed down, rattling my bones, but the cops were still right there. Those blue lights kept coming, closing the gap.
I had to lose them, fast.
Up ahead, a skinny little street squeezed between rows of council houses. No time to think. I cranked the wheel, jumped the curb, and the Ford bounced over a busted wall, barely dodging a line of wheelie bins. Trash exploded behind me. The cop car tried to follow, but it couldn’t hack the turn—its nose slid out, fishtailing while the driver wrestled for control.
Now I was flying blind through these cramped roads, needle jammed past seventy. Blew straight through a stop sign, engine screaming for mercy. A lorry blasted its horn as I shot across the main road. My heart nearly quit on me. I spotted the alley I needed—squeezed between the back of a bakery and a grimy chip shop—but it came up fast. No choice. I aimed for it. The side mirror smashed against the bricks, cardboard and rotten veggies crunching under the wheels as I barreled through.
I shot out onto a cobbled cul-de-sac, praying for a way out. Nothing. Just a rusted gate blocking off an old factory yard. Dead end.
The Ford groaned to a stop. Behind me, the police engine roared and echoed, bouncing off the walls. I was boxed in. Nowhere to go.
I wasn’t about to wait around to get hauled out like some trapped animal. I slammed the brakes, tyres shrieking on the slick cobbles. Killed the engine. Suddenly it was dead quiet—just the stink of burnt rubber filling the car, my hands glued to the wheel.
The police car screeched to a stop, headlights blinding me, siren cutting out. Then this voice came, cold and sharp: "Driver! Get out of the vehicle! Hands on your head! Now!"
I dropped my head and stared at the battered steering wheel. That was it. Game over. I was about to get a good, long look at the inside of a borstal.
For the car I stole, they sentenced me to three years in a borstal. The judge called it "educational." He really thought that by locking me up, it would somehow teach me a lesson, a trade, or at least make me behave.
However, when the prison door slammed, it was nowhere near a school. It was just cold and unforgiving—the end of the road, not a new beginning. The staff already knew, or thought they knew, me. They had gone through my file, found the word "violent," and that was all they needed to decide my fate. They put me in Dover, Kent—a locked-down place for kids no one trusts.