Strays by Jennifer Caloyeras Read Free Book Online Page B

benches in the back, a combination of kids and their lawyers. The city hadn’t invested in air-conditioning. Voices reverberated throughout the room. Mr. Spencer and I took our places on a bench alongside a few other people, and I scanned the room for Dad.
    Still not here.
    I checked the wall clock. He was officially late for the fake time I had given him, but not yet late for my actual court time.
    A long-haired teenager sat next to his lawyer at a table across from the judge, who was surprisingly younger than I imagined she would be and, if not for the whole baggy robe, looked like a relatively nice person. Her hair was so curly, it looked like a wig. She was wearing a lace collar underneath her judge’s robe. I wondered if she was considered a fashionista among her peers.
    â€œScott Haydon, how do you plead?”
    The boy looked at his lawyer.
    â€œNot guilty,” the boy said with a slight smirk. The lawyer looked disappointed.
    â€œLet’s take a look at your paperwork.” The judge riffled through a file. “Mr. Haydon, you are aware that vandalism is a crime you’ve committed not once, not twice, but three times.”
    â€œYes, Your Honor.” Scott Haydon knew how to address her. He’d obviously been through this process before.
    â€œAnd you do realize that the fine people of Santa Cruz are the ones who have to pay to clean up the messes you’ve been leaving around town.”
    â€œUh-huh.”
    â€œUh-huh, Your Honor,” she corrected.
    I looked over at Mr. Spencer. He was shaking his head.
    â€œWhat’s wrong?” I whispered.
    â€œShe’s in a bad mood. It doesn’t bode well for us.”
    I knew there was no real us . I was the only one she was targeting. Nothing worse than the judge in charge of your fate being cranky.
    The judge continued, “What I see here is a boy—even though you probably think you’re a man—perhaps with some artistic talent. But all the talent in the world doesn’t give you the right to break the law, Mr. Haydon. City walls are not your canvas.” She paused, waiting for his response.
    â€œYeah, but they don’t sell blank walls at the local art store, Your Honor. ”
    A few people in the room laughed.
    â€œIs this some kind of a joke to you?” asked the judge.
    His lawyer whispered something in his ear, which made him quickly lean into the microphone in front of him and say, “Sorry, Your Honor.”
    The judge continued, “This court has given you multiple chances to get your act together, and yet here you are again in the same place you were four months ago and two months before that. We are tired of spending money on you, Mr. Haydon. Perhaps a little time in juvenile hall will set you straight once and for all. My ruling is twenty-eight days in a detention center, and then we can revisit regarding parole.”
    She hit her gavel on the table, announcing the case’s conclusion.
    The boy’s smirk disappeared, and he now looked broken, like this wasn’t the result he was expecting. His mother and father made their way toward him. His dad put his hand on his shoulder, and his mom cried and hugged him.
    This was his fate even with the “parental support” that was apparently so important. Dad still hadn’t arrived. What would my fate be? Would I end up in jail, too? My face flushed, and I urgently needed to go to the bathroom.
    â€œCase Number 4758392,” said the bailiff.
    Mr. Spencer tapped me on the shoulder. “That’s you.”
    My bladder would have to wait.
    The bailiff continued: “The State versus Iris Moody.”
    I followed my lawyer to the table, had a seat, and awaited my punishment.
    The judge spread open my file in front of her. It was visibly slimmer than Scott Haydon’s. This had to be a good thing.
    â€œMs. Moody, how do you plead?”
    â€œGuilty.” It was the first time I’d said the word out loud.