"He did what?"

Sounds like my dad is home from work. Shit. I'm in for it.

I quickly scramble to turn the lock on my bedroom door. As if on queue, my dad's booming footsteps grow louder as he storms down the short hallway to my room.

"Open this door right now!" he roars, his fists causing the flimsy door to wobble.

I take a deep breath and slowly crack the door open, leaning my head against the frame. My frightened eyes meet my dad's heated glare. Don't look scared, I tell myself. Don't let the old bastard win.

"Jimmy," he growls.

"What?" I demand.

"Open the damn door."

I roll my eyes and reluctantly let him enter my room.

I sit down on my bed and lean back, relaxed. "How may I help you?" I ask calmly, while he takes a seat on the nearest chair.

"Don't bullshit me, Jimmy, you know exactly what you did."

After a few minutes of defiantly staring back at my father's scowl, I cave. "So? What do you want from me?"

"I want you to stop breaking into warehouses and getting drunk. I want you to respect other people's property, the law, and, most importantly, me and your mother!" he yells. His face, which is normally pretty pale, is almost red with anger. He's like a giant angry tomato on legs...not a pretty sight to see.

I shrug, turning my attention to the posters plastered to my wall. Ramones, Smashing Pumpkins, The Clash, Green Day, Avenged Sevenfold, The Offspring, Metallica, Sex Pistols, Social Distortion, The Who, Nirvana—all these bands that I would much prefer to listen to than my dad's bitching.

Finally, I turn to look my dad in his crimson face. "Kiss my ass."

"What the fuck did you just say?"

"I said, 'Kiss my ass'," I repeat. "You deaf?"

"That's it. You're never leaving this apartment again until you're 18."

I snort. "Good one."

"Do I look like I'm kidding to you?" he demands.

"Oh please, you're a living joke," I retort.

My dad sighs. "Sometimes I just wish I could get some respect around here."

"Sometimes I wish you would go to hell," I mutter in reply, my eyes drifting towards the window in the window.

He looks at me for a while. I can see it out of the corner of my eye. It's that same look Mom gave me in the elevator. "I don't think I've ever been so disappointed in my entire life," he says bitterly, rising from my chair that sits by the closet. I flip him off as he turns around to slam the door behind him.

Alone at last.

A sharp knocking on the door causes me to stir in my sleep. I groan and roll over onto my stomach. I hear the knocking again. I bury my face in my pillows as the knocking persists.

"What?" I finally snap.

I hear a soft, clicking noise, and then someone enters my room. I hear quick, quiet footsteps and soon enough, a head with mousy-brown hair pops up beside my bed.

"What do you want?" I ask my sister, squinting through my tired eyes at the clock on my bedside table. "It's the friggin' crack of dawn!"

She raises her eyebrows and corrects me. "It's seven thirty."

"Whatever. How did you even get in here?" I whisper angrily.

She smugly raises a bobby pin between her thumb and forefinger.

"Holy shit. You picked the lock?"

"Mm-hmm," she replies matter-of-factly.

The little shit picked the lock. Told you she was a smart kid.

I sigh and prop myself up on my right elbow. "Okay, why'd you wake me up anyway?"

"I wanted to know why Mom and Dad are so angry with you," she replies.

I just look at her. Her green eyes stare right back at me.

"Tell me!" she insists, giving the blanket-covered lump that is my legs a shove.

"Fine," I say, defeated. "Me and my friends—"

"It would be 'my friends and I'," she corrects, "but go on."

After shooting her a dirty look, I continue. "My friends and I were in the storage warehouse on East 12th street last night, when we weren't supposed to be."

Ariella looks bewildered. "Well if you weren't supposed to be there, why the hell did you go there?"

"Don't say that word; it's not nice."

"Don't be a hypocrite, and don't change the subject. Why were you there?" she prods.

"Well, you wouldn't expect Dad to allow us to hang out here, would you?"

"Touché. So what did you guys even do there?" she continues.

"We got...drunk. And we, um..." I trail off.

"...Smoked pot," she finishes for me.

I stare at her in disbelief. "How did you know about that?"

She rolls her eyes. "I'm 12 years old, Jimmy. I know things. I probably know more than you do. Name any subject and I guarantee I'm more knowledgeable than you," she says boldly, looking straight into my eyes.

"Shut up. We didn't actually get around to smoking it anyway. Okay, so while we were in the midst of doing all that, these cops drove by and heard us. So they came in and took us to the police station. And then—"

"Long story short, you got arrested again," Ariella says quickly.

"You knew about the first time?" I ask curiously.

"Yeah. I was eavesdropping on Mom and Dad that night while they thought I was asleep."

Smart kid, smart kid. I nod in understanding.

"Do you know when your trial is?" she wonders.

"Nope. Probably sometime next week," I answer.

She gives me a worried look. I clear my throat.

"So now you know," I say, scooting further under my sheets. "Can I go back to sleep now?"

"I guess," my sister replies, heading for the door. "And Jimmy?" "Yeah?"

"I hope you don't go to jail," she says softly.

"Me too, kid," I mumble as she gently closes the door. "Me too."