Ari nodded as though she understood, but really, it was all so unusual. “Can you tell me what Curtis has that makes him a likely candidate for the program? Because although I agree that he’s not a lost cause, he manages to find his way into trouble a lot. He gave me a lot of grief when he was on my caseload.”
Judge Hatcher sat back in her leather chair and pressed her fingers together, making a tent. “Curtis is in an environment that he can’t get out of. His father is dead, his mother has AIDS, and his grandmother just doesn’t have the energy to keep him straight. He’s athletic and has shown that if he’s in a like-minded environment, he can do well.”
“All right. If you think it’s best, I’ll start the paperwork and try to get him funding.”
“The funding has been taken care of. You’ll get the file this week and place him on Monday.”
“Great,” Ari said, working up a smile. “Easiest placement so far.”
“Thank you, Ms. Grant, for helping with this case, and for all the hard work you put in for these kids.”
In a job with low pay and constant heartbreak, a compliment went a long way. Ari raised an eyebrow and said, “Thank you, but I’m not sure I really have another choice, you know?”
Judge Hatcher nodded. “Yes, I know.”
Chapter 3
Ari walked past Rebecca’s desk and scribbled her initials on the sign-in pad. The receptionist sucked on a sugar-free red lollipop—part of her no-smoking-no-candy health change.
“That took a long time,” her friend and coworker said. She barely glanced up from the computer.
“I know.” Ari held up a bag of fast food. “Lunch of champions.”
Rebecca nodded in sympathy and nonchalantly asked, “How was Mr. Sanders today?”
“Fine,” Ari replied. She knew where this was going. “Professional.”
“I bet he looked handsome in his suit.”
Ari looked over her shoulder to make sure no one was listening. She loved Rebecca, but the girl had a big mouth. “He looked nice. And professional. Strictly professional.”
Rebecca pulled the sucker out of her mouth. “If you say so. Did he invite you to dinner?”
Ari blushed. “No. I barely talked to him at all. Judge Hatcher wanted to talk to me about a client.”
She reached for the stack of pink notes on her desk and waved them in the air. “I think he must have forgotten. He called while you were out. Ten bucks says he asks you to dinner. Alone.”
“Strictly professional,” Ari repeated, grabbing the notes. She walked away from Rebecca’s desk and through the office, stopping at her mailbox where she found three new, thick files. She skimmed the names.
“Darn it, Stanton, I’m not taking on these cases!”
A loud voice sounded from an office down the hall. “Yes, you are!”
The Glory City Juvenile Probation Office was half office, half rehabilitation center. Ari and the other caseworkers had offices in the building, but there was also space for treatment programs and activities for the kids assigned to the caseworkers.
Four other caseworkers and two assistants worked with Ari. Rebecca and Beverly managed the main desk. Shirley worked with first offenders. John provided after-care services, like finding a job or enrolling in school. Mr. Brown had been there for 30 years and Ari expected him to retire at any moment. He had a hodgepodge of cases he managed. Tony carried a caseload of clients in long-term detention. Then there was Stanton, Ari’s supervisor. With the file in her hand, she rushed past the other offices and into his.
She found him bent over files of his own. “No, no more girls. I can’t take it—they’re sucking me dry.”
He looked up and saw Ari’s desperation. “What happened?”
With her bag slung over her shoulder and the heavy stack of files in her hands, she moved toward the chair in front of his desk. With little grace, Ari flopped into the seat.
“Ugh, just a crappy day in court. Hope hates me.” She ignored his amused look and continued. “Not like they don’t all hate me, but she thinks I broke her confidence or something. And I’m not sure what’s going on with her—it just made me feel useless.”
Settling into the uncomfortable chair, Ari told him what happened in court and described Hope’s story. Stanton—or really, Quinn Stanton, but everyone at the office called him by his last name—listened to her story while leaning back and rubbing his shiny, bald head. He was the best at what you could be around here—dedicated, calm, hard-working. His clients and the system never got him frazzled like Ari’s cases often made her.
Stanton’s desk chair squeaked as he shifted. “I can understand your reaction. I tend to agree with you—if anything, she was probably trying to get out of the violation.”