Chapter 7
Jagger
“Should we go in?” Marla asked. The two of us were waiting outside the courtroom. My joke of a public defender was nowhere to be found, and the court officer had just called my case for the second time. I walked over to him.
“I’m Jagger Langston. You called my name, but I don’t know where my attorney went. He was here a few minutes ago on his phone.”
“Who’s your attorney?”
“Leonard Adams.”
The court officer frowned. “He’s probably down the hall with a different client. That guy will find a way to squeeze someone in if you go to take a piss.”
“What should I do?”
“I can push you down on the calendar. I still have two more cases to call this afternoon. Hopefully he’ll turn up by then.”
“Thanks. I appreciate it.”
I walked back over to Marla, who was biting her nail again. “Stop doing that. You’re making me nervous.”
“I’m making you nervous? My parents don’t know you were arrested again, and if they find out I’ve been keeping your secret, we’re both in hot water.
And your dumb, disappearing lawyer called Judge Hanover Judge Hammer because of how hard he is with sentencing.
Why the heck did you and your stupid friends break into the school anyway?
You usually get in trouble for not going to school. ”
I shrugged. “It was cold out. We wanted to play basketball.”
Marla shook her head. “You have to stop hanging out with those guys—and that new girl you’re going out with, too.”
“What’s wrong with Lexi?”
“Last week, I was watching a soccer game on TV when she came over. You weren’t home yet, so she sat down and started watching with me.
I asked if she liked soccer, and she said no, she only really likes bolly-ball.
It took me almost five minutes to figure out she was referring to volleyball.
She’s seventeen and seriously had no idea that the word isn’t bolly-ball. ”
I sighed. “Lots of people get things wrong. Remember when you thought that Rihanna song was ‘chips and dip excite me’, instead of chains and whips?”
“I was ten! And Lexi played on the bolly-ball team for two years in middle school.”
“You’re making that up.”
Marla made an X mark across her chest. “Cross my heart. Ask her!”
After we both had a good laugh, Marla seemed to study my face. I thought maybe something was on it, so I swiped at my cheek. “What?”
“You have dark circles under your eyes. You’re having trouble sleeping again, aren’t you?”
“I sleep just fine.”
She frowned. “Sure you do.”
Forty-five minutes later, there was still no sign of my lawyer when the court officer came out again. He looked at me. “You’re up, buddy. Still no sign of Lenny?”
“Nope.”
He gestured for me to follow. “Just take your place at the defendant’s table, and when the judge asks where your attorney is, tell him he’s MIA. You’re better off with no attorney than not appearing.”
Great. This judge didn’t like me to begin with.
The last time I was in front of him, my attorney had told me the max I could get as a repeat juvey was two-hundred hours of community service, but that he’d never had anyone get more than eighty.
I got the full two hundred, along with a twenty-minute lecture. But what could I do now?
I made my way into the courtroom. Marla took a seat in the spectator section, while I pushed the swinging wooden half-door to get to the other side.
The court officer stood in front of the judge’s bench and called out a bunch of numbers, along with my name.
I glanced behind me, hoping the buffoon of an attorney I had would show at the last second, but no such luck.
I wiped my sweaty palms on the dress pants I’d borrowed from Marla’s dad’s closet after he left for work today.
Judge Hanover pushed his glasses up from the bridge of his nose.
“Mr. Langston, where is your counsel?”
“I don’t know, your honor. He was here an hour ago. We were waiting in the hall and—”
“Stop.” He held up his hand and turned to the ADA. She was kind of hot for a woman who could get me locked up. “Ms. Atkins,” he said, “is the State prepared to hear the Court’s sentencing?”
She nodded. “We are, your honor.”
The judge’s eyes slid back to me. “Mr. Langston, this is your second time in my courtroom and your fourth time in this courthouse for various arrests. The State submitted your school records to show that you are not only out causing a ruckus, but you’re also often truant.”
“Your honor, I—”
He again put his hand up. “I’ll give you an inch of leeway because your counsel is not here at the moment. But you do not speak while I’m speaking. Is that understood?”
Fuck. I hung my head. “Yes, your honor.”
He pushed his glasses up his nose again. “As I was saying, the State submitted your school records to show that you’re a terrible student. But do you want to know what I noticed?”
I looked at the judge, unsure if he actually wanted me to respond.
He sighed. “I asked you a question, so you may speak now, Mr. Langston.”
“Yeah, I want to know.”
“The word is yes, not yeah. And what I discovered on your record is—contrary to what your actions may lead one to believe—you are not dumb.” He picked up a paper and pointed to the top corner. “Did you have an SAT tutor?”
“No, sir.”
“Did you take a review course?”
“No, sir.”
He shook his head. “I’ve spent five grand on private tutors to try to get my son to a number that is a hundred points less than your score. Did you cheat on the exam, Mr. Langston?”
My eyes narrowed. “No.”
“Then you’re on your way to becoming what I like to call a Machiavellian Master. Do you know who that is?”
I nodded.
The judge frowned again. “Of course you do. You could probably write a whole paper on it even though you were absent the day the teacher taught about Niccolò Machiavelli.” He shook his head yet again.
“Normally, I would throw the book at someone who has been arrested four times in a year. Your little Class D felony has a sentencing guideline of one to seven years. But today is your lucky day. I’m going to give you two options and let you decide your own fate, since you’re so smart. How does that sound?”
“Uh, I guess it depends on what my two options are.”
Judge Hanover’s mouth twisted to a sneer, and he wagged a finger. “See? You are smart. That’s why I’m giving you the choice of two islands.”
The courtroom door behind me burst open, and I turned to find my dumbass lawyer rushing in. Leonard took one look at me standing alone and the judge’s annoyed face and swallowed. “I’m sorry, your honor. I was down the hall for what was supposed to be a two-minute calendar call and got held up.”
“You joined us just in time, Mr. Adams. I was about to tell your client what was behind doors A and B.”
Leonard pushed through the swinging gate and dumped a half-dozen files on the table. “I’m sorry—door A or B?”
The judge rolled his eyes and shifted his focus back to me.
“You’re probably the smarter of the two at that table anyway, Mr. Langston, so I’ll explain it to you.
Walk through door A, and you get an all-expense-paid, seven-year vacation at the lovely Riker’s Island, compliments of the hardworking people of the state of New York.
Walk through door B, and you get a four-year travel tour that kicks off at the lovely Parris Island in South Carolina and could end with you having a fighting chance in life. ”
“Parris Island? Is that a jail?”
“No, Mr. Langston. It’s Marines boot camp.”