17
They Didn’t Run Away to Save Themselves but Sprinted Right into My Lava
I called Alex’s cell phone first thing the next morning, and when he didn’t answer, my stomach began to churn. As I walked to school, I kept calling and texting, saying it was important and he should please call as soon as he could. No response. When I checked my cell phone during study hall, there was a voice message from Oliver’s mom.
Alex was arrested last night. He punched the father of one of the kids who was picking on Oliver. Police came to interview Oliver this morning. I’ve kept him out of school. He’s home alone because I have to work. Oliver is scared. Can you come over to be with him? Alex’s father told the police to keep him locked up so that he would learn a lesson. I’m not sure what’s going to happen. If you can help get Oliver through the day, I’d really appreciate it. Even if you just check up on him after school. Thank you.
I walked right out of the building, cutting school for just the second time in my life. When I arrived home, I pulled my old ten-speed out of the garage and started pedaling furiously. It took me just over an hour to get to Oliver’s home. I locked my bike to the chain-link fence in his backyard and then knocked on his bedroom window three times, like Alex does.
The shade went up, and I could tell by the look on Oliver’s face he was disappointed that I wasn’t Alex. He opened the screen anyway, and I climbed in.
“You okay?” I asked Oliver.
He nodded, but he didn’t look even close to okay.
His hair hadn’t been combed, and he was still in his one-piece pajamas, which were spotted with pink roses, so probably intended for girls. I wondered how his mother even found a size that big. And why in the world Oliver would wear them—especially when his mother wasn’t around and he was free to do whatever he wanted. The only answer was that he must actually like them.
“What happened?” I asked.
“I didn’t want Alex to go to their houses. He made me tell him where they lived. He said it would be okay. But now he’s in jail.”
“What did they say he did?”
“He hit Pete Mandrake’s dad. Punched him in the face.”
“Why?”
“He doesn’t like the pretty boys, or the terrorizers, as he says. I don’t like them, either, but this isn’t good. He shouldn’t have done that.”
“Is he still in jail?”
“I think so.”
Jail.
It sounded so horrible.
Like a place for other people, but not the ones you know.
“They’re going to kill me when I return to school,” Oliver said, which was when I noticed the tears forming in the corners of his eyes, so I hugged him and we cried it out. I found myself smoothing his hair, as if I were his mother, which shocked me. I had never thought of myself as maternal before. And yet here I was, comforting this kid.
“This has gotten way too big. Those kids aren’t going to touch you now. Everyone will be watching them—their teachers, the police. You’ll see. They’re going to leave you alone now.”
“But what about Alex?”
“How far away is the police station in this town?”
“It’s only maybe a twenty-minute walk.”
“Do you have a bike?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay. Put on your broken glasses. We’re going to the police station to see Alex. They might let us in if they feel sorry for you.”
It only took us ten minutes to ride our bikes to the police station, but the woman behind the glass there said we weren’t allowed to see Alex. “Can’t do it.”
I argued with her and showed her Oliver’s broken glasses, but she kept shaking her head.
Just when I was about to quit, a police officer behind her looked up and walked over toward us.
“That’s the officer who interviewed me today,” Oliver said as he waved.
To the woman, the officer said, “Let them in, Cheryl.”
She rolled her eyes. “Why have rules if you’re just going to break them all the time?”
“Lunch is on me today, okay?”
“If you say so.”
Then we heard a buzz, the door opened, and I was introduced to Officer Damon, who had long, skinny sideburns and a small black ribbon tied around his left thumb. We were taken to a back room that looked like the type of place where they interrogate criminals on TV. The walls, ceiling, and floors—everything was concrete except for a wooden table and four chairs. No windows. A bright light hung down from the darkness above. The odd thing was that there was also a small refrigerator in the corner.
“Is this where you try to break criminals?” I asked. “Play good cop and bad cop?”
“No,” the officer said. “This is our break room, but not like break break. It’s where we eat lunch. We don’t break anyone down mentally here. We only break bread.”
He gave us a big, honest smile.
Despite all that was going on, I smiled back. I liked this cop.
“You’re Alex’s girlfriend?” he asked.
“We don’t use labels, but for all intents and purposes, yes, just to make this go easier. Can we see him?”
“He asked for his ‘one phone call,’ saying he wanted to contact you, but since he’s a minor, we had to contact his parents, and his dad is calling the shots now. But I passed on your cell phone number to Oliver here and his mom. Alex asked me to do that.”
“Alex was only trying to make the bullies stop hitting me and breaking my glasses. You don’t put people in jail for that,” Oliver said. “Like I said this morning. Let him out, please!”