mood rings

white

White- this person is nervous and upset

Dad was charged with fifteen years in federal prison.

I knew in all honesty that's where he belonged. But still. It hurt to know that the man that was supposed to be keeping our family together was now sitting behind bars.

It's upsetting to know that he did it all for me, and mom. But most importantly how he blamed the both of us in his testimony.

That's when I stopped listening to the tape his lawyer had sent to our house. I had refused to go. There's no way in hell I could watch the man I used to look up to be led away in a cuffs.
Mom had gone to the trial. And she also hadn't spoken since he was charged with a life sentence.

---

"Kyle, I'm going on this, uh adventure thing. Do you wanna come?" I asked over the phone.

"Yeah!" He said, excitement lacing his voice.

"It's kinda illegal, is that alright?" I asked him, chewing nervously on my phone charger cord.
"Yup. I'll see you in a second. Love you!" He said and hung up the phone before I had time to reply.

I then jumped onto my motorcycle and drove over to Kyle's house. Right when I pulled up, my stomach dropped.

Standing on the porch was his dad, angrily standing in front of Kyle.

I turned off the motorcycle, and slowly walked up to the porch.

"Are you Dan Smith, son to Rob Smith?" His dad asked, looking me up at down. All my confidence left me, and I felt like a little kid once more.

"Yeah." I answered, suddenly self conscious about my torn black jeans and my worn leather jacket. Up next to his crisp polo and shiny leather oxfords I looked like absolute shit.

"What are you doing at my house at this time?" He asked, his arms crossed.

I stayed silent, unable to answer his question. You can't exactly tell somebody that you plan to go graffiti and drink with their son.

"Something illegal?" He raised his eyebrow, Kyle behind him looking somberly at me.
"Uh yeah." I mumbled, looking down to my fingers.

"Look at me when you're speaking. Give me your bag. Now." He snapped, pointing to my backpack.

And like that, I handed him the bag.

He then took the bag and carefully dumped it onto the patio table.

"Spray paint, a lighter, a pipe, Marijuana, money, fake ID, alcohol, and a protein bar. See Kyle, I was right. Your friend isn't who he led you to believe. Now if you'll excuse me I have a phone call to make." He smiled, pulling out his perfect phone and dialed the police.

"I'm sorry." Kyle mouthed, a salty tear falling from his cheek and onto the wooden porch.
That's when I ran, my feet carrying me away from the house.

The police wouldn't care that the Weed, pipe, and vodka weren't mine. I had been holding them for Ralph.

---

And that's how I got an incredibly sexy ankle tracker that would make wearing skinny jeans nearly impossible.