OFF THE RECORD (First Person)

Prologue

September 2009
Emma
My teeth couldn't stop chattering. The room I was in was freezing, as it had been the one before I was translated from.

I was grateful I had thought about bringing a cardigan and was wearing jeans. I lived in shorts and t-shirts, acclimating to the weather in south Texas. But the night was a bit chilly, and I had planned to walk to Omar's house, so I came prepared, as I always tried.

"Emilia Echeverria." Called a voice thru the intercom.

I sat up quickly. I had laid down sideways on the hard, thin wooden bench, tired from waiting for what seemed all night. I was not able to sleep. The bright light, and my mind running non-stop, had stopped any chance of rest.

"Someone called for you. You will be allowed this call, with an officer present." The harsh voice on the intercom continued.

I swallowed. My body started shaking, but not from the cold, this time. I hoped it was Perla, or her dad, on the other side of the line. But more than likely, it would be my parents.

I had tried to prepare mentally for what I was supposed to tell them, but in the end, I decided to just come clean. In what other messes could I get myself into, after all.

I had sneak out of my house, late at night, to go see my boyfriend. To anyone else, it sounded as if I was a hormonal teenager, but that was far from the truth. At least, this one time.

Omar hadn't gone to school for a couple of days. He had gotten hurt, for fighting his father. Him being the stubborn boy he was, refused to go to the hospital, even as he could barely walk. His sister, Erica, had patched him up as best as she could, but his right leg was a bit tender, still.

Omar had skipped school, but not work, which had worried me even more. How was he supposed to heal when he didn't rest? And how could they be sure he would get better if he didn't seek appropriate medical treatment?

My parents had denied me permission to go visit Omar, so I did what any teen girlfriend in their not so right mind would do. I crawled out of my bedroom window when my parents were asleep.

I was about to make it to his house, which was a good fifteen blocks away from mine, when a police car noticed me. I had tried to avoid any high traffic streets, to not call any attention, but in the end, I was still seen.

The cop, suspecting that I was any trouble, asked me where I was headed and if I was old enough to be walking by myself. I had just turned eighteen, so I felt safe to answer that question sincerely.

That was my second mistake.

Had I just said I was a minor and that I lived with my parents, the cop would have just taken me home with a warning, and I would have gotten a scolding.

A harsh scolding, but just that.

I had no ID and I spoke English perfectly. I could have passed as any other teen living in the United States.

But then, came the questions.

Where were you headed? Do you have any drugs with you? Why are you walking this late?

To protect Omar and Erica, I avoided the first question, again. But that was mistake number three. My mind had gone blank.

Perla had prepared me for any run-ins with the police, teaching me the different titles and what to say to each one of them.

The local ones were easier to get off my back if I answered correctly. Most State troopers were drastic, but considerate if you didn't resist. On the other hand, the rangers were vicious and to the point.