Brr! Xander sat in his frigid math class. Even in mid-December, the air conditioning was on and blowing powerfully. Xander sat right next to the air vent and even with a sweatshirt on and sweatpants over his navy blue basketball shorts, he was freezing. He sat there thinking about the cold as his teacher, Mrs. Evans, droned on about differential equations. Her lesson came to a halt when the security guard knocked on the door, handing Mrs. Evans a lime green office pass. “Mr. Jacobs!” she yelled out to the class. Xander hesitantly walked up to the front of class, grabbed the pass without looking at Mrs. Evans, and exited the room en route to the office.


After finally making the long trek to the office, he walked in and the secretary solemnly stated, “Down the hall and to your left. Mr. Atkins is waiting for you.” As he entered the principal’s Cleveland Indians themed office, a policeman turned around, seemingly staring at him.


“This guy?” questioned the police officer.


Mr. Atkins replied sorrowfully, “I can’t believe it myself. He’s first in his class through one and a half years and lead the math team to a staggering 8th in Nationals last year.”


“Wow. I -”


“Should I leave?” he asked quietly.


“No. I was just saying that I was going to say we should get going now.”


“We?”


“Yea, kid, you’re coming with me.”


“What did -”


“Don’t bother asking me anything ‘till we get to the station. I’m not gonna answer a single question ‘till we get there.”


The policeman grabbed Xander gruffly around the wrist and Xander heard a click and felt a cool metal around his wrist; the only logical conclusion for this was handcuffs. The other wrist got cuffed and the policeman shoved Xander out of the room, gave a warm smile to Mr. Atkins, and left the room. He grabbed Xander by the hood and dragged him out to a black and white police car with green trim. After thumping his head on the way into the car, the policeman got in the front seat and started driving.


Xander finally broke the silence, “Can I at least know your name?”


“Ashmore.”


“What should I call you?”


“Ashmore.”


After getting such dull responses, Xander left the topic alone. After a couple more minutes, they reached an old, brown building. As Xander very well knew, this was the Dunlap County police station. He had come here once when he was five and his dog ran away. He had asked them to look for it. It was never seen or heard from again. He was there when he was nine and his house was broken into. He hadn’t been there for a few years though, and once he got inside, he saw that the whole lobby area had been remodeled. This made the cubicles he could see through a wide open door look like hell. He was dragged roughly down a hallway and through a wooden door. The Chief of Police sat there staring blankly at him.


“Well, well, well, look who we picked up out of the gutter,” after a moment of silence, he finished, “Take him to Interrogation Room 1 and ask him what he knows.” Xander used every ounce of self-restraint he had to keep himself from yelling at the Chief about how he was a well behaved boy and that the Chief had no right to treat him like this. Ashmore dragged him into the interrogation room, took the handcuffs off, and told him to sit down. Ashmore said to wait quietly while he got some coffee. Xander heard the lock click behind Ashmore as he left the room.


Minutes passed by. They felt like hours to Xander as he sat in the clinical room with the dull gray paint. All that was in the room was a metal table and two cold chairs on opposite sides of the table. The heat was up in the room, and to Xander it was a much more seasonal temperature than it had been in his math class. He took off his sweatshirt revealing a white and blue reversible basketball practice jersey. He threw the sweatshirt off to the side of the room. After a couple more seconds Ashmore came back in carrying a Hello Kitty mug. It had no lid and it sloshed around. With his burly steps that shook his upper body, the coffee spilled out precariously causing him to yell out profanities. He stopped abruptly remembering that there was an impressionable teenager in the room. He set his coffee down and pulled out the chair across the table from Xander. He ended up moving the chair over to the side of the table when he stepped in the coffee mess he had created on the floor. “I’ll get the night staff to clean it up,” he muttered. “So you must know why you’re here,” he said using a much bigger voice.


“Frankly, I don’t. I have no clue what I would have done that’s so bad to be taken into the police station. The only things I’ve done today that are punishment worthy are texting in class, talking back to the teacher, and falling asleep during a lecture,” Xander retorted indignantly.


“I’m going to ignore your poor behavior at school because it’s not my job to care. After doing a thorough background check, you get straight A’s and ace almost every test. How you do it with such poor behavior in school, I don’t know. You’re also a star basketball player. With your size, I just can’t understand how you do it. Things that aren’t against the law aren’t my problem though. Like that blonde girl you were making out with in the bathroom. I don’t care.”


Xander’s cheeks flushed as he tried to think of an appropriate response. Xander thought to himself, how would he have known? Stupid security cameras in the bathroom. Those should be illegal.


Ashmore continued, “Now, I’m not concerned about that. I am concerned about the 8 ounces of heroin in your locker though!”


“WHAT?! YOU MUST HAVE THE WRONG LOCKER!” Xander screamed at the police officer, “WHY WOULD I HAVE HEROIN?! DOES ANYTHING I DO REFLECT USE OF HEROIN?! I TOOK HEALTH LAST YEAR AND I AM CERTAINLY NOT IN BAD HEALTH NOW BECAUSE OF IT!”


“We wondered that too. You couldn’t be on it. You’re in very good physical shape. Too good to have even done heroin once. You would not look this good. And I don’t see why you would need it for money because your dad owns 17% of Google. From what other people have told us, you like to brag about your $70 allowance a week. Heroin would ruin your life and you have it made. I don’t see how you could do that. None of it adds up. That’s why you’re here: to clear things up. Start talking, kid.”


“What locker did you find it in?”


“Locker 767. In the west wing of the school”.


“That is my locker, but I’ve been letting my friend, Jiminy, use it. It’s a lot closer to all his classes than his locker. His locker is all the way on the other side of the school, by the main gym. It’s good for him and it’s good for me. For letting him use it, he comes to my house every weekend and does my chores.”


Aghast, Ashmore sat in the chair, pondering what an awful person Xander Jacobs was. “Give me twenty minutes. What’s Jim’s last name?”


“Odom. And don’t call him Jim. He’ll strangle you.”


After twenty minutes, Ashmore came back, ordering Xander to get in a room on the other side of the interrogation room. Xander sat down in a more comfortable chair than the ones in the interrogation room. Ashmore locked the door behind Xander and left the interrogation room, only to come back within thirty seconds with Jiminy. Jiminy’s long brown hair fell down in clumps over his worn brown sweatshirt. The sweatshirt had bleach stains that matched the stains on his ripped up light blue jeans. Xander banged on the one way glass, yelling and screaming at Jiminy. Another detective that had joined Xander in the viewing room yelled at him, “Shut up, dumb*ss! He can’t hear you!” before muttering to himself, “Teenagers these days. Always trying to be the center of attention.” After Xander had moved on from that snide comment, Ashmore took Jiminy’s handcuffs off and the interrogation started.


Ashmore spoke first, “So do you know why you’re here today?”


Jiminy responded, “No, sir.” He was obviously very scared and nervous. He had never been in such a situation before. He was just called down to the office and a police officer brought him there.


Ashmore continued, “Well then. What locker number do you have, kid?”


“At school? 456. It’s near none of my classes, but I have this great friend though, and he’s letting me use his locker. It’s number 767.”


“So you admit to putting your possessions in 767?”


“Yes, sir. Books, folders, even a calculator. It’s been very helpful to have a locker near my classes.”


“Anything illegal in there? Say, drugs?”


At that question, Jiminy lost it. He fell off his chair and was bawling on the ground. “I didn’t mean to!” he cried out, “It was all to get some extra money for my folks! I was selling it on the side. Even though I’ve been working two jobs, it hasn’t been enough. I started selling this stuff. It really helped a lot when my pa got canned! My mom has to deal with my little sister and the medical bills that my sister racks up with her cancer! I didn’t mean to!”


“While I understand where you are coming from, you are going to the Juvenile Detention Center in New York.”


“BUT IT WAS ONLY FIVE OUNCES!!!”


“Wait, five?”


Xander thought to himself, Damnit! I’m trapped and now he’s revealed me. I’m screwed.


Jiminy composed himself finally before responding to Ashmore’s question, “Yea, five ounces.”


“That’s all I need to know.”


Ashmore handcuffed Jiminy and rushed in to handcuff Xander. He grabbed them both and took them out to his car. He started driving, telling them not to talk. Xander could tell when they passed from New Jersey into New York. After a couple hours in a car. A very uncomfortable couple of hours, they arrived at a juvenile detention center. He used his cell phone to call the detention center. A man in a dark blue security uniform walked out of the door and came up to the car. “These the two?” he asked. Ashmore gave a slight nod. The were both grabbed out of the car and the security guard handcuffed both their pairs of handcuffs together and took them inside. They ended up being dragged into the same
cell. The security guard told them to wait until they got permanent cell assignments. About an hour later, the security guard came back and escorted them both to the same cell down the hall. He latched it after giving them orange jumpsuits to put on and taking their handcuffs off.. The cell had two lumpy beds and a small toilet. They spoke none to each other. Around what Xander thought to be 7:00 pm, the security guard opened a slot in the bars and dropped two happy meals into the cell, telling them their trial would be the next day at 8:00 am. They both ate in a silence. After they ate, Xander headed off to bed, having decided he would want as much rest as possible.


Xander awoke to a sudden noise. It was all dark inside of the detention center. Xander came to the conclusion that it was nothing and attempted to go back to sleep but he couldn’t shake the sneaking suspicion that something was going on with Jiminy.


“Security!” he yelled. All of a sudden he couldn’t breathe. Large, hairy hands were wrapped around his neck in a grip stronger than a bear. Xander attempted to pry the clammy hands of his neck and yell for security again to no avail. He heard security come running though from his first call. Jiminy cackled and squeezed harder. As the guard fumbled with his keys, Xander thought there was no way he would live. He saw the lights turn on, presumably from another guard, and everything went black. He woke up in a solid white room with a security guard watching him.


“Your trial was moved until tomorrow due to your incapacitation.”


“Ughhhhhhhhhh,” he moaned. The security guard chuckled and told him to go back to sleep.


After lunch, he went back to a normal cell, but Jiminy had been moved to the cell across from him. When Xander attempted talking to him, the security guard silenced him. He spent most of the afternoon mopping and cleaning dishes. At night, he was escorted back to his cell and given his allotted happy meal for the night. He fell asleep happily, knowing that Jiminy would not be a threat that night. He woke up to lots of commotion. He stood up, rubbing his eyes. He stared out of his cell groggily when an orange jumpsuit caught his eye. It was hanging off of the cell across from him. That’s when he realized why there was so much commotion: Jiminy had hung himself from the cell across the hall.