Chapter 7
Lights-out wasn't for another hour or so, but Ryan's new roommate was already asleep when he got back to the cell. He was a small, silent kid named Silva—Ryan didn't even know his first name—who'd been picked up for dealing crack near an elementary school. He was probably going to be deported. In the meantime, Ryan got along fine with him, mostly because neither one of them really said much. Silva spent a lot of time curled up on his bunk, facing the wall. He had an astonishing ability to remain motionless for hours at a time. You had to look closely to even catch him blinking. Ryan would have liked to watch him—there was something fascinating about such utter stillness—but in juvie staring was an open invitation to fight or fuck. When Ryan caught someone staring at him in the cafeteria or the showers he just dropped his eyes. He wanted to be like Silva and master the art of invisibility, but it wasn't likely. He knew he stood out because of his light skin and eyes. He knew there were people who wanted to fight him or to touch him because of the way he looked. Sometimes he felt hands brushing his shoulders or his ass when he stood in line with the others, even though they were all supposed to keep their hands behind their backs when they moved around the unit. People hissed comments too; whispered and laughed and made threats. There wasn't anything he could do about that, except to stay quiet.
When the lights flickered out at nine o' clock, Ryan was relieved. He was exhausted, but it was too hard to sleep with the overhead light buzzing just a few feet over his head. He closed his book, a yellowed copy of Beautiful Joe that he'd found in the rec room. If he was going to be locked up for a while, he thought, he'd have to get Seth to send some new reading material. He set the book on the metal shelf next to his bunk and lay back on the thin pillow, closing his eyes. Silva snored quietly in the bunk below him, a sound Ryan found oddly comforting. The room was warm and he felt drowsy and almost relaxed. He turned on his side, his face to the wall. Just before he drifted off he thought how strange it was that he was getting used to this life, how he could get used to anything, really.
Sandy was only vaguely aware of the water splashing into the sink in front of him as he stared out over the dark ocean. Usually Ryan did the dishes in their house. Which was good, because Sandy hated doing dishes. He didn't have the patience for it and almost always ended up not rinsing well enough and leaving little bits of food that stuck to the plates like cement after a run through the dishwasher.
Dinner had been tense and quiet, and Sandy found it remarkable that for a kid who spoke so little, Ryan could have such a profound impact on the conversation, or lack thereof, in the house. With Ryan gone, Seth was moping and not talking much to anyone. Sandy and Kirsten weren't exactly getting along either. Sandy felt a little guilty about that, but he was still more angry than guilty, and somehow that just made him feel worse.
So he'd volunteered to do the dishes. Kirsten and Ryan seemed to actually like washing dishes. It was something they had in common. He might have to point that out to Kirsten sometime.
The disappointment from that afternoon's court hearing had been profound, worse than any courtroom loss Sandy could remember, worse even than the time he'd let a 13-year-old get deported to Mexico for attacking his abusive stepfather with a fork. Sandy was usually so careful to rationalize his expectations, but he hadn't been rational when it came to Ryan since the day they'd met. He'd never taken a kid home, and he'd never been so pained to let a kid go. He'd been so certain that Ryan would be at home, washing the dishes, tonight.
"Damn," Sandy muttered when water sloshed over the edge of the sink, soaking the front of his shirt. He turned off the faucet and pulled his shirt away from his body. Dishes definitely weren't his thing.
"Dad?"
Sandy sighed and looked out at his backyard. His very dark backyard.
"What is it, Seth?"
When Seth didn't answer right away, Sandy wiped his hands on a towel and turned around to face him. Seth stood on the other side of the counter, head bowed, hands buried in the pockets of his jeans. Seth had been furious when Sandy had explained what had happened at Ryan's hearing. He'd stormed about the injustice of it, how unfair it was that Ryan was being so severely punished for a mistake they'd both made. He'd blamed the police and the judge and his parents—mostly his parents—but Sandy knew Seth was really just blaming himself, and so he'd let him fume.
"I, um, wanted to visit Ryan. Tomorrow."
Sandy sighed. Kirsten was going to love this.
"You know they have set visiting hours," Sandy said, stalling. "We'll have to call and-"
"I already called," Seth said. "This afternoon. We could go tomorrow at 2. Marissa wants to go too, and her dad can take us, so…"
"Did you ask your mom?"
Seth nodded slowly. "She said she'd talk to you."
"And you wanted to beat her to it."
"Dad-"
"You can go, Seth," Sandy said. "I'll write you a note so you can get out of school."
Seth looked up, surprised, and let a small smile flash.
"Thanks." Seth took a deep breath, and Sandy watched him. "I'm sorry, about earlier. What I said. I know you did everything you could for Ryan."
Sandy nodded and crossed the kitchen to Seth, reached out and squeezed his shoulder.
"Actually, I'm sorry about pretty much everything," Seth said quietly.
"I know you are."
"How long will it take? I mean, before you can get him out of there?"
This was the question Sandy didn't want to answer, even to himself. "I don't know," he said. "It's complicated, Seth. I hope it's just a few more days. But I can't make any promises."
"Okay."
Seth left the kitchen and Sandy stood alone for a moment, feeling inept at pretty much everything that mattered—being a father, a husband and a lawyer. He stared out at the backyard again. The pool looked like a black pit without the lights from the pool house bouncing off the surface. Sandy glanced over at the dirty dishes still piled in the sink, then walked toward the back door. The dishes would wait.
The Cohens weren't big on knocking. Sandy had walked in on Ryan unannounced probably too many times, but for some reason he felt suddenly uncomfortable entering the pool house without Ryan's permission. He paused before opening the side door. All of the curtains were open, but Sandy could only make out shadows and the dim outlines of furniture. He walked inside and was surprised at how cold it felt. He wondered if Ryan used the heater when it got this cold, and if he had enough blankets. He'd have to remember to ask when Ryan came home.
Sandy crossed the room quickly and turned on the lamp next to Ryan's bed. He really didn't want to snoop, but Sandy couldn't help but take a long look around and wonder if some of Ryan's secrets weren't hidden in this room. Notes from Marissa, perhaps, or maybe letters he'd written, but never sent, to his mother or brother. Old family photos, tucked in textbooks. Journals. Drugs. Sandy's mind sorted through all of the possibilities, wondering at some, dismissing others. Not drugs. That wasn't Ryan's style. Not journals, either. Maybe photos.
He wasn't going to snoop, though, because Ryan would be coming home and he'd know, somehow, if Sandy had gone looking through his stuff, and that would be an unforgivable invasion.
Sandy turned instead to face a small bookcase under the hooks where Ryan hung his jackets. One of the jackets was missing. The one Ryan had been wearing when he was arrested. Sandy crouched down in front of the bookcase and ran his fingers over the spines, trying to decide which ones he wanted.
"What are you doing?"
Sandy glanced to his right, where Kirsten stood in the doorway. Her arms were wrapped around her body and she pulled the sleeves of her cardigan over her hands.
"I thought Seth could take some books to Ryan tomorrow. There's not a lot to do in there. The kids spend most of the time stuck in their rooms."
Kirsten frowned and looked away, apparently taking his comment as a dig at her. Sandy honestly wasn't sure if he'd meant it that way.
"I don't know if I want Seth visiting him," she said.
Sandy bowed his head then slowly stood up and faced her.
"Jimmy will be with Seth and Marissa the whole time. They'll be safe."
"Those are dangerous kids in there, Sandy. I've seen what they're capable of. I don't want Seth around them."
"And what about Ryan? He's locked up with those kids, Kirsten. You're okay with that?"
"No, of course not," she said. The anger was returning, making her voice hard.
Sandy knew she wanted him to just let this go, to let her go. But he couldn't.
"You could have said something for him in court today. Told the judge he was a good kid."
"You had that covered," she said. "Anyway, that judge wasn't going to listen to us. He'd already made up his mind."
"Just like the Newport cops had made up their mind to send Ryan back to juvie? You didn't even try, Kirsten."
"I'm not having this conversation again," she said
"Okay. Fine. Never mind the judge, or the cops. What about Ryan? You didn't say a word to him today."
"I didn't get the chance," she said.
"You can't keep making excuses, hon. He needs us. We're all he's got."
"I just don't know what I can do for him."
He sighed, trying not to sound like he was lecturing her. "When we took Ryan into our home, we took on certain responsibilities-"
"Maybe we made a mistake."
Kirsten's words were soft and plaintive, but unmistakable. Sandy felt weak, like she'd punched him hard in the stomach, and he wanted to sit down. And just as quickly the weakness was replaced by anger.
"You don't mean that," he said. Kirsten looked away for a moment, and he hoped she might be ashamed, even take back her words, but he suspected that wasn't the case. She wouldn't meet his eyes.
"Maybe we're not enough for him," she said. "What if he needs more than we can give him?"
"He's just a kid. All he needs is a family," Sandy said, straining to keep his voice even. "You once told me that you'd do anything for your family. I know you. I know you'd risk everything for Seth, or me, to keep us safe."
Kirsten pursed her lips and pulled her arms even closer to her body, so he could see her shoulders tensing.
"I did everything I could for Ryan."
"I wish I believed that," Sandy said.
"I wish you did too."
"I'm trying, but you left him there, Kirsten. You could have helped him that night, at the police station, and you chose to leave instead. You abandoned him."
"I what?" Kirsten said. She stared at him. "You mean like his mother abandoned him? Is that what you're saying?"
"You could have tried," he said, raising his voice to match hers.
"Sandy, I've been trying my hardest with this kid for six months now. And what happens? He gets himself and our son arrested. He hit a police officer."
"He didn't hit that cop," Sandy said.
"He was charged with assault."
"He was protecting Seth."
"Is that what he was doing when he got Seth arrested?" Kirsten demanded.
"You know it didn't happen that way. You know Ryan can't take all the blame for what happened." Sandy paused and watched her carefully. "Why'd you turn your back on him? Why won't you help him?"
"I'm not his mother," she said, her voice cracking a little. "I don't know how to help him." She brought her fist to her mouth and closed her eyes.
Sandy took a step toward her, reaching for her, but Kirsten spun around and walked out of the pool house. He heard the door to the main house slam shut. Sandy closed his eyes for a moment, let out a long breath. He couldn't figure out his wife, or how this situation had spiraled so far out of control. He wasn't sure how he was going to get Ryan out of juvenile hall. And worse than that, even if he managed to free Ryan, Sandy wasn't sure what kind of home he'd be returning to.
Sandy took less than a minute to pick out half a dozen books for Ryan, then turned off the light and gently closed the pool house door behind him.
When the door to Ryan's cell opened suddenly, Ryan sat up straight, his heart banging in his chest, and gripped his blanket with both hands. He heard rustling beneath him as Silva sat up, too. He wasn't sure if they'd been sleeping for minutes or hours.
"Roommate," the guard said.
Ryan squinted in the light that poured in from the hall. He wondered what time it was. It drove him crazy, not having a watch.
"We have two in here already," he said, his voice coming out raspy.
"Yeah, well, you're getting a third. Atwood, Silva, meet Rivera."
The guard moved aside so the new kid could enter the room. He was dragging a thin mattress pad like the one on Ryan's bed, and had a blanket and pillow tucked under his arm. He dumped the bedding on the floor and stood upright. He was a big kid with a shaved head, and suddenly Ryan recognized him from the schoolroom that morning. He had laughed openly when Ryan got yelled at for chewing on the pencil.
"He's not new," he said.
"We're rearranging," the guard said. "Not that it's any of your business, Atwood."
He turned to Rivera.
"Make up the bed and get to sleep," he said. "If we have any trouble from you, you're going straight to isolation, all right?"
Rivera nodded, his jaw set sullenly. The guard stood in the doorway, his arms folded over his chest, until Rivera finished laying the mattress on the floor and spreading the blanket over it. The new bed took up most of the floor space.
"Sleep tight, boys," he said, and closed the door, plunging the cell into darkness again. Ryan lay down and curled toward the wall again, pulling the blanket up around his shoulders. He closed his eyes and tried to go back to sleep, but his heart hadn't quite calmed down and he was very aware of Rivera, still standing in the middle of the room and breathing heavily. He heard shuffling sounds as Rivera walked over the mattress on the floor.
Ryan jumped when a hand came down on his ankle, and rolled over to find Rivera standing right next to his bunk. In the dim light, he could see the kid's face, which was scarily blank.
"Move it," he said, without releasing his grip on Ryan's ankle. "I want the top."
"I was here first," Ryan whispered. They weren't supposed to talk after lights-out. He sat up and tried to jerk his leg free, but Rivera's grip just got tighter. He smiled.
"Atwood," he said, whispering now, drawing out Ryan's name like a threat. "You're the kid who likes to put things in his mouth, huh?"
Ryan drew in a breath, trying not to panic.
"Okay," he whispered. "Let go and I'll get down."
He tried to push himself up on his elbows, but as soon as he was off balance Rivera grabbed his arm, too, and rolled him completely off the bed. The top bunk was only about five feet off the ground, but in the half-second before Ryan landed on his back at Rivera's feet he experienced the pure terror of falling that he recognized from his worst nightmares. The mattress on the floor cushioned his fall and he was more stunned than hurt. He didn't have much time to feel relief at his lack of injuries before Rivera was crouched over him. Ryan's chest rose and fell rapidly, and he tried to control his breathing, to hide his fear.
Before Rivera had the chance to say or do anything, Silva got out of bed and grabbed Rivera's shoulder. He said something in Spanish to Rivera that Ryan didn't catch; his voice was too fast and too low. Rivera pulled his shoulder free and glared at Silva, but then they all heard the sound of gates slamming in the hall and the guard's footsteps coming closer. Rivera climbed up to the top bunk. Ryan lay still, his eyes wide open in the darkness. It was cold on the floor, but he was too afraid to get up long enough to ease the blanket out from under him. He closed his hands into fists at his sides and stared up at the dark ceiling.
The parking lot at the Newport Group offices was empty when Kirsten pulled into her spot before 7 a.m. Tuesday. Sandy had still been asleep by the time she'd dressed, and she'd left a note for him and Seth on the kitchen table, explaining that she had a lot of work to catch up on. It wasn't a lie. She hadn't gotten much done over the weekend, and she'd spent most of Monday afternoon in court. But neither Sandy nor Seth would be fooled. They'd both know she was avoiding them.
As she crossed the parking lot to the front doors, Kirsten wished for the simple pleasure of someone to talk to. A close friend. Sandy usually filled that role for her, and she for him. They were each other's confidants. They trusted each other, and, the occasional well-kept secret aside, they shared everything. That just made it all the more difficult when they weren't getting along.
For all of her well-known connections to Newport's high society scene, Kirsten considered herself something of an oxymoron: a reclusive socialite. She enjoyed the parties and the gala fund-raisers and the power that came from being so well placed in the community, but she had few close friends. She certainly had no one she could turn to now. She didn't trust Julie or Taryn or any of the other Newpsies. She couldn't talk to Jimmy about her marital problems.
Kirsten surrounded herself with intimates, people she was willing to trust and allow past her defenses. People she loved unconditionally. She demanded a lot from the people she loved, and in return she gave them her total devotion. Or so she'd thought. It had been four days since Ryan's arrest, and Kirsten still wasn't sure what had happened. Why she'd let him go.
Kirsten fumbled in her purse for the key that would unlock the front door of the Newport Group offices. It wasn't often that she got in before anyone else. Inside, the front lobby was cool and smelled faintly of cleaning detergent. Kirsten hustled through the lobby and down a long hallway to her office, her heels tapping on the floor, echoing off the walls.
She paused at the threshold to her office, feeling overwhelmed by the prospect of work. She wasn't sure where to start, and her thoughts kept buzzing back to Sandy, and the fight they'd had the night before, and to Seth, who still wouldn't speak to her. And to Ryan. Kirsten took a deep breath and headed for her desk. She'd begin with the contractor she needed to hire.
She was on her tenth resume when the phone rang, and Kirsten jumped in her chair. She glanced at the caller ID, and saw that it was Sandy. She let the phone continue ringing, and then waited a few minutes for the red voicemail light to come on. It never did, but her cell phone rang a few seconds later. She let that one go too.
Kirsten was grateful that Sandy was calling, but she couldn't talk to him now because she couldn't tell him what he needed to hear. She knew he felt betrayed by her, for Ryan's sake. She couldn't blame him either. But she also couldn't explain what had happened. In a way, Ryan had betrayed her trust by getting himself and Seth into trouble, but she knew there was more to it than that.
She reached for the phone and considered calling Ryan, but she wasn't sure if he was allowed to receive calls. He hadn't called them since he'd been taken away. And even if she did talk to him, she had no idea what she would say. If she couldn't explain to herself, or her husband, what had happened, how could she explain it to Ryan? And would he even listen? So she didn't pick up the phone, and for the same reasons, she'd rejected the idea of visiting Ryan with Seth this afternoon. It would be her only chance to see Ryan for a while—visiting hours were only once a week, for a few hours on Tuesdays—but she knew she couldn't face him just yet.
When Kirsten had seen Ryan in the courtroom the day before, he'd suddenly looked so young and frightened to her. He'd been exhausted, with dark circles under his eyes and his hair flat and greasy. He'd barely been able to even look up from the table. Once when he'd briefly caught her eye, she'd been struck by the memory of him standing in front of the pool house the day his mom had walked out on him.
She sometimes forgot he was still just a child. Ryan made it easy to forget. He could be so mature, and there was a stillness, a calmness, to him that most adults never managed to attain. Certainly he wasn't anything like Seth, all teenaged energy and hormones.
But it wasn't fair to expect him to be more responsible than other kids his age, even if he expected more from himself. Kirsten knew that. She also knew she'd let him down, and not just the night he was arrested. Ryan had been living in her home for six months, and in a matter of hours the bond between them had been badly damaged, if not severed altogether. What did that say about the bond that was there in the first place? What kind of a parent had she been to this kid if he was willing to risk everything—his home, his new family, his freedom—for one night of drinking?
The current tension in her home was made worse by the fact that Kirsten couldn't see how it would be resolved. Either Ryan stayed locked up or he returned to her home. Both options frightened her. She was terrified for Ryan in juvie, and every night since he and Seth had been arrested she'd suffered disturbing dreams—mostly just sounds and images, quick flashes of fights and yelled threats—that woke her up over and over again. The nightmares left her tense throughout the day, and she didn't want to imagine how awful the real thing was for Ryan.
But she wasn't sure her home was the right place for him now. She wasn't sure what she could do for him anymore. She'd failed him once. What if she failed him again?
"Kiki, you're here early."
"Dad."
Kirsten looked up from her desk at her father, who didn't wait for an invitation to sit down across from her. He'd been out Monday morning, and she hadn't seen him in several days.
"Julie told me last night that my grandson was arrested," her father announced. "Something about smoking weed and stealing a car."
Kirsten groaned. "It was nothing like that, Dad. He was drinking and trespassing. The police let him go with a warning. I would have called you, but things have been a little…busy."
"You and Sandy are fighting?"
"We're fine," she said. "What makes you say that?"
He ignored her question. "What's Sandy up to now? Is he still seeing that girl from his office?"
"He was never seeing Rachel," Kirsten said.
"Is it Seth?" her father asked. "It's about time he got himself into a little bit of trouble. I worry about boys who don't make mistakes now and then."
"Dad, it's nothing," Kirsten said, firmly. Her father didn't say anything, but he leaned back in his chair and folded his hands in his lap, looking entirely too comfortable, and entirely unwilling to leave her any time soon.
Kirsten sighed and pushed away from her desk.
"It's that kid you adopted, isn't it?" her father asked. "He was arrested too?"
"Yes. He's in juvenile hall now," Kirsten said, not bothering to correct him about the adoption.
"Well, you always knew he was trouble, didn't you?"
Kirsten glanced out her window. Her view was mostly of a secluded patio—greenery and benches and a fountain that they rarely turned on—but in the distance she could see a sliver of the ocean.
"I'm worried about him," she said.
"Don't be, Kiki," her father said, and abruptly he stood up. "The boy got what he deserved."
"He's a good kid, Dad."
Her dad grunted and smacked his hands together, done with the conversation.
"So, if you'll be working late tonight, shall we have dinner together? Say, 7?"
He didn't wait for her to answer before he nodded once and left her office. Kirsten closed her eyes, then turned back to the resumes on her desk. She had a lot of work to do.
When Ryan walked into the visitors' center on Tuesday afternoon he saw Seth sitting at one of the metal tables. He was relieved it was Seth and not someone else, because Ryan had been worried about him, and besides, Seth wouldn't be bothered by Ryan's silence or his dirty hair. When he walked further into the room, though, he saw Marissa standing with her father at the check-in desk, accepting a visitor's badge from the clerk there. Her back was to him.
Ryan stopped walking. If Seth hadn't been there he would have turned around, found a guard and begged illness so he wouldn't have to do this. Marissa was the last person he wanted to see him here, like this. She had never seen him at his worst, and he wanted to keep it that way. Sure, she'd seen him angry and jealous, and she'd watched him get handcuffed and hauled away in a patrol car after the fire, but that was different. He had always suspected her of romanticizing his "bad boy" image in Newport—it was antithetical to the way she'd been raised, and he knew she relished that a little. But it was pretty hard to romanticize a cheap navy jumpsuit.
Jimmy looked up from the clipboard he was holding and waved, then went to sit on the bench next to the door. He was leaving them alone, Ryan guessed. Then Marissa turned and saw him, too, and he was caught. She bit her lip and looked at the floor, but not before he saw the shock that flickered across her face. She clutched her blue Chanel purse tightly against her body, but he was relieved to see that, for the most part, she had dressed down for the visit in a slightly bulky sweater and jeans, her hair pulled back and her face free of make-up except lip gloss that looked freshly applied. She was still drawing some stares, though, so Ryan moved quickly to the table, motioning for her to sit down next to Seth. He sat across from them and nodded hello. His mouth was dry and he waited for someone to speak.
"Ryan," Seth said, and then he gulped nervously and shook his head. Ryan just waited for him to continue.
"Dude, I am so sorry," Seth said. "This is all my fault. We did the exact same thing, and I get grounded, but you end up in juvie again. It's totally unfair."
Ryan shook his head. "It's not your fault, Seth."
Seth shrugged and drummed his fingers on the table. Ryan glanced at Marissa, who was staring at him, and who looked supremely uncomfortable. When he caught her eye she tugged on the end of her braid and tried to smile at him.
"My dad says to tell you he misses you, but he'll see you at your next meeting with Mr. Roper," Seth said. "And that you can call collect whenever you want."
Ryan nodded. He knew he wouldn't call, even if he wanted to. What if Kirsten answered? And what would he talk about with any of them?
"What does your mom say?" he asked. He hated that his voice suddenly sounded hoarse. Marissa noticed, and she frowned at him. Seth looked down at the table, up at Ryan, and back down again.
"I don't know, Ryan," he said finally. "She hasn't really said anything."
Ryan sighed. He wasn't surprised, but it still hurt. As far as he knew, Kirsten hadn't called or tried to visit. She was washing her hands of him, and he couldn't blame her, really. He'd always known his life with the Cohens was too good to be true, and that something inevitable and unforgivable would happen to end it all. And hurting Seth was maybe the only unforgivable thing. He was supposed to protect Seth, not get him in trouble.
"So do you have to go to court or anything?" he asked.
Seth shook his head. "I got a warning, but I won't have a record or anything. I mean, I'm grounded probably until I'm 40, but . . .you know. Like I said, it's totally unfair."
"No," Ryan said. He couldn't allow himself a moment of jealousy. "No, that's really good, man."
Marissa nudged Seth, and they exchanged a glance. Seth stood up.
"I should probably go," he said. "Let you two talk."
Ryan opened his mouth to protest, but closed it again when he saw Marissa watching him. He couldn't explain why he was afraid to be alone with her. He didn't want the other inmates to see Seth leaving them alone together, a sure sign that she was his girlfriend and not just his sister or something. It was just another thing they would be able to use against him. But that was only part of the problem.
"Oh, my dad brought you some books," Seth said. "But I guess they have to get checked or something, so they said they'd bring them to your room later."
"Cool," Ryan said. "I was just thinking about that."
"Take care of yourself," Seth said, looking miserable. "I mean it, Ryan. Be careful."
"I'm fine." Ryan forced a smile. "Really. Don't worry about me."
"I wish it was me instead."
Ryan sighed. "Don't say that. You don't know what it's like."
"Still." Seth shoved his fists in his pockets. "I'll come next week if you're still here, okay?"
Ryan nodded. Next week was too far away to think about. He gave Seth a small wave, and Seth nodded back and turned away, his hands still in his pockets. He sat on the bench with Jimmy and shrugged in response to something Jimmy said.
"You look really tired," Marissa said softly, and he forced himself to look at her.
"No, I'm fine," Ryan said. He knew he was repeating himself, but what was he supposed to tell them?
Marissa reached across the table, as though to take his hands, but he shook his head.
"You aren't really supposed to touch me," he said.
Marissa looked startled. "I can't?"
"Didn't you ever see Oz?" Ryan said. He gave her a small smile. "Or Shawshank Redemption?"
"I don't really watch that kind of thing," Marissa said.
"Yeah," he said. "I know."
She wrapped her arms around herself, rubbing her elbows nervously with both hands. Now he wanted to touch her, to rub away her goose bumps the way he always did.
"Cold?" he said.
"A little." She took a deep breath. "My mom doesn't want me to see you anymore."
Ryan nodded. This, he had expected.
"I'm not going to listen," Marissa said. "I don't live with her. She can't stop me."
"You should probably do what she says, though."
Marissa's eyes got wide, and she tilted her head at him.
"Don't you even care?" she said.
Ryan closed his eyes so he wouldn't have to look at her. She was lovely, but it hurt too much, and she would never understand.
"I care, I just . . ." he said helplessly. "I mean, she's your mom."
Marissa folded her arms. She looked close to tears.
"And I'm stuck here."
"I don't care," Marissa said. "I love you."
"I know," Ryan said, and when he didn't say anything else her eyes got wide. It was worse than the time he'd said 'thank you', and he wasn't any more capable now of saying the words she needed to hear.
"I should go," he said, and it was ridiculous, because even Marissa knew he had nowhere to go. "I mean, there's a time limit and everything."
"Fine," she said. "I'm meeting Summer after school anyway."
They both stood up, and she slung her purse over her shoulder and turned her back, and wasn't she even going to look at him?
"I'm sorry," he said. "Marissa."
She looked back over her shoulder and nodded once. Then her face softened, and she tried to smile, and that was even worse. He turned away and went straight to the guard.
"Back to my room?" he said, and waited impatiently for the gates to open.
"Hang on," the guard said, and craned his neck to look through the bars, motioning to the other guard who stood in the hallway. As soon as the gates slid open, Ryan went quickly through and headed down the hall. He just wanted to escape.
The guard said, "Hold it. You had a visitor; you know the rules."
Ryan sighed and faced the wall, putting his hands behind his head. The guard slid both hands briskly down the sides of Ryan's jumpsuit, and then stopped.
"Are you all right?" he said.
"Why?" Ryan said, startled. Normally the guards didn't speak to them during searches. He'd always figured they weren't supposed to.
"Well, you're shaking," the guard said. When Ryan didn't say anything, he added, "Visits can be rough."
"I'm fine," Ryan said automatically.
"If you say so," the guard said. He finished the pat-down and took Ryan back to his room, and neither of them said anything at all.