*FLASHBACK*

My sweaty palms gripped the steering wheel so tightly that my callusses burned. My nostrils filled with the smell of gasoline and cigarette smoke. I felt sick, but I knew I couldn't back down now-not when I had to beat him. After all, I needed the extra confidence boost if I was going to ask Mel out.

Will she even say yes?

I watched my opponent from the corner of my eye while trying to forget about the girl who was on my mind every second.

There he was, winking at one of the many scantily clad girls that surrounded us. They were all chanting his name.

Everything was a blur around me.

All I heard was, "Moe! Moe!"

Then a picture of Mel flashed through my mind. "I'll be there for you, Cody Jackson…if you want me to be." That sentence ran through my mind every time I was about to do something big: walk into school for the first time after the crash, go to the court date that could change my life, and have an interview that was broadcasted on national television; anything and everything. I must have been doing something really big because her soothing voice was all I heard.

Who would want to be there for me? After all, I was just Cody Jackson-nothing special about me. Sure, I survived twenty-eight days on an island, and, when I came back, I was arrested and given probation. I guess that wouldn't make me special-just a bad guy. But Melissa was still there for me.

I heard Ricky rev up his engine, trying to intimidate me as he gave me a mischievous grin and wink. This guy is really p***ing me off.

That's why I did it. That's why, when the girl in short denim shorts and a tight tank top held up the orange flag signaling the start of the race, I hit the gas pedal.

Adrenaline shot through my body as I looked back and saw that I was well ahead of him. It looked like he was turning.

What the h***?

All of a sudden, I heard sirens.

Moe honked twice before he zoomed off.

That son of a b****.

But my thoughts were interrupted when a cop car came up from behind me and one from the front.

S***! What am I going to do?

All I could think of was to keep driving.

"This is the police. Stop the car!" Two more police cars pulled up, one on each side.

I was blocked in.

Seeing how there was no way out for me, I stopped the car and slowly got out, cursing to myself, then put my hands in the air wishing that I had never come here because I, Cody Jackson, just participated in my first illegal street race and got caught.

I felt the metal cuffs on my wrists and knew this was not going to end well.

*END FLASHBACK*

That's how I ended up here, sitting in this jail cell on a rusty old bench beside a motorcyclist with a long white beard and a tattoo on his bicep reading, "MOM."

All I heard was my social my caseworker's voice yelling, "Does probation not mean anything to you?!"

I just sat there quietly while my caseworker went on yelling at me.

"How could you do this?! What were you thinking?! Oh, I'll tell you what you were thinking! Nothing! That's what you were thinking!"

I had heard enough of his yelling. So I said something that I don't say too often. But I seem to be saying it a lot today. "I'm sorry."

He continued his rant. "Cody, you're on probation. You can't just go around doing whatever you want."

"How many times do I have to say I'm sorry?"

"Cody, sorry doesn't mean anything, especially when you don't mean it." he said. He met my eyes with a steady gaze. "I can't get you out of this one."

I hung my head. I'd really messed up this time.


I sat in the jail cell, fiddling with my hands, my head low, deep in thought.

What have I done? I was going to ask Melissa to be my girlfriend. She was waiting for me at the her favorite restaurant. She'd think I blew her off. I have to get out of here. I need to talk to Mel.

"Hey." I got up and walked over to the bars of the cell. "When do I get my phone call?"

A couple minutes later, an officer came over and unlocked the door. He led me to a phone.

I picked up the receiver and dialed Melissa's number.

It rang a few times before someone answered. "Hello?" It wasn't Melissa. It was a guy. The voice was familiar, but I couldn't recall who it was. It wasn't Nathan, Eric, Ian, or Lex. "Who is this?"

"It's Jackson. Who is this?" I shot back. "Where's Melissa?"

"She went to the restroom. Uh, we're kinda on a date, so can she call you back some other time?"

"Listen, you son of a-" The person on the other line hung up. "S***!" I said aloud. I slammed the phone back on the hook and followed the police officer back to the cell.

I lay on the bottom bunk of the bed, one arm under my head. With my free hand, I fingered my necklace. The small cross on it was cold from my touch.

I got the necklace when I was little. My mom gave it to me, and it was my most and only valued possession.

I gripped it in my hand tightly and began to pray like Big Jay had taught me to.

Big Jay was a guy who had a garage and let kids like me come in and work on cars. While Big Jay taught us some new mechanical and job skills, he trained our souls. He taught us about religion. One time, my CDSS caseworker, Dan Rosenthal-the man yelling at me earlier-followed me to Big Jay's garage in my old neighborhood. He wanted to bust me because he had it out for me. Big Jay had told him that I could do things with an engine that he wouldn't believe. He'd said that I was a little weak in the religion department though.

But now I needed faith. I needed Melissa.

All of a sudden, a sharp pain went through me as I hit the floor.