by Sarina Bowen
It was panic. Sheer terror.
“Where were you guys, anyway?” Tanner asks me. We’re in the living room of the frat. I’m sitting on a sofa, my phone in my hand. But I can’t think what to do.
“Out of town,” I say.
“What for?”
“Just to get out of town,” I snap. “Since when do I need to explain?”
“He’s got a good reason to be curious,” Judd argues. “The cops searched Bailey’s room. They had a warrant. Reed had to open it up for them, and they spent like forty minutes in there.”
“Looking for what?” I croak. I’ve been in Luke’s room dozens of times. It’s not very big, and there’s nothing to hide. The only thing that surprised me about Luke’s room is the tiny refrigerator under his desk where he keeps cheese and apples.
“No idea,” Judd says. “But it can’t be good.”
“This will have something to do with his brother,” Jako says. “That guy is a creep, and he broke into Luke’s room on Friday.”
“Wait. He did?” I ask. “Bailey didn’t tell me that.”
Everyone just stares at me.
I don’t know what to do. Luke doesn’t like anyone to know about his life. He definitely doesn’t want anyone to know about us. On the other hand, the cops just took his ass away in a patrol car. I can’t just pretend I don’t care what happens now.
“Reed?” I ask, looking around for our president.
“Yeah?” He’s right beside me.
“What do you do if somebody is arrested. I can’t think straight right now.”
“Well, you need a lawyer if they’re pressing charges. Someone to speak for you at your arraignment.”
Right, okay. “How can we tell if someone will be arraigned?”
“They read him his rights,” Tanner says. “They don’t do that if they’re just taking you in for questioning, right?”
“I don’t know.” And I feel so ignorant right now. Watching cop shows on TV doesn’t give me much to go on. “If you were dragged off to the police station, what would you want your frat brothers to do?”
There’s another silence, and I look up into the faces of my friends. They’re all looking back at me with expressions ranging from clueless to skeptical.
“I don’t see how this is our problem,” Judd says.
And that pisses me right off. “Seriously? If it was you, I’m supposed to just go upstairs and finish my bio lab?”
“But the cops don’t show up for me,” Judd says. “So it’s just not relevant. What’s your deal with Luke Bailey, anyway?”
I ignore him. I pick up my phone and tap my father’s number. Luckily, he answers right away.
“Keaton! Let’s talk about this application fee—”
“Dad,” I break in. “Forget that right now. I need help. Luke Bailey is in trouble.”
It takes him a beat to answer. “What’s the problem, Keat?”
“He and I just drove back into town—”
“I thought you went away to a hotel with Annika?”
“Just because you thought it doesn’t make it true,” I growl. “I did spend the weekend at a hotel. But not with Annika.”
There’s another silence, and I wonder if I’m going to have to spell it out for him.
“Oh.” I don’t miss the weight of understanding that he puts into the word.
“Yeah.”
“Oh,” he says again.
I sigh. “You can wrap your mind around that later. Right now I need you to focus on this—Luke was arrested the second we got back. What do you do if someone is arrested?”
“Any guess at the charges?”
“I have no idea. And from what I can gather, neither does he. But his brother is a real piece of work, and no stranger to illegal activity.”
“You need a defense attorney,” Dad says immediately.
“Know any?”
“Has to be someone who practices in Connecticut. Give me twenty minutes.”
The line goes dead. My brain is just catching up, though, so I sit there with the phone to my ear for a long beat before I finally look up.
A dozen of my frat brothers are staring at me, their mouths open.
“What?” I snap.
“You and Bailey…?” Tanner can’t bring himself to finish the sentence.
“Went away for the weekend?” I challenge him. “Yes.”
“Uh…” He just looks perplexed.
And I can’t do this right now. “Whatever you’re thinking, go ahead and think it. I have to park my car before it gets towed. And I have to get a lawyer for Bailey.” I stand up.
“I’ll park your car,” Tanner says. He holds out a hand for the keys. “I got this. You can just take care of business.”
“Oh.” I take a deep breath. “Thank you.”
I hand over the keys.
Nobody else moves.
“Please tell me you and Luke Bailey aren’t…” Judd looks ill.
Apparently everyone forgot how to finish their sentences while I was away. “So what if we are? It’s none of your business.”
“Jesus,” he hisses. “That explains so much.”
“About what?” I snarl.
“He turned you,” Judd says. “So he could take the frat presidency. He flipped the straight guy. You’re a big notch in his belt, right? Did he ask you for money, too?”
“FUCK you!” I shout, getting to my feet.
“Nah, I don’t swing that way,” Judd snaps. “No matter how good the blowjobs are. Did he teach you that, too?”
And that’s when I lunge for him.
Open to a Plea Deal
Luke
I’m shown into a holding cell with five other guys. There are benches along the walls, but no other furniture. Nobody even looks up at me as I enter, and that’s just fine. I sink down on a bench and try not to think. Because every thought I have is a horrible one.
Even if I somehow manage to walk out of here tomorrow with the charges dismissed, will Darby College keep me? Can they revoke my scholarship for having a brother who steals?
And then there’s the frat. There’s some line about lawfulness in the members’ handbook somewhere. If you’re convicted of a crime, I think they can toss you out.
I cannot get convicted. Of anything. Even if I got a fine instead of jail time, it would ruin my life. I’m thirteen months from getting a degree. If I get a criminal record instead?
Shit jobs for the rest of my life.
At some point my name is called again. I’m shown into another interview room, where a public defender in a too-tight suit asks me all the relevant questions.
“I know my brother did this,” I tell him as loudly as I can. “Did they investigate him? I can give you the address.”
He scribbles it on maybe the twentieth page of his legal pad, under the pile of other cases that are already there.
“I will argue for bail to be set at your arraignment,” he says.
“How does that work?
“If they set it for five thousand dollars, you’d pay seven hundred and fifty to a bail bondsman, who posts the rest.”
Seven hundred and fifty dollars. I don’t have that money. My family sure as hell won’t, either. Holy shit. I’m trapped in here, unless I ask Heather or the guys at Jill’s to get me out.
Keaton would pay it, of course. But I’d rather owe everyone else on the planet than ask him.
My lawyer gets ready to leave only a few minutes later. It’s obvious to me that his one goal is getting me out on bail tomorrow. “We’ll work on the case when we get a trial date,” he says. “Are you open to a plea deal?”
“No!” Jesus. “I didn’t do it. And I have an alibi. Can you call the hotel and ask them if there are security cameras?”
“Uh-huh,” he says, clicking his pen again. “When we get a court date. Sure.”
I have never felt as hopeless as I do right now.
They take me back to the holding cell, where I sink down on a bench an
d put my head in my hands. I would do anything to rewind this weekend to a point where I might have done something differently. Like call the cops on Joe after he broke into my room.
If only.
“Bailey! Bailey. Bailey?”
I jerk awake, bouncing my head off the concrete wall. “Right here,” I gasp.
“Your lawyer is here to prepare for your arraignment.”
I stand up, and my back complains. I spent the night hunched over, trying to sleep without having a place to lie down. My mouth feels disgusting, and my T-shirt probably smells like this hellhole.
This is how I have to face a judge?
Numb, I follow the uniformed officer back toward the little interview room. We’ve just reached the doorway when I hear my name again, from further down the hall.
“Luke Bailey? Where can I find Luke Bailey?”
“Right here,” I say, confused, as the man with the salt-and-pepper beard in the impeccable pinstripe suit barrels towards me. He’s carrying a satchel with brass clasps.
“Good, good. How much time do we have?” he asks the bailiff.
“About twenty minutes.”
The man pushes past us into the little room and his satchel lands on the table with a thump. “You’re dismissed,” he tells my public defender. “Leave the case file.”
My lawyer gets up with a squeak of his chair against the linoleum.
“Wait!” I say, panicking. “You can’t send the lawyer away.”
“I’m your new lawyer,” Mr. Pinstripes says, opening his satchel. “Robert Grant, attorney at law. Sit down, we’re wasting time.”
The other lawyer slips out of the room without so much as a word.
“But…” I snap my jaw closed, because this man is opening up a laptop already, and on its screen I see a photo of the hotel where I spent the weekend.
So I shut up and sit down across from him.
“Checkout time from the hotel is eleven a.m. on Sunday. Do you remember when you two drove away?”
“Uh, not until after eleven thirty at the earliest, because we ate lunch at the hotel restaurant.” I say, still groggy from a night of dozing on a bench. “Who gave you that information?”
He looks up. “Keaton Hayworth. Junior, or the third, whatever. The Hayworth kid. The hotel is pulling security footage from the elevators, too. Your name wasn’t on the reservation, which is a shame, but it isn’t the most important thing. My investigator will find someone behind the desk who remembers you.”
I am speechless for a second. “Who hired you?”
“The Hayworths. Now talk to me about your brother. Does he still reside at this address on Calhoun Street?” He swings the computer screen to face me, and it’s a Google Earth shot of my mom’s house.
“Yes,” I say slowly. “I know he took my ID and used it to take whatever is missing.”
“Uh-huh,” the lawyer says, typing like crazy. “Totally plausible. But we don’t have to solve this case for the lazy assholes who arrested you. We’re going to show you weren’t anywhere near Darby on Saturday. They know when the place was robbed, they have the shitty footage to prove it.” He glances at me over his screen. “That still shot they showed you was straight-up bullshit. There is other footage that shows your brother’s face. I’d bet money on it.”
“Okay.” I clear my throat. “How much do you cost?”
“Not relevant to the next sixteen minutes. Hey, put this on.” He reaches into his satchel and pulls out an oxford shirt, still wrapped in plastic. “And these.” He’s got a pair of khaki pants with the tags still on them. “Keaton guessed the sizes. Hurry up. Oh, and…” He also sets a can of deodorant on the table.
I rise and strip off my T-shirt, tossing it right into the garbage can in the corner. I’d strip off my skin, too, if I could. I never want to see this place again, and I don’t need any reminders that I was ever here.
Pulling on the shirt that Keaton bought for me is only slightly more comfortable, however. I can’t believe he had to do this for me.
I feel nothing but shame.
When I’m halfway presentable and Mr. Grant has asked me fifty questions in fifteen minutes, I’m marched by a bailiff to a busy courtroom, where the judge is seated on the dais, several people convened in front of him.
I take a seat on yet another bench.
My fancy lawyer—my new favorite person—is hissing at another man at the side of the room. “This is an ACD,” Grant says. “Looks bad if you lock up a college kid before exams, whose only crime is sharing DNA with a turd you already convicted.”
The other man makes a face.
“The college looks bad if this is on the news,” Grant says, and it sounds like a threat. “And when the college looks bad, your boss gets a call.”
My lawyer is a scary dude. And I don’t even understand the things he’s saying.
“Case 418636!” calls a bailiff in front.
“That’s us,” Grant says, snapping his fingers. I rise and move toward him like a well-trained dog. “I speak for you,” he says under his breath. “Just answer ‘Yes, your honor,’ when the judge confirms your name.”
And so I do.
Two minutes later the district attorney—that’s the guy my lawyer was talking to—says “We’ve reached an agreement of ACD.”
I don’t know what that means, but the judge grunts. He hands a sheet of paper to the DA. “ROR for ACD.” Then he taps his gavel and picks up some other papers on his desk.
“Thank you,” murmurs Grant to the DA. “Wise decision. My client will make himself available to you whenever necessary.” Then Grant takes my elbow in his hand and drags me up the aisle and out the door.
“What just happened?” I ask when we’ve reached the lobby.
“ACD means Adjournment in Contemplation of Dismissal.”
“But what about bail?” I ask as he lets go of my arm.
“No bail. You’re just free to go. I’ll supply them with hard evidence of your alibi. Meanwhile, the DA’s office will try to find the actual burglar and then they’ll dismiss your case for good. So don’t get arrested for anything else, kid. Don’t drink and drive. Don’t trespass. Don’t even run a stop sign.”
“Okay?” My head is spinning.
“And if they come by to interview you about your brother, call me right as you sit down with them. You do not have to go near the police station. But you do need to be as helpful as possible. Call me for anything.”
“I will.”
“Now let’s get your personal effects so you can go home.”
And so we do.
Ebola
Luke
Apparently I contracted Ebola in jail.
Well, not actually. But based on the silence and the stares that greet me when I walk into the Alpha Delt house, you’d sure as shit think I was a carrier for a deadly disease.
Wary eyes track my movements as I enter the living room. Keaton is nowhere to be seen, but Judd, Tanner, and a few others sit on the couch, dropping their video game controllers to their laps at my entrance. In the dining room, Jako and Zimmer are bent over a stack of textbooks. Their heads snap up when they spot me, and Jako is immediately on his feet.
“Bailey!” he calls out in relief, and he’s the only person in the room who looks happy to see me. Once again, I wonder where Keaton is. I’ve been trying hard not to think about him. But now I have to.
He watched the cops push me into a cruiser. I feel nauseated every time I remember that.
“Hey,” I greet everyone, awkwardly shoving my hands in my back pockets.
“How was prison?” cracks Judd.
I give him a look that would make most people quail. But not Judd. I knew my housemates would ask questions, but it grates that Judd is the one to lead off the Inquisition. He’s sporting a black eye, too, which just makes him look more like the surly hooligan that he is.
“I wasn’t in prison,” I reply as evenly as I can manage. “I spent the night in holding.”
&
nbsp; “Same diff.”
“No, not the same at all.” My stiff legs carry me to the center of the living room. I sweep my gaze over the guys on the couch and then the rest of the bodies that are slowly filling the room. “I’ve got an announcement to make,” I tell everyone.
“Oh, there is absolutely no need,” Judd taunts. He stands up and moves toward me so that we’re facing off in front of the coffee table. “We know far too much about you already.” He glances around. “There’s no way you’re going to be president.”
Our current president appears at my side, rolling his eyes. “Keller,” Reed chastises. “Enough.”
Judd’s lip curls. “Are you serious? Your replacement just got arrested, Reedsy!”
“And released,” I interject. “The charges will be dismissed. I didn’t steal anything.”
“You stole plenty,” Judd drawls. “You’re disgusting.”
“And you don’t know what the hell you’re saying,” I growl. “On Friday when I got back from a run, Jako let me know that my older brother Joe came by.”
Jako steps forward with a nod. “Right, but—”
“I was worried,” I press on, “because Joe did time for breaking and entering a while back. So I went upstairs to investigate and discovered he stole some cash from my room. At the time I thought it was just the cash. But as it turns out, he…” I draw another breath. “He also stole my Darby ID.” Shame and disgust twist my stomach into knots. “And then he used that ID to steal some computers from the school.”
“Shit,” Jako says quietly.
“Seriously?” Judd is having none of it. “That’s supposed to make us feel better?” He turns to Reed. “He just admitted to letting a convicted felon roam around unaccompanied in our house!”
Jako speaks up again, his tone hard. “No, I did that. I let Luke’s brother into the house, so anything he took from us is on me.”
“No, it’s not,” I say firmly. “It’s on me.”
“Damn right,” Judd says viciously. “I am fucking done with this. I vote to impeach the cocksucker in chief—”
