by Claire Adams
I pulled up to the curb and parked my bike, apprehensive and a little worried as I stretched my back. I walked up into the building, intending to drop off my backpack at my place and then see if Brooke was awake so that I could tell her the good news--and explain way I hadn't been able to contact her or be contacted for two days.
I opened the front door of my place and stepped in, dropping my bag as I did--and I immediately froze. There were four cops standing in our living room, and Chris was sitting on the sofa with his head in his hands. Ciara and a few of her friends were standing around looking guilty, as well.
One of the cops shone his flashlight in my face. “Well, well, well. You must be Emerson. Am I right?” he asked.
“Uh, yes sir, that's me,” I replied uneasily.
“At least this one has some manners,” he said as he glanced at one of the other officers in the room. “You and your roommate here have a regular ol' liquor store up in this apartment, don't ya?”
My blood ran cold. “Um, uh, I…” I stammered, not knowing what to say.
“I hope you're not going to try tell me all this alcohol in here 'isn't yours' or that you're 'keeping it for a friend' or some bullshit story like that. We hear that all the time, kid, so don't waste our time. Now, I'm gonna ask you this once, and you're gonna tell me the truth. Remember, it's a felony to lie to an officer of the law. Are you twenty-one years of age or older?”
My mouth went dry; I could hardly even talk to answer. “Um…”
“Well, son? Are you or are you not?”
“I'm not, sir.”
“Let me see your driver's license.”
I pulled my wallet from my back pocket, fumbled around in it with trembling fingers and pulled out my driver's license, and handed it to the cop. He took it, looked it over and nodded as he handed it back to me.
Another man in uniform came out of the kitchen holding a camera. He tapped on the side of the camera as he spoke. “Alright, boys, I've got all the evidence we need right here.” Obviously, he'd just taken pictures of our stash of beer and liquor. I felt like throwing up.
The cop who had spoken to me before shook his head. “You kids are in a lot of trouble. A lot. We take this kind of thing serious. Real serious.”
“What? I haven’t even been here for two days,” I muttered, looking at Chris in confusion.
“Well, you’re here now, son,” one of the officers said.
My body felt numb. It was almost as if I were watching it all happen to me from outside my body. Everything felt completely surreal. “Uh… what's gonna happen to us?” I asked.
“You and your buddy Chris here are gonna come down to the station with us. We're gonna charge you with possession of alcohol, and if you know what's best for you, you'll do what we say without protesting. Something tells me you'll cooperate with us. Won't you?”
I nodded. “Y-yes, sir.”
“Good. You seem like a respectful young man, so we won't need to cuff you, right? You ain't gonna try nothing stupid like running, are ya?”
“No, sir. We'll cooperate,” I added
“That's what I like to hear. Kowalksky, you and Jackson take the ladies down to the station and book 'em, and I'll take these two down in my car.”
The officer with the camera nodded. “Got it. See you at the station.”
A female officer led the crying Ciara and two other girls out. The other officer scowled at Chris and myself. “Alright,” he said to us, “come with me.”
We walked downstairs behind him in stunned silence as his partner followed behind us. Once we got into the back of the police car, anger shot through me with a sudden fury. I glared at Chris who looked away, unable to meet my stare. “What the hell happened, Chris?!” I said angrily.
“Your little lab partner next door called the cops. That’s what happened.”
“You don’t know who called the cops, Chris.”
“Yeah. I do. I saw her roomie leaving with an armful of books when Ciara and I were getting back from our pizza run. That means your little friend was the only one home.”
“Well, why were you being so loud? I’ve warned you and warned you,” I argued.
“We were just playing some music, just having a little party, bro, just—”
“Just nothing! You idiot! What the hell, man? What the hell?! I told you to stop doing that, I told you!”
“How was I supposed to know those fucking bitches next door would call the cops?”
“Because I told you! Melissa even warned us about it! Damn it, dude, I told you that shit!”
“Well, it's not my fault they're a pair of lame, stuck-up, goody two-shoe types who can't stand having a good time.”
In that moment, I wanted to punch Chris square in the eye. It was only with the barest strands of restraint that I managed to hold myself back from doing just that. “You’re an idiot and it’s not their fault. It’s your fault. Shit, can't you just take responsibility for something for once in your life? Jesus, Chris, I told you someone was gonna call the cops if you didn't stop partying! And, what do you go and do? Despite all the warnings, you keep on!”
“Whatever,” he mumbled. “Some friend you are.”
“Me? Dude, you just got me busted for something I didn’t even do! Do you have any idea what’s going to happen when my—” I paused mid-sentence and simply stopped. “Never mind.” I knew if I kept on, I would say something really hurtful. What happened had happened and being pissed about it couldn't change it. All that was left was to deal with the consequences.
I glared back up at the door to our apartment, then to the one next to it. Had it really been Brooke that had called the cops? Maybe she had done it out of anger. Maybe she thought I'd been deliberately ignoring her these past two days. She had no way of knowing my phone had been lost. Maybe she thought I'd just slept with her and then dropped her—probably confirming all the reasons she'd most likely told herself not to drop those walls around her to begin with. I couldn’t imagine what kind of guy she thought I was at the moment.
Anger flared up inside me again, only not at Chris. How could she? She had no right to jump to her conclusions. She could have just waited for me to get back so I could have at least explained to her about the situation with my phone. She had no right to judge me like that! It wasn't fair and it was vindictive as hell. Especially when she knew exactly what would happen when the cops came to my place and found so much alcohol or any alcohol for that matter.
I cradled my head in my hands.
Maybe, all this time, I had been wrong about her.
Dead wrong.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Brooke
The last class of the day was actually chemistry lab—the time I'd usually spend with Emerson. While I'd been doing my best all day to avoid thinking about him, seeing as I'd had absolutely no response whatsoever from him, it was impossible to not think about him once the time rolled around that he would have normally been helping me with practicals.
I couldn’t understand why he still had not replied. Couldn't he have, at least, told me how his dad's surgery had gone? Couldn't he have, at least, had the decency to acknowledge receipt of my messages?
I shook my head, staring into the lab as another set of lab partners finished up. It really did seem as if my worst thoughts about him might be right.
I was snapped out of my trance by a familiar voice. “Hey there, Brooke.”
“Oh, hi, Garrett,” I replied, trying to put on a smile.
“How's everything? You doing okay?” He grinned at me, looking chipper.
“Um, yeah, yeah. Everything’s awesome.”
He looked at me, raising a skeptical eyebrow. “Really? Are you sure about that? You don’t look like everything’s awesome.”
“I've just, uh, I've just had a tough day, that's all.”
“Aww. Well, that’s no good,” he said with genuine sympathy. “What happened.”
For a moment, I considered telling him about the whole situ
ation with Emerson. Part of me really wanted to talk about it with someone. However, I didn't know Garrett nearly well enough to be spilling about such personal things with him. So, in response to his question, I simply told a white lie. “Oh, just a bunch of tests. You know, plenty of work and not enough time to do it. Plus, I don't think I've been getting enough sleep lately. So, I'm just feeling a bit run-down.”
“You’ve gotta take care of yourself, ya know? You're a special person, Brooke. I mean that. I don’t like seeing down in the dumps. How about I take you for a smoothie? I know a great organic joint about a mile from here. They make a killer energy-boost smoothie, packed with all sorts of healthy junk. It'll make you feel like a new person, guaranteed.”
I was tempted to take him up on the offer. A part of me thought it would be out of spite though; a way to get back at Emerson for ignoring me. It was obvious by the tension between the two that Emerson had a subtle dislike for Garrett. Maybe even jealousy.
However, I decided against it for the time being, at least. “Thanks for the offer, Garrett, but I can't. I'm meeting up with some friends in a bit. But maybe another time, though.”
He smiled, showing a mouthful of perfectly white teeth. “No worries! Oh, hey, I saw you handing out flyers for the charity film festival the other day.”
“Yeah. It's a RAG event we're setting up.”
“Cool, cool. Listen, I wanna buy some of those tickets. You have any on you?”
“Yes, I do, actually.”
“Great. I'll take two.”
“Right now?”
“Sure.”
I dug around in my bag and retrieved two tickets. “That'll be twenty bucks.”
He handed me two ten dollar bills.
“Thanks,” I said. “Who are you gonna go with?” I asked out of instinct.
“Oh, I dunno yet,” he replied with a suggestive smile. “Maybe you know a cute brunette who might want to go,” he added with a wink.
Right on time, my phone buzzed. I looked down, hoping it was Emerson. It wasn’t. But it was the cavalry saving me from having to respond to Garrett’s question.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Emerson
Sitting on a bench at the police station waiting for my mom to bail me out was seriously one of the worst experiences of my life. Even though they didn't handcuff us, it was hard not to feel like a criminal when I was sitting next to actual criminals and waiting for our charge sheets to be drawn up. To my left were haggard-looking, drugged-up prostitutes. To my right, a pair of drug dealers with cut and bleeding swollen faces who—according to the story I’d overheard from the cops who brought them in—had been fighting in the streets over who was encroaching on whose turf. It was pretty awful. All I could do was sit with my head in my hands and pray it would all be over soon.
Mixed in with all the thoughts and emotions racing through my mind was one dominant emotion. Anger. Anger at Chris, firstly, for being such a selfish idiot and continuing to party and piss the neighbors off after I'd explicitly told him just how much trouble we could get in because of it. But I was also angry at Brooke for actually calling the cops when she knew how much trouble we would get in if they showed up at our place and found the alcohol.
I knew it might not seem right, but it was almost more understandable to forgive Chris even though it had been his fault. After all, he wasn't the sharpest crayon in the box and the streak of recklessness and impulsive behavior that ran so strongly through his character made him susceptible to acts of stupidity.
Brooke, though… she wasn't like Chris at all. She was smart—incredibly smart. And compassionate. At least I thought she was up until I was shoved into the back of a police cruiser and read my rights. How could a person who seemed to be so compassionate do something so spiteful, so calculated? Something she knew would have devastating consequences for Chris and me? Especially after what had happened between us. I wondered if everything I thought I knew about Brooke was simply dead wrong. My blood began to boil just thinking about it all again, but my rage was quelled by the sight of a familiar figure walking into the room. When I saw her, my heart sank.
“Emerson.” Her tone was ice cold.
“Hi, Mom,” I murmured, unable to look her in the eye.
She didn't reply. Instead, she walked straight up to the desk and spoke to the sergeant on duty. After she signed several documents and spoke to two different officers, she turned her attention back to me with a cold fury simmering in her eyes. “Come,” was all she said.
I looked up at the sergeant, who nodded his head. It was clear he felt sorry for me. “You're free to go now, kid. So go on, get the hell outta here.”
I nodded and stood, thankful to be leaving. Chris had already left, having been picked up by his parents ten minutes earlier. I followed my mother as she walked out of the station and into the parking lot. She kept walking in silence all the way to the last parking space. When we reached her Range Rover, she opened the doors without a word. I climbed into the passenger seat and shut the door.
That’s when she finally erupted. “Emerson Michael Reed,” she said, her voice sharp and even-toned. “What in the hell did you think you were doing?”
I’d have preferred she yelled at me. It wouldn’t have been as scary. “Mom, it's not as bad as—”
“You’re right. It's way worse than that! Way worse!”
“Mom, I wasn’t—”
“Just stop, Emerson. I'm Dean of Faculty! Do you understand what kind of position this is going to put me in? Do you? My son, the dean’s underage son, caught with a ridiculous amount of alcohol in his apartment! Do you realize how negatively this is going to reflect on me? Not to mention that this can go on your permanent record, Emerson.”
I hung my head in shame. “I’m sorry, Mom. I didn't think about that.”
“It seems like you haven't been doing much thinking, at all. Now, I warned you last semester, Emerson, I warned you when your grades came out so disappointingly, that I would not tolerate another slip-up. And what did you go and do? This. This.”
“Mom, I wasn’t even there for the party. I’ve been at Dad’s for two days. I just got home, I was trying to break it all up when the police arrived. I never even had a drink. Plus, I've been doing way better this semester, I've been working hard. I haven’t been skipping out on any classes, and—”
“I don’t even want to hear it. Can’t change anything at one o’clock in the morning. You're staying at my place tonight, and I have half a mind to make you move out of that apartment and back in with me where I can keep a proper eye on you. Maybe prevent something like this from happening again. The only thing I want to hear from you now is 'I'm sorry, and this will never, ever happen again'.”
“Mom, please—”
“Ehhh,” she held a hand up. “Did you not hear me?”
I breathed in deeply and shook my head before speaking. “I'm sorry, Mom. This will never, ever happen again.”
We drove the rest of the way to Mom’s house in uncomfortable silence. There was no way to gauge how much anger was stewing beside me and I knew the best thing to do was not to even try.
By the time we arrived, some of her wrath had dissipated.
“I guess you haven't had anything to eat for a while huh?” she said.
“Nope. Pretty much as soon as I got off my bike after coming back from Dad's place, I walked in and got arrested. I'm starving.”
“I'll fix you some sandwiches, then. By the way, how’s your dad doing?” she asked.
“Pretty good, considering. Doctor says he’ll be back to normal in about six weeks.”
“Good. Glad he’s gonna be okay. Now go on to your room. I’ll fix you something to eat.”
“Thanks, Mom. And, I’m sorry.”
I trudged off to my old room, which was exactly as it had been when I had lived there a couple of years before—the sports posters, team flags, and trophies of my childhood and teenage years were all still there. In one corner, my electric guitar
and amplifier sat. I hadn't touched them in quite a while. For a period in my teenage years, I'd become quite the proficient guitarist, but after I graduated from high school, I kind of gave up on it.
I sat down in my old easy chair, turned on the amp, and picked up the guitar. It was like being in the presence of an old friend I’d known for years but hadn't seen in ages. It was comforting. I immediately felt better after strumming a few chords and wondered why I hadn't played for so long. After I played a few songs, I realized just how much I missed playing music.
When Mom brought in a plate of sandwiches, it was kind of hard to not feel like a kid again in a really big way. “Wash up the plate when you're done,” she said. “I've gotta get some sleep. It's been a stressful evening.”
“Thanks again, Mom.”
“Goodnight, Emerson. I love you.”
“Night, Mom. Love you, too.”
I ate the sandwiches in three minutes flat. They tasted as good as I remembered them being back in the day. In some ways, it wasn't so bad to be back home. The feeling, however, didn't last long once the thoughts of the arrest and what Brooke had done came flooding back. I got undressed and climbed into my old bed, falling into a restless sleep.
***
Chris was sitting in front of the TV with a blank look on his face when I walked into the apartment the next day.
“Hey,” I said.
“Hey.”
I admit, it felt pretty awkward. “I'm just coming to pick up some clothes,” I said. “As I’m sure you can imagine, Mom was pretty pissed. She’s insisting I stay at her place for the rest of the week while she, uh, while she tries to sort this situation out.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah,” I replied. I headed to my room and packed a few things into my backpack. I left it there and went into the kitchen to grab a snack. It was weird seeing the refrigerator empty of alcohol. Usually, it was packed full of beer and the closets were full of bottles of liquor. But all of that was gone, confiscated by the local P.D. I sighed, shook my head, grabbed a snack, and then headed back into the living room and sat down with Chris.
