Good

“I’ll be out of your way in a minute,” he said, wiping his brow with the back of his hand.

 

I nodded and watched him finish tightening the bolts, then stand and stretch his back. He wore the male version of skinny jeans and a black T-shirt that read “Midnight in a Perfect World” across the front in stark white letters. He sported red Converse All Stars, and a bunch of braided bands of various colors were wrapped around his left wrist. His black wavy hair stuck out in all directions, and I couldn’t tell if it was by nature’s blessing or hair product. I hoped it was natural. I didn’t want to think he spent a lot of time styling his hair.

 

He smiled at me, revealing soft dimples on both cheeks. I smiled back. His eyes were light. Good combination, I thought. Dark hair, light eyes. He was sexy. No doubt about that. Tall and lean. He looked like an intellectual. I figured he was some scholarly Emory University boy. Probably a philosophy major, I thought, smirking. I imagined he sat around chatting about existentialism with his hipster friends in some dive coffee shop (never Starbucks) sipping cappuccinos.

 

I giggled.

 

He stood at the trunk of his car putting away his tools and turned around when he heard me.

 

“What’s funny?” he asked. The smile still lingered on his mouth. “Did I split my pants or something?” He strained his head to look behind him at the butt of his jeans.

 

I laughed harder. “No. You didn’t split your pants.” I tried not to look at his butt.

 

“Phew!” he replied. “You know, I’ve done that in the past. Squatted on the ground to change a tire, and rip! Right down the middle. I happened to be on a date at the time.”

 

“No!” I cried, feeling just the slightest bit sorry for this stranger.

 

“Well, the date was on shaky ground once the tire popped. The pants-splitting sealed the deal, though. I guess she equated both of those things with ‘loser’ or ‘no money’,” he said.

 

“That’s awful,” I replied.

 

“Atlanta women are tough,” he went on, leaning against the trunk of his car. He looked me over and grinned.

 

“No, I’m not tough,” I replied to his unspoken question. “Don’t let the jumpsuit fool you.”

 

He shook his head. “What in God’s name could a little thing like you have done to wind up in juvie?”

 

I tensed. His demeanor. The way he talked to me. Like he’d known me for years. And he used “little thing” like a term of endearment. I knew I wasn’t imagining it. He did.

 

I opened my mouth to reply then shuddered at the sound of my name.

 

“Cadence Miller!” Officer Clements yelled.

 

“Shit,” I whispered, and turned around.

 

She was coming right at me, her formidable frame swinging side to side, and I had an instant vision of her pulling her nightstick out of its holder and beating me to death on the side of the road.

 

“Get back to work! What do you think this is? Social hour?” And then she turned to the man. “Sorry, sir. These girls aren’t supposed to bother anyone,” she said. She addressed me again. “Somebody must not be hungry for lunch.”

 

I reared back in indignation. They can’t not feed me, can they?

 

“It’s my fault,” the man said. “I spoke to her first. She said she wasn’t allowed to talk to me, but I pressed her. Completely my fault.”

 

Officer Clements pursed her lips. I don’t think she believed him, but she nodded anyway.

 

“You’re cleaning the courthouse bathrooms this afternoon,” she huffed at me.

 

Of course I was cleaning the courthouse bathrooms. I always cleaned them.

 

“Midnight in a Perfect World” turned his face. I think he was embarrassed for me. I was mortified and outraged, and picked the wrong time to roll my eyes.

 

“Are you rolling your eyes at me?” Officer Clements demanded.

 

“No, ma’am!” I said.

 

“Then why were you rolling your eyes?” she pressed.

 

“I was just thinking about something,” I said.

 

“Were you thinking about the bad choices you made that landed you in juvie?” Officer Clements asked.

 

I shook my head and thought quickly. “I was thinking about a Bible verse.”

 

 “Are you trying to be a smartass?” the officer asked.

 

“No ma’am,” I replied, bristling. “I really was thinking about a Bible verse.” Total lie.

 

“Which one?”

 

I took a deep breath and flipped through the index of verses I’d memorized. I admit I was pretty rusty. Normally I could spit them out in seconds flat—always some words of wisdom or encouragement. It was ingrained in me: I was the clichéd product of a girl who grew up in the church, who went to vacation Bible school every summer until sixth grade, who attended youth group in high school and sang solos on Sunday mornings.

 

“Well?” Officer Clements prodded.

 

I panicked. “‘My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?’” Out of all the Bible verses I’d stored away, that’s what came to mind?

 

Officer Clements grinned maliciously. She leaned over, her fat, glistening face inches from my own. She whispered so that the young man couldn’t hear. “Because you’re rotten. That’s why.”

 

I looked over at Converse All Stars. He heard, a helpless expression painted on his face.

 

“I guess Atlanta women are tough,” I said, and headed for the group of girls congregated around the door to the bus. It was time to leave for lunch. I wasn’t even hungry. If Officer Clements really did mean to deny me food, I wouldn’t care. I was too humiliated and beaten down.

 

I realized the end of my juvie sentence didn’t mark a turning point in my life where things would get better. There was no “light at the end of the tunnel” for me. The next phase was school, and while I no longer wanted to be locked away in juvie, I wouldn’t mind picking up garbage on the side of the road for the rest of my life to avoid stepping foot inside Crestview High.

 

But as it stood now, there was nowhere to run, no means of escape, so I boarded the bus with all the other girls.

 

 

 

 

 

School Survival Rules:

 

 

 

1. Do not cry under any circumstances.

 

2. Do not physically attack anyone (even if they totally deserve it).

 

3. Smile and act like nothing bothers you.