Nearly running down the hall, I head toward Erika’s locker but stop short at the sound of her voice coming out of the main office.
“That shit ain’t mine! Yo, you can’t do that!”
Through the scratched glass pane, I see Erika led out of the assistant principal’s office in handcuffs.
“Nah! This shit’s fucked up!!”
A crowd forms around me. The entire hallway of Kings High is at a standstill.
“Make room, back up,” an officer orders, holding Erika’s book bag in a large ziplock evidence bag.
My tongue dries out and I let the crowd swallow me as two officers carry out a screaming Erika.
“That shit ain’t mine! You know it ain’t!”
She lifts her feet, kicking a nearby locker. The crowd flinches.
“E!” Yusef screams from the other side of the hall, running toward her. “What’s going on? What happened?”
“Yo, it wasn’t me! Tell them! Tell them that shit wasn’t mine!” Erika wails, making herself heavy as she dips to the ground, eyes filled with panic tears. I still can’t move.
“What’s going on?” a girl next to me asks in a whisper.
“She got caught slanging,” another girl snickers. “They just searched her locker.”
“Damn, another Fisher up to Big Ville. Is there any of them left?”
The hall is a swarm of voices, hot and sticky breath, shouting over one another as Erika resists.
A shell-shocked Yusef rubs his head, distraught. “What do I do, E? Tell me what to do!”
An officer yokes Erika up with a hard shake, slamming her face into the locker.
“Aye! I said knock it off!” he barks, inches from her eye.
It takes five girls to hold Yusef back from charging at them. They struggle, arms around his neck, chest, and legs. I cover my mouth with my hands, feet glued to the floor.
“Stop it,” I cry, but no one can hear me over the chorus of shouting.
“Get off her,” Yusef barks.
Erika takes a calming breath, nodding, tears rolling down her face. School security holds students back from following as she’s led down the hall, toward the main doors.
“Yo, Yuey, take care of my grand for me, man! Take care of her. Tell her it wasn’t mine!”
The walk home from school is dark and cold, the day a blur. Went to my classes, but I don’t remember much more than moving from one room to the other. Didn’t open a book or reach for a pen while the same thought kept repeating itself: Did she know I was there? Did she see me before they took her to jail?
Even the sentence felt strange in my head: Erika is in jail.
It was a strange déjà vu feeling, watching security comb through her locker, pillage through her things, tossing them in the trash like they didn’t expect her to come back. Reminded me of the way they rummaged through my locker. They didn’t find anything. But it didn’t make me feel any less than a criminal. I put myself in Erika’s shoes. Would I have to be dragged out the school kicking and screaming? I feel sick just thinking about it.
Yusef left school early, most likely to check on Erika’s grandmother. That poor lady, now all alone. It doesn’t make sense. Erika was the one who told me about the Sterling Laws. She knew them like you know every word to your favorite song. No way she would do something so careless.
Unless . . . they purposely planted something on her. But why?
A spark flares in me. Mom covered juvenile cases for the LA Times. She knows lawyers, knows the system. Maybe she can recommend someone. Help her with bail or something.
I sprint in my slippers, eager to make it home and explain everything to Mom. But as soon as I bust in, I’m greeted by the worst welcoming party.
“Ah! Marigold. Wonderful to see you!”
Mr. Sterling must have a billion new black and gray suits in his closet. He stands at the kitchen island, placing his mug of coffee down on the counter.
“Hi?” What the hell is he doing here?
“Hey, baby. You okay?” Mom’s voice sounds . . . off. Why is she nervous?
“Yeah, I’m fine. Why?”
She gives Mr. Sterling an uneasy glance, then smiles.
“Well . . . um. I heard what happened to your friend at school today. Erika?”
Shit.
“Oh,” I mumble, taking off my shoes, trying to find something to do with my hands.
Mr. Sterling smiles between us. “Yes, it’s quite a shame, isn’t it? Such a lovely young lady, with a bright and promising future. Too bad she was caught up in the wrong crowd. As soon as I heard, I decided to stop by here myself and check on the Anderson-Green family. I feel you’re sort of my responsibility, given that I convinced you to move to our fair city.”
“You didn’t have to do that, really,” Mom says sheepishly.
“No, no, I insist. Just want to assure you, these types of incidents will never happen again.” He looks pointedly at me, eyes darkening above a gleaming smile. “Well, unless someone starts snooping in places they don’t belong. Then she could find herself in a lot of trouble and others could be hurt by such careless actions.”
My throat closes so tight, I can’t even gulp.
He knows!
“Well, I’m off! Wife’s cooking her famous roast chicken. Famous ’cause she picks it up from the store.” He laughs at his own joke and nods at me. “Take care. Be safe.”
He steps outside, Mom following, and they talk in hushed whispers on the porch.
Something dark hangs in the air in the words left unsaid. Still stunned, I linger in the hall before meandering into the family room.
He knows! But how? Are there mics planted around the house? Is he tapping our phones?
Still too spooked to sit on the sofa, I pace around the room, Buddy following. Wish I had weed to help me think, ease the scattering of panicked voices in my head. The secret garden . . . it needs tending, which shouldn’t be a priority, but with Erika gone, it’s my last resort. Can’t trust anyone else.
I glance at the clock on the cable box, catching a glimpse of the modem’s label, and gasp, running across the room to grab it—Sedum Cable.
Holy shit. They’re monitoring our Wi-Fi! And Erika . . . oh God. It’s all my fault!
I bring a trembling hand up to my lips, stifling a scream. They took her because of me, because of my snooping, because of something I did.
Mom enters the room with a look on her face that means trouble. I put the modem down.
“I asked Alec to take off early so he can pick up Sammy and Piper,” she says, her voice stony. “It’s just me and you.”
“Okay?”
“And I want you to tell me the truth.”
I frown. “The truth about what?”
She walks into her office, then comes back with a piss cup. My mouth dries.
“Seriously?” Does she know what type of day I’ve had?
“Erika was dealing,” Mom snaps, as if daring me to say she’s wrong. “You knew, and that’s the only reason why you were friends with her. You wouldn’t be otherwise.”
The sharpness of that truth is a fresh coating of guilt I wasn’t expecting so soon.
“Mom . . .”
“We talked about this in group, remember? This is the addiction taking over what you know is right and wrong.”