by Kieran Scott
“I have a proposition,” Felice said. “How about we don’t talk until our parents get here?”
Unfortunately, my parents were in Las Vegas. I didn’t tell anyone this, but I wasn’t sure I was ever getting out of there. Gabe wasn’t home when I left and no one else had the number of my parents’ hotel. If Phoebe was still there, she might be able to find it in the kitchen, but she didn’t even know my parents were away. This cell could very well be my new home.
Tara and Bobby scowled at each other, then turned their backs on one another. Mindy sat down next to me and put her head on my shoulder. Sage scowled across the cell at her as if touching me was the ultimate betrayal. I looked at Daniel and we both sighed. It was going to be a long night.
“Where is she? Where’s my sister?”
“Gabe! Over here!”
I woke up with a sharp pain to the temple. A fluorescent light hovered overhead and my back felt like it had been cracked in ten places. I lifted my head, which was resting on a bunched-up varsity jacket. I blinked at it. The name DANIEL stared up at me in gold lettering on the breast. He’d left me his jacket as a pillow.
“Annisa! Are you okay?”
I sat all the way up and winced in pain. The cell was empty and I had fallen asleep. How the hell had I fallen asleep in this place?
I blinked a few times and saw Gabe and Phoebe standing at the bars at the front of the cell, staring in at me like I was a monkey at the zoo. Gabe and Phoebe. In my half-asleep state it took me a second to process how that had happened. Then relief washed through me. I was saved!
“Hey, guys,” I said, standing up. “Are you getting me out?”
“They won’t let me ’Cause I’m not your guardian,” Gabe said, clutching the bars. So much for the relief. He looked around, then lowered his voice. “Annisa, what the hell did you do?”
“Nothing!” I said, walking over to them. “The seniors took us over to West Wind and I knew we were doing a prank, but they never told us what. I swear, Gabe, I had no idea.”
“Not surprising,” Phoebe said. “No one ever told us what was going on when we were sophomores.”
“I think that’s one tradition we need to do away with,” I said, leaning my head against the bars. “Mom and Dad are gonna kill me.”
“Yeah, they’re not happy campers,” Gabe said.
My heart thumped. My parents weren’t technically due back until Monday. “Are they coming home early?”
“Yeah. They’re somewhere over Texas right about now,” he replied, checking his watch. Then he smiled. “I gotta say, of the two of us, I never thought you’d be the first one to end up behind bars.”
I laughed bitterly. “No kidding.”
“Annisa, thank you so much for leaving me behind,” Phoebe said. “I don’t think my parents could handle bailing me out of jail on top of everything else.”
“No problem,” I said, noticing for the first time that she had some color back in her face and was looking a lot less miserable. “I’m glad one member of the squad is record-free. Maybe you can compete solo at regionals.”
“Do you think they’re gonna keep us out of it?” she asked.
“How could they not?” I said sadly. “But whatever. I’m just glad you were at my house to get the call.”
“Yeah, imagine my surprise when I came home to find this beautiful girl waiting for me to tell me that my sister has been picked up by the cops,” Gabe said, smiling at Phoebe. I noticed for the first time that he had dropped the surfer-speak. Maybe he forgot it in all the drama.
“Please,” Phoebe said, flushing. “I look like death.”
“Then death is looking good these days,” Gabe said.
“Okay, I don’t need nausea on top of everything else,” I told them.
“Come on, kids.” The officer who had blinded me earlier came into the holding area. “You’ve been in here long enough.”
Gabe rolled his eyes. “We’ll be right outside,” he told me. He reached through the bars and ruffled my hair like he always did when we were little. “Don’t worry. Mom and Dad will be here in a few hours.”
Phoebe lifted her hand in a wave and she and Gabe followed the officer out. Mom and Dad will be here in a few hours . . . to ground me for life, I thought. Yeah, that’s comforting.
I walked over to the bench and picked up Daniel’s jacket. He must have put it under my head when I was already sleeping. Just the thought of him carefully lifting my face and slipping it under there . . . sigh. It was so perfect, I was sorry I’d missed it.
I unfolded the jacket and slipped my arms into it, savoring the warmth. I wished there was a mirror in the cell so I could see how I looked in it, but no such luck. In the pockets I found one stick of gum—cinnamon—a folded-up five-dollar bill, a Blockbuster card and a guitar pick.
It was so cool. Like a secret little tour of his life. I sat back on the bench to daydream. Maybe Daniel could keep me company for a little while. . . .
My mother hugged me so tightly when I stepped out of the cell, I thought she was going to crush me. She looked perfect, as always; the only evidence of her worry and the redeye flight was a conspicuous lack of blush. When I pulled back from her, she placed her hands on either side of my face, looked me in the eye and shook her head.
“Mom, I didn’t do anything. I swear,” I said.
“Isn’t that what everyone says in this situation?” she asked.
“Yeah, but this time it’s true,” I said, half pleading. “Come on, Mom. I wouldn’t do something like this.”
She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I probably shouldn’t believe you, kiddo, but I do.”
My entire body uncoiled. As long as my parents were on my side, I was fine.
“Who’s Daniel?” she asked, her brow creasing as she looked down at his jacket.
I smiled. “I’ll tell you about it tomorrow.”
She wrapped her arm around me and walked me out to the waiting room, where my dad was signing something at the front desk. Gabe and Phoebe rushed over the second they saw me. Phoebe hugged me almost as hard as my mom had.
“You’re sprung!” Gabe said, knocking me on the shoulder.
“What’s going on over there?” I asked as my mom joined my father.
Phoebe and Gabe pulled me into a little huddle and lowered their voices. “It sounds like West Wind isn’t pressing charges,” Phoebe said. “Something about the scare of being thrown in jail being enough punishment.”
“Please. Like a little jail time is gonna scare my sister,” Gabe said, grinning.
“Shut up!” I said. “My juvenile delinquency phase is officially over.”
“Annisa.”
My heart twisted at the strained tone of my father’s voice. I turned around and he landed a perfunctory kiss on my forehead. I could tell he was really mad.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“Yeah, Dad. I’m fine,” I said.
“Good. Then let’s go.”
My heart was pounding as we headed in a group toward the door, wondering what was going to happen when they got me home. A lot of explaining, definitely. A grounding, probably. This was so unfair. I’d already spent a good eight hours behind bars and I hadn’t even done anything. Well, except that I left the house when I knew I should have stayed right where I was. Lesson learned.
“Oh, and Mr. Gobrowski?” the officer behind the desk said.
We all paused and turned around. “Yes?” my father said.
The middle-aged man smirked and knocked his pen against the counter, looking at Gabe. “Sorry, I meant the younger Mr. Gobrowski,” he said. “I assume you’ll be paying that fine by the end of the week.”
We all turned to Gabe, who had a sort of kill-me-now look on his face.
“Fine?” my mother said. “What fine?”
“I was going to tell you about this later,” Gabe said.
“Tell us about what?” my father asked, his voice shaking.
“Hey! It’s just a
ticket!” Gabe said. “Annisa’s the felon!”
“Hey!” I said, whacking him with the back of my hand.
“Gabriel,” my father said. “What . . . fine?”
My father never called my brother “Gabriel.” It rendered my brother speechless.
“I’m afraid your son was issued a ticket on Friday night for noise violation,” the officer supplied helpfully.
What!? I thought. Gabe’s party had been shut down by the cops? How did I not know this?
“Noise violation?” my mother said.
“He threw quite a party,” the officer said with a grin. “From what I understand, kids are going to be talking about it for years.”
His job done, he turned and walked back into the offices, leaving my little family unit (plus Phoebe) in agonizing silence.
“Gabe! Again!?” my mother asked, disappointment all over her face.
“In the car,” my father added. “Now.”
Gabe and I exchanged a look of doom as we led our parents out the doors. We were totally done for.
When I came downstairs on Sunday morning, my parents were fully clothed and sitting in the living room, talking in ominously hushed voices. After dropping a resigned Phoebe back home the night before, they had sent us to bed and said they would deal with us in the morning. I was already sick with anticipation, but my insides took a turn for the worse when I saw that sitting on the coffee table between them was my geometry notebook. And right on top of my notebook was my first and only quiz, the one with a nice, fat D in the top right corner.
I turned to go back to my room, but my father heard me when I tripped up the stairs.
“Come on down, Annisa,” he said. “Have a seat.”
“Hey,” I said tentatively as I padded over to them. I swallowed hard and sat down on the edge of the chair-and-a-half that was caddy-cornered from the couch. There was a huge lump in my throat. Let the sentencing begin. “About the D—”
“Annisa, what is going on with you?” my father interrupted.
“It’s just one grade, Dad,” I said. “They’re way ahead of my class back home. But I have a test this week and if I do well on it, I’ll be fine.”
“Good. You’re going to do well on it,” he said, slapping my books into a pile.
“Yeah . . . I am,” I said, uncertain in the face of his obvious ire.
“Because you will do nothing but study until the test is taken,” my father said, pushing the books toward me. “That means no hanging out with your friends, no cheerleading, no nothing.”
I was overcome by sudden and intense panic. “But regionals are this weekend!” I protested. If they let us compete.
“In fact, your mother and I are going to have to think long and hard about whether you should be cheering at all anymore,” he continued as if I hadn’t spoken.
“Dad, come on. You can’t do this,” I said.
“Annisa, your association with these people landed you in jail.”
“But Dad, last night was just—”
“The most horrifying night of our lives!” my father shouted, standing. He walked away from the couch, pushing his fists into the pockets of his slacks. “Do you have any idea what it’s like to get a phone call from the police in the middle of the night? Do you have any idea what went through our minds?”
I felt like I was about to cry. I felt awful all over again. I already knew what I had put them through. I had heard all about it on the car ride back from the police station. Did he have to keep rubbing it in?
“David,” my mother said. “Is this really necessary?”
Thank you! I thought, with a rush of sheer gratitude.
“Yes, I believe it is!” my father said. “Our daughter was incarcerated.”
“Yeah, but Dad, I didn’t do anything,” I said, standing as well. “Mom believes me!”
“It’s not that I don’t believe you, Annisa,” my father said. “Maybe some kids pressured you into going, maybe you’re just trying to fit in. But sweetie, we’ve moved many times over the years, and I’ve never seen your behavior take such a radical shift. This isn’t like you, Annisa.”
The disappointment on his face practically broke my already aching heart. Why does it hurt more when they hit the nail right on the head than when they’re accusing me of stuff I didn’t do?
“Now, I want you to go up to your room and think about the way you’ve been behaving since we moved here,” my father told me. “We’ll discuss the future of your cheerleading career later.”
I could tell the conversation was over. And there were so many things running through my mind at that moment, I wasn’t sure I could sort out what to say anyway. Instead, I grabbed my books, stormed upstairs and slammed the door as hard as I could. I threw my geometry stuff on the floor and flopped down on my bed.
I was so angry. Angry at my father for not listening to me. Angry at my mother for barely participating. She could have defended me more. She could have said that taking away my cheerleading was punishment above and beyond the crime.
But he’s not worried about last night, my more rational side pointed out. He’s worried about you.
“I’m fine,” I protested feebly. So feebly, I didn’t even believe it.
I rolled over on my side and stared at the red D sticking out the top of my notebook. A D. I’d never gotten a D in my life. And yeah, maybe I’d been behind from day one, but I could’ve studied. I could’ve spent time working instead of cheerleading and shopping for Sand Dune–worthy clothes and trying to fit in. My dad was right. This wasn’t like me.
I was starting to feel thoroughly depressed.
I sighed and rolled onto my back again, staring at the ceiling. My parents hated me, I was screwing up in my classes, I missed Bethany and hadn’t talked to her in two days, I’d spent the night in jail and now I was going to have to tell Coach that I was going to miss two pre-regionals practices and maybe even have to quit the team.
My eyes began to burn and I felt a single tear slip down the side of my face. What the heck was I going to do?
Monday morning, the vibe in the halls of Sand Dune High was totally erratic. There was a sort of hushed, funereal feel after the travesty of the game, but it was shot through with the excitement of the biggest gossip-worthy story of the year. Anyone who wasn’t talking about the evil refs was talking about was the big jock incarceration. As I walked down the hall to my locker, people whispered and shot me curious and awed glances. In one weekend I’d gone from klutzy, brunette nobody to party-throwing criminal. I wasn’t sure I preferred the new status.
All you’ve got to do is get through today, I thought as I twirled my lock distractedly. It wasn’t exactly comforting, though. Today was the day I would find out the fate of the squad, and tell Coach Holmes that I couldn’t practice for two days. Maybe I’d be better off if we were banned from regionals. At least then it wouldn’t be as big a deal that I had to bail on my commitment to the squad.
I yanked at the locker door and nothing happened. The little arrow was pointing at the 30. I’d done it again. My old locker combo. I really needed to get my brain back before that geometry test.
“Hey.”
It was Bethany. I couldn’t have been more shocked if she’d smacked me with an electric cattle prod.
“You’re talking to me,” I said. I carefully dialed in the correct combination.
“Yep,” she replied. “Heard about your night in the slammer. You were locked in a ten-by-ten with my brother and his friends for over an hour. That’s all kinds of evil. I think you’ve been punished enough.”
I smiled slightly as I yanked open my locker door. “Thanks.”
“Bobby told me you were still there when everyone else left. Did your parents go ballistic?” Bethany asked, turning so that her back was up against the wall.
“You could say that,” I told her.
“So, when you’re allowed to see daylight again, wanna write an article about police brutality for the site?” she asked.
“Actually, I guess you don’t need daylight for that. I never do. So what do you think, a thousand words by tomorrow?”
She looked so stoked about the idea that I didn’t have the heart to tell her that somewhere around 1:00 A.M. the cops had taken pity on my lonely butt and given me donuts and milk.
“Sure,” I said as I yanked a few books out of my locker. “But not for tomorrow. Not until after the geometry test and after regionals. If they even happen.”
“Hey, if you don’t want to do it,” she said, putting her hands up.
“Bethany, wait,” I said, stopping her before she walked away. She turned and looked at me, her eyebrows raised. “I’m just trying to be honest here. My parents are gonna slaughter me if I don’t get at least a B on the geometry test, and regionals are really important to me. I just don’t want to make promises I can’t keep anymore.”
Bethany looked at the toes of her platform Mary Janes and hooked her thumbs around the strap on her messenger bag. “That’s fair, I guess,” she said finally.
I let out a sigh. “Good. ’Cause I really want to be friends with you, but if you’re gonna freak out every time I have to do something with the squad—”
“Hey, I was just pissed about the prank war,” Bethany said.
I blinked and shoved the last few books into my backpack. “Come again?” I asked, slamming my locker door. “I thought you were all about the prank war.”
“Yeah, until you took the idea and went running off to the blah-rahs with it,” she said, as if it were so totally obvious.
My mouth fell open and my gum almost came tumbling out. “That’s why you’re mad? Because you didn’t get to participate?” I asked.
“Well, that was why I was mad,” Bethany clarified. “Until you got your asses arrested. Which, by the way, would never have happened if I had been there.”
