AN: Oh my, this plotline has gotten so out of the universe of reality I can't believe it. This isn't exactly what I'd planned out when I first wrote it, but it just sort of poured out of me. On that note, would like to remind people that even though there's not really anything contradicting it in the cannon so far, I would still consider this AU, lol. I decided to do this as a flashback too, because I thought it would take too long to let st-st-stuttering T-T-Tina tell it. Sorry if you were expecting that. I really need to stop rambling on so much in these author notes... Just a final thanks to the massive numbers of people who've reviewed/alerted this. Really, an astounding number of people. And now, it's flashback time!
Warning: references to drug use and trading, nothing crazy psychotic but they are heavily referenced.
May - 2006
I'm humming along as I work to remember the lyrics to a new song I heard on the radio this morning as I walk home from school, my hands tucked deep into my pockets as I try not to let myself get angry. Music is the only thing that keeps me calm, and I know once I get home I won't be able to listen to any because my parents think that anything with more passion and edge than Chopin or Debussy is "corrupting the morals of society."
I fume and aim a kick at a mailbox post as I walk past. My parents. They're the reason I'm mad in the first place. I'm sick of hearing them make promises and then never follow through. I worked so hard on my project, slaving away late into the night to make it perfect because they'd sworn they would be there this time, and then what happened? The same thing that always happens. They flake. I'm sure when I get home it'll be to an empty house and a note about some important business function they just couldn't miss. Same as usual.
For a moment I consider the idea of just leaving home, but then I see a cardboard box with a ragged blanket in it in an alleyway and reason that there's probably no way a thirteen-year-old girl could survive for very long out on her own.
"Hey Tina!"
I stop and turn back to the voice, and see a girl I know from school running up the street toward me. She's a year older than me, but she does a good job of popping up and being there when I need someone. She usually asks some sort of favor afterward, but I don't really mind because she pays attention to me and it's nice to have someone care even if she is a mooch.
"Oh hey Liz," I reply dimly. Liz skids to a stop next to me, looking as rough and rugged as usual (she doesn't come from as wealthy of a family as me), and smiles.
"You look sad," she says. "Come on, I have something that will cheer you up. My brother's running an errand and he wants me to help out. You can come along. It'll be fun."
"What kind of errand?" I ask nervously.
"It's just a business thing, nothing big," Liz assures me. "You know, delivering products. I've tagged along before, it's cool."
I consider saying no; I've never actually met her brother but I've seen him once and he looks even worse off than Liz. Then I think of my parents, completely forgetting about me today for their work, again, and I know how much they would hate the idea of me going out with lower-class people like Liz and her brother. And I suddenly feel rebellious and really, really reckless.
"Yeah, okay, sounds fun," I agree. Liz grins, seizes my arm, and pulls me off with her. We go down a block and Liz's brother is sitting behind the wheel of a car that almost looks like it's about fall apart.
"Jay, Tina's coming with," Liz announces and then pushes me into the back seat ahead of her. Jay eyes me in the rearview mirror for a moment and then nods, grinning in a way that makes me a little uncomfortable.
"Okay, you'll do good," he says and then before I can ask any more questions he starts up the car. We drive into the seedier side of Cleveland and the longer the car ride goes the more my recklessness filters out of me. The only thing keeping me from panicking is that Liz is totally at ease, rambling on about things that I don't understand at a thousand words a minute and practically exploding with excitement. You'd think we were on our way to a Hollywood party the way she's going on. I build up a little storage pile of adrenaline just from listening to her and I think that maybe she's right and this really will be fun.
Jay parks the car on a dingy street in front of a pretty sad looking bakery. Then he gets into a box on the floor of his passenger seat and hands a package wrapped in brown paper back to Liz. She takes it and then looks at me. "You wanna go first?"
"What are we doing?" I ask, staring at the brown paper in confusion.
"I told you, delivering," she says. "It's easy. All you gotta do is take the package up to the person, give it to them, take the money they give you, and then come back. Go on, it's really fun."
This doesn't sound like fun to me, but I don't tell her that. I accept the package dubiously, noticing that its sort of squishy in my hands like a bag of sand, and then look around. "Who do I take it to?"
"You go around that corner up there," Jay says, pointing around the edge of the building next to the bakery. "He'll be on the side street. Really easy to spot, big white guy in a black jacket. Wearing a bright yellow hat on sideways."
I have no idea how he can know those sort of things but I don't want to question him. Liz gives me one more encouraging "go on" and then I climb cautiously out of the car. "Oh, be sure to tuck it under your jacket," Liz hisses before I close the door. Now I'm feeling really dubious but it feels like it's too late to turn back. Especially after I notice that Jay has a handgun tucked in between his seat and the gearshift dock. I don't even want to imagine why on earth he has that, or how little prompting it might take him to use it. Stowing the brown paper under my jacket, and zipping it halfway just to be careful, I walk across the street and around the corner of the buildings.
There is the man with the yellow hat, just like Jay said. I try not to look too eager as I walk up to him briskly. "Whaddya want, kid?" he asks when he sees me.
I can't think of what to say, nor can I clear my throat enough to say anything anyway, so I simply pull the package from my jacket and hand it out to him. His eyes widen and he snatches it quickly. With a little pocketknife he whips out, he cuts a notch in the package and dumps something into his palm. I barely have the time to see that it's some sort of white powder before he presses it into my face.
I inhale in alarm and instantly suck up a bunch of the powder. The world starts spinning and I cough, trying not to choke on the burning stuff in my nose and mouth. The man is laughing, although I can't see it because my eyes are watering, and the next moment I feel my wrist being grabbed. I try to scream but only end up coughing more. Something is pushed into my hand and I manage to clear my vision enough to realize its money.
Suddenly all hell really breaks loose. There's a shout from the end of the alley we're in. The guy next to me cusses and releases me, running off. I'm left clutching the money and whatever else he had in his hand at the moment. A gunshot goes off and I can't help it; I panic. Screaming, I turn and run back in the direction of Jay's car.
It's gone, racing off down the street way ahead of me and giving me absolutely no hope of catching up. Figures...
"Hey you, stop!" The yell startles me and I take off sprinting again, afraid that it's whoever was shooting. I don't know what I've gotten myself into, but I can take a guess and it's not a good thing. My heart racing so fast I think it might explode, I keep running as I hear pounding footsteps behind me. I can't think straight, my brain is really fuzzy and nothing much is making sense to me. All I know is if these people I've gotten myself mixed up with are coming after me, I really do not want them to catch me.
A hand grabs my arm and it's like time speeds up. I don't process the thought of moving or screaming or reacting in anyway, and by the time I do I've already done all three. I'd shrieked as loudly as I could, spun on my heel and taken a swing at the person who'd grabbed me with the hand holding the money. Now as I stand and process what's just happened, I realize what else I was holding beside the money. The pocketknife.
The police officer is grimacing as he tugs the little blade out of his arm. It's not big enough to kill him, I know that, but I see the red gleam on the knife and the whole reality comes crashing down on me. I faint.
The next day I'm sitting in the police station while my parents talk to the officers. I'm glad to know the one I stabbed is fine, but that's about the only good thing I'm hearing. The officers are going on about assisting in the trade of illegal substances and evading arrest and assaulting an officer and doing drugs since they found traces of the powder in my blood test. They never caught Jay or Liz or the guy with the yellow hat, so everything is on me. Whenever they've tried to ask me questions about what's happened, I can't manage to talk. For some reason whenever I open my mouth all I can do is stutter and I haven't been able to form a real sentence yet, or even a full word, really.
The officer I stabbed seems to be taking my side, surprisingly, and saying that I must have been forced into it and I just panicked. I wish I could tell him that's true but can't get the words to travel from my brain and out my mouth without being chopped into a series of repetitive little noises, so I just nod. But then my parents have to put in there two cents: tell the detectives I've always been a problem, am always rebelling against them and trying to cause trouble. They truly believe I meant to do every bit of it. I mean, I did mean to do something to annoy them. I never expected it to wind up being this.
Nothing gets better from there. The detective or lawyer or someone apparently important-ish, steps in and says that at thirteen years old I should be smart enough to know whether what I'm doing is right or wrong. That I'm old enough to be fully aware of the consequences of my actions.
How was I supposed to know that a girl I go to school with is a drug runner? It's not like my parents ever sat me down and told me 'if anyone who looks like they are on the verge of being hobos ever trying to coerce you into delivering a brown paper package for them, just say no.' My parents never bothered with those sorts of lessons and they only tell you so much at school.
This argument seems to win everyone over and next thing I know I'm getting hit with eighteen months in juvie. That gets shortened for good behavior to only a year, and then they ship me over to spend another year at Jane Addams Academy before they can release me into society again. And that's where I meet my roommate, Eve Jackson, and the music teacher, Grace Hitchins, and my life finally starts looking good again.