Free Juvie by Steve Watkins

OK? I’m just telling you what the lawyer said. He’s, like, a court-appointed lawyer, so he probably doesn’t give a shit — about me or my case or anything. But it’s just what he told me.”
    “Which was what?” I was back to being suspicious.
    “Which was you confess. You say the guys put you up to it, and I didn’t have anything to do with anything. I just happened to be in the car. And since you’re a juvenile, and since you haven’t been in trouble before . . .”
    I stood up so fast, it made me dizzy. “You want me to what? Are you out of your stupid mind? I’ll have a record! I’ll go to juvie!”
    “Not for a first offense,” she said weakly. “Anyway, I’m not asking it. I’m just telling you what the lawyer said. That’s all.” She flicked her cigarette out the window and fished another from her flattened pack.
    My mind was reeling, trying to make sense of everything, of just what, exactly, Carla was asking me to do. “Carla,” I said, grabbing her sleeve, making her drop the cigarettes. “Did you know what was going on? That they had drugs? That we were their cover or whatever?”
    Carla shook her head. “No. Maybe. I mean, I was drunk! They just said they needed a ride to the 7-Eleven. They wanted to get more beer. . . .”
    “And?” I pressed.
    “And they had to get something to a guy and it wouldn’t take but a minute. But that was all. They didn’t say anything about drugs, I promise. I’m pretty sure they didn’t. I thought we were just doing them a favor.”
    She stopped to light her second cigarette, but I grabbed her hand, peeled her fingers off the lighter, and threw it out the window.
    “What’d you do that for?” she asked.
    “Just get out, Carla.”
    “But what about —?”
    “Leave,” I said. “Now.”
    She dragged herself off the bed. “Don’t tell Mom.”
    I felt dazed, as if I was drunk, or maybe high. “Don’t tell her what? That you’re a world-class screwup? That I’m such an idiot? She already knows. Believe me.”
    “Any of it,” Carla said. “Don’t tell her any of it. Not yet. She’s so mad at me, she won’t speak to me.”
    “Can you blame her?”
    She shook her head and turned to go, but stopped at the door. “Think about it? Please? I can’t lose Lulu. I’ll promise you anything.”
    “Great,” I said. “Promise me you’ll make all this go away. Promise me you’ll make it so none of it ever happened in the first place.”
    She retreated down the hallway. I slammed the door behind her.
    Kevin came over that night, but Mom wouldn’t let me see him. He drove off but just parked his car down the road and walked back and tapped on my bedroom window. It was a little after ten. I told him to wait in his car and I’d be there as soon as Mom went to bed.
    Fifteen minutes later, we were making out in his backseat on a dark side street a block from my house. We barely even said hello when I got there, just kind of jumped on each other. I hadn’t realized I wanted him that bad. Or maybe I just wanted anything that would take my mind off what Carla wanted me to do.
    Kevin pulled my T-shirt over my head and was tugging at my jeans before I finally stopped him — stopped both of us. The windows were so steamy, we couldn’t see outside, which was no surprise, as hard as we were breathing.
    “Wow,” Kevin said, brushing his blond hair out of his sweaty face. “Where did that come from?”
    I shrugged, pulled my jeans back up, and retrieved my shirt from the backseat floor. “I must have missed you, I guess,” I said.
    He grinned, grabbed the T-shirt away, and pressed himself back on top of me. I was tempted to pull his shirt off as well, but I stopped us again, struggling to sit back up.
    “I have to get back to the house,” I said.
    Kevin pouted. Actually pouted. “How come? You’re already here. I mean look at us.”
    “Yeah,” I said, “but Mom could wake up or something. She’d freak out if she saw I was gone.”
    Kevin