Chapter 6

Ryan had an itch he couldn't scratch. The more he thought about it, the more it irritated him: first it was just a light tickling at his temple, but then it spread to the tip of his nose, his left eyebrow, his cheekbone. There was nothing he could do about it. His hands were cuffed in front of him and attached to a leather band around his waist, and he could not raise them to the level of his face. The way the guards had been treating him he was surprised they hadn't gone for the leg shackles, too, though he was grateful they hadn't. He looked enough like a dangerous criminal already. Standard procedure, the guard had said when he strapped the belt around Ryan's waist. But his quick, careful movements suggested otherwise, and Ryan felt ashamed, even though he was almost certain it was nothing personal.

There were three other guys in the back of the van with Ryan, all, like him, on their way to hearings. Except for one kid, who continuously swore under his breath and strained against his seatbelt, all were silent and seemed cowed by the experience. Ryan was nervous too, but right now he was almost more concerned with the itch than he was with his future. Also, he was thirsty: desperately, chokingly thirsty, his mouth sticky and his throat dry. He didn't know when he had been so miserable.

When the van stopped at the courthouse and the back doors were opened, the first thing Ryan saw was Sandy, standing on the sidewalk. Sandy had a stern expression on his face that Ryan had only seen a few times before, and hardly ever directed at him. In spite of Sandy's anger, in spite of the fact that Ryan had ruined everything, he was still so glad to see Sandy that he went weak in the knees and had trouble standing up. When the guard nudged him to the back of the van, Sandy stepped forward.

"I'm Mr. Atwood's attorney," he said to the guard, who shrugged and moved aside, allowing Sandy to take Ryan's elbow and help him down from the van. And somehow it really hurt, hearing "Mr. Atwood" again after all these months of being treated like a member of the family. He knew he might never go back to the Cohens', and maybe it was time to start letting go. But it still hurt.

One of the guards escorted Sandy and Ryan to a small room, furnished only with a small wooden table and a few chairs. The guard led Ryan to one of the chairs and left the room. A water cooler stood in the corner, and Ryan couldn't keep from staring at it for a few seconds before he thought better of it and looked at the floor. But Sandy had already noticed.

"Thirsty?" he said.

Ryan licked his lips. "Uh, yeah – no. It's okay."

Sandy crossed the room, filling one of the cone-shaped paper cups. Ryan swallowed hard as the water bubbled in the tank. Sandy brought the water to him.

"Can you, uh . . .?" Ryan looked down at his cuffed hands and wiggled his fingers to indicate the problem.

"No," Sandy said. "You have to wear them for now. It's just policy. But here."

He held the cup to Ryan's mouth and tipped it carefully so Ryan could drink. Though he felt ridiculous, like a little kid, he was too grateful for the water to even care. In three big gulps the water was gone. Ryan made the mistake of glancing up at Sandy as he took the last swallow, and the combination of anger and sorrow on Sandy's face made him choke. He gasped and bent forward to cough. There was something horrible and helpless about having a coughing fit with his hands restrained. He felt Sandy's hand on his back, not whacking or patting it but simply resting there, a point of solid warmth that he didn't deserve.

"I'm sorry," Ryan said when he could speak.

Sandy was quiet for a long time, and although Ryan didn't lift his head he could hear Sandy moving to the other side of the table, pulling out a chair and sitting down.

"I'm very angry with you, Ryan," Sandy said, though his voice sounded more defeated than angry. "That was a stupid thing you did."

"I know," Ryan whispered.

"I expect you to make better choices. Especially when Seth is involved."

Ryan looked up quickly. Sandy's eyebrows were drawn so low they threatened to overpower his eyes altogether.

"It's bad enough that you got yourself in trouble," Sandy said. "But to drag Seth into it–"

"He dragged me into it," Ryan said, surprising himself. He had to bite his lower lip to keep from saying more, because it wasn't going to help him any to blame Seth.

"Ryan, this isn't like you," Sandy said. He leaned forward. "You've always taken responsibility for your actions."

"For my actions, yes," Ryan spat. He was suddenly furious. "But not Seth's. We were in it together. And I can't be his keeper. I mean – not that it matters now."

Ryan glanced up to see Sandy staring at him thoughtfully.

"You should know that Seth feels terrible about what happened. I think he would trade places with you if he could."

Ryan had a sudden, terrifying vision of Seth in juvie, saying the wrong thing to the wrong guy and getting slammed face-first into the concrete floor. He wouldn't last the night there.

"I know," he said. "I'm sorry. It was my fault he got arrested. I was the one who pushed the cop."

Sandy sighed and Ryan stared at the scratched linoleum, blinking to ward off the tears that were threatening just behind his eyes. He hadn't cried for years, not really, but in the past few days he had come closer than he liked.

"You're both responsible for what happened," Sandy said. "But there's no use dwelling on that now. We need to focus on your future. You know I'm going to do everything I can to bring you home."

"Does Kirsten know that?" Ryan didn't raise his eyes from the floor. The bitterness in his own voice surprised him. He didn't believe Sandy. He didn't dare to hope that he'd be so lucky again.

Sandy seemed to hesitate. "We've discussed it, yes."

"And she wants me back?"

"It's going to take some time, for all of us," Sandy said. "New rules. New adjustments. We can handle it. You're part of the family now. That's not going to change."

"Yeah, next Chrismukkah you guys can bring me a wreath to hang in my cell," Ryan said. He sneaked a glance at Sandy, who looked appalled, but he couldn't stop. "Or, hey, Kirsten can bake me a pie with a file in it."

"Ryan, stop it," Sandy said, glaring. "You need to calm down, right now. If you show this attitude to the judge today, he's going to come down harder on you, and we don't want that."

Ryan drew in an angry breath, and found he had nothing more to say. He couldn't look at Sandy, so he stared at his own hands, pulling them apart as far as he could even though the metal cuffs hurt his wrists. The pain was a welcome distraction. He wanted to be free so badly it was like an itch under his skin. He wanted to hit something, or to run until he couldn't breathe and he wouldn't have to think anymore about everything that had gone wrong, and all the ways he was to blame.

"Ryan, look at me."

"No," Ryan whispered. If he looked at Sandy he might fall apart, and he couldn't afford that. What he needed was control, or he would never make it through the afternoon.

"Then listen to me," Sandy said, and Ryan held still and waited. "I've asked my friend Ian Roper to represent you. He's very good at what he does. I'll be present at your detention hearing, but as your guardian, not your attorney. Kirsten will be here, too."

Ryan nodded, but his stomach started jumping. He didn't want to face Kirsten.

"Now, there's no reason you should have to go back to juvie today," Sandy said. "The detention center is overcrowded as it is, and your offenses – I'm not saying they're not a big deal, but there are worse crimes, and I doubt they'll hold you when there are rapists and violent offenders coming in every day."

Ryan looked at Sandy. He had so many questions, but to ask them would give away what he was hoping, and he couldn't risk that. He bit his lip, but Sandy seemed to understand and nodded.

"There's a good chance they'll release you to my custody today, pending your adjudication hearing," Sandy said. "Nothing is definite, but that's the norm in cases like this. If you're detained in the first place, that is. This isn't going away, Ryan, but I hope to bring you home, at least."

Ryan let out the breath he hadn't even known he'd been holding.

"Mr. Roper is going to come in now, to go over some specifics about your hearing with you. Judge Alexander agreed to fit you in at the end of the day, so you might be waiting for a while."

"Okay," Ryan said. He could wait; it was all he had done for the past few days. He took a deep breath and settled back in his seat. This all might be over soon.

It was nearly five o' clock when Ryan's hearing got underway. By that time he was so exhausted that he just wanted to lay his head on the ugly oak table and sleep. He had spent the last couple of hours alone in a holding cell, staring at a cinderblock wall and pulling the sleeves of his jumpsuit over his hands to keep warm. Compared to the cell, the tiny courtroom he was in now was practically sultry. He sat on a hard wooden bench between Sandy and Mr. Roper, struggling to keep his eyes open. He forced himself to pay attention when the judge start the proceedings by informing him of his rights, if only so he could answer on cue that he understood them. Mr. Roper had told him that, unless the judge asked him any questions, it would be the only time he would be expected to speak.

The district attorney was the first to speak. He talked about the police report from Friday night. He sounded bored, as though the whole affair was a waste of his time, which it probably was. Ryan watched Kirsten out of the corner of his eye. She had already been sitting down when he was brought in, separated from him by Sandy, and she hadn't said a word to him. When the district attorney talked about them climbing the fence, she shook her head just slightly. When he mentioned the results of the breathalyzer test, she looked down at her lap. When he read the charge of assault against an officer, she glanced over at Ryan and their eyes met very briefly before he looked down at the table, feeling the blood rush to his cheeks. The probation officer started talking about Ryan's schoolwork and his criminal history, and Ryan quit listening. He couldn't focus, and didn't even want to. He was tired of hearing it, his whole life, past and present, reduced to a stack of papers that slid neatly into a manila folder. The real story wasn't in those papers. It wasn't even between the lines. None of the people deciding his future were ever going to know his real story, who he loved and who he'd left behind, and what he wanted for his future. Mr. Roper got up to speak, and Ryan couldn't even force himself to listen to that. He clenched his fists in his lap and stared down at them.

"Are you awake, Mr. Atwood?" the judge said, and Ryan's head snapped up.

"Yes, sir," he said.

"I'm not sure you realize the seriousness of your situation," the judge said. "You've been arrested for the third time in six months. We're meeting here—at the end of a very long day, I might add—to make decisions about your future, and you appear to be dozing in my courtroom."

Ryan shook his head, very slightly. He was afraid to move or speak, afraid to look away from the judge.

"At the end of the day, I don't care about your grades or your soccer team," the judge said. "You've been given every opportunity and you're still screwing up. You're still demonstrating a lack of respect for authority."

"I'm sorry," Ryan said. "I'm trying, I just–"

He stopped talking when Mr. Roper squeezed his forearm in warning.

"I'm not sure you won't benefit from a more structured environment," the judge said. He frowned at Ryan. "Perhaps a group home or a boot camp would be a more appropriate long-term placement for you."

Kirsten looked up sharply at that. Sandy leaned forward.

"Your Honor, as Ryan's legal guardian, I'd like the opportunity to comment."

"Briefly, Mr. Cohen," the judge said. He took off his glasses and set them aside.

"This is a good kid," Sandy said, and Ryan felt a chill run through him, because Sandy sounded almost desperate. "He's had a lot to overcome, but he's been with us six months and he's become a member of our family. For every bad decision he's made, he has made a hundred good ones."

"Be that as it may–"

"Your Honor, Ryan is not a threat to anyone," Sandy interrupted, and the judge's eyebrows shot up. "He doesn't pose a flight risk. If you're thinking of holding him–"

"Mr. Cohen," the judge said. "It's my turn. I see police reports and school records that indicate a history of violence. I see car theft and trespassing. What I see, Mr. Cohen, is a blatant disregard for authority and personal property. There's a pattern here, and I don't see it changing."

The judge stood up, holding out a hand to silence Sandy, who was also getting to his feet. Ryan waited, holding as still as possible. He wasn't even breathing.

"I'm ordering continued detention," the judge said. "We'll reconvene next week to discuss the options for Mr. Atwood." He left the chambers, already beginning to slip off his robe before he reached the door. Mr. Roper stood up, so Ryan did, too. He looked over at Sandy, who shook his head.

"This shouldn't have happened," Sandy said.

"You said I wouldn't have to go back," Ryan said. He tried to keep his voice quiet, tried to keep the accusations out of it, but when Sandy sighed heavily he knew he had failed.

"I said I'd do everything I could," Sandy said. "I'll keep doing that."

He put his hand on Ryan's shoulder and squeezed.

"I'm sorry," he said.

Ryan looked down at the table, but then he nodded. He couldn't blame Sandy for anything that was happening to him. He looked at Kirsten, who had been talking quietly with Mr. Roper. She took a quick breath and looked as though she might speak, but the guard from juvie came up and took Ryan by the arm.

"Time to head out," he said.

"Hang on," Sandy said. He kept his hand on Ryan's shoulder, and Ryan was caught between the two men. He shifted his shoulders uneasily.

"I got three other kids waiting in the van–" the guard began.

"You give us a minute," Sandy said sharply, and the guard stepped back. Sandy leaned forward, his head so close that Ryan had to fight the urge to flinch back.

"You keep your nose clean, do you hear me?" Sandy said. "No fights. I don't care what anyone says to you. I don't care what's happening. You need to stay out of trouble."

Ryan nodded.

"No, you promise me," Sandy said. He moved his hand from Ryan's shoulder to cup the back of his head briefly. "You'll do whatever you have to do to stay safe."

"I promise," Ryan said. He glanced at Sandy for a second. It was all the eye contact he could stand.

"All right," Sandy said, and finally he let go and nodded to the guard. "You can take him now. Thanks for your patience."

The guard gripped Ryan's arm again. As he was led out of the room, Ryan looked back once to see Kirsten watching him. Her arms were folded and she looked tired. But before Ryan could even begin to decipher her expression, the guard tugged him forward and closed the door between them.