More Than Good Enough(31)

So typical. Why did cops always ask dumb questions like “Do you want to make it worse?” I mean, come on. Did he really expect an answer? This night couldn’t get any worse. You could pretty much bank on it.

The cop was getting soaked. I could tell he was totally over this situation. He told me to follow him to the car, which was parked behind a building with coral rock walls. This was the school those kids mentioned. More than anything, I wanted to zap myself into their reality. Start over. Get a new name, one that belonged to me.

I’d never been arrested before. Was he going to slap on the handcuffs? He still hadn’t mentioned the gun. Somebody must’ve heard it go off. Wouldn’t be the first time.

“Am I going to jail?” Might as well face the truth.

He studied my face. “Just calm down, okay? Your cheek looks a little swollen. How did that happen?”

If I stuck to the facts, he’d probably throw Dad’s ass behind bars. Then I’d get sent to juvie or whatever. “I was skating, right? And I fell.” That’s what I told him.

“Where’s your board?”

“Back there with my sneakers.” Another lie, but how would he know?

“So the rest of your stuff is in the park. Is that it?”

“Yeah.”

“What are you doing, running around with no shoes? You could step on broken glass. There’s scorpions out here, too. Saw a big one yesterday. Almost gave me a heart attack.”

“Please,” I said. “Just tell me if I’m going to jail.”

He slammed the door so hard I flinched. “Jail? That’s where you want to go?”

Again. Another dumb question.

“No sir.”

The “sir” probably tripped him up. He stared. “Trent, I’m taking you home.”

“What?” I must’ve blanked out or something. A high-pitched noise stung my eardrum. Damaged nerves. I don’t know.

The cop pressed his fat arms on the window. “How old are you?”

I couldn’t think straight. “Eighteen. No. I mean, I’ll be eighteen this summer.”

He nodded. “Okay. Sit tight.”

“Maybe you could drop me off someplace?” I was almost begging.

“I’m not a taxi,” he said, walking away, slow as hell.

I shivered against the fake leather seat, thinking about all the bad guys who’d sat in this same spot—the men who hurt people and took things away. I wanted to bust out of there. Just breathing in that stale, air-conditioned car made me feel dirty.

“Can I go back and get my stuff?”

“Listen, kid. I’m giving you a break here.” He got behind the wheel and started messing with a laptop—a clunky old Dell mounted to the seat. My school had better computers than that piece of crap.

“I just want my hat,” I whispered.

“Unbelievable.” He punched a couple keys on the laptop. Glanced at me again. “Do you smart-mouth your father like that?”

“You don’t know shit about my dad.” I turned away from him, twisting my body as far as possible.

He got so quiet, I could hear the laptop’s empty hum. “Something you want to tell me? Go on. Now’s your chance.”

This guy couldn’t make up his mind. Talk. Don’t talk. Well, I wasn’t talking to a cop. That’s for damn sure.

“Okay,” he said. “It’s your choice. Totally up to you.”

That was a complete lie.

Nothing was up to me. I had no control unless I detached from reality. That’s how skating used to feel if I landed a sweet trick. The same numbing effect when I blasted tunes on my Gibson. Or when I finally unlocked Prestige Mode on Call of Duty. And when I was flying down the highway with Pippa. All the beatings in the world couldn’t make me trade that moment in time.

As the car lurched through the neighborhood, I kept my eyes shut. I didn’t need to see the road. I could sense every turn, all the stops and starts.

I wasn’t going anywhere.





eleven



Headlights scraped away the darkness. As we pulled up to the house, I glanced through the window and there was Pippa in the yard. She looked so worn out, like a smaller, less intense version of herself.

The cop marched me to the front door where my dad stood, waiting. I tried to move toward Pippa, but Dad got in the way.

“They got into another one of their crazy fights.” He wouldn’t shut up. “Teenagers, right?”

“That’s bullshit and you know it,” I said.

“Just settle down, okay?” the cop told me. “You’re in enough trouble right now.”

I watched the man’s face, the way it changed. If I told the truth, would he believe me? Or would it make things worse? Maybe I would go to jail. And if that didn’t happen, Dad would knock me around again. In my head, I got this picture: me and Pippa in the backyard, playing pirates, the rope tightened around us.

“That’s the girlfriend.” Dad jerked his thumb at Pippa. If I could’ve jumped on him, I would’ve ripped his lips off. But I couldn’t breathe, much less jump.

“Is that true?” the cop asked.

I glanced at Pippa, but she kept her head down. Behind her, a macramé plant hanger dangled. It looked like something a kid would make in art class. It tilted in the damp breeze, tipped and swayed in pointless circles.