It was a wonderful warm sunny day. Lenny was sitting on the groud in camp, leaned against a tree with his back as he was reading in a book. That guy actually loved reading but he usually didn't find a lot of time for it. With his 19 years he was the youngest gang member—including you—so he didn't really have someone else to really talk to.

Lenny sat quietly, the book resting in his lap. His fingers touched the pages gently—the paper felt a little rough under his skin. As he turned each page his eyes moved slowly across the lines, taking in every word. Time seemed to fade as the story pulled him in, one page at a time. He was completely focused.