VIOLET GRENADE Sneak Peek

Chapter 6: Mad Money

I wake the next morning with Ms. Karina's card wrinkled in my hand. I worked it between my fingers until the lettering smeared, but I can still read the ten-digit number. It doesn't matter whether or not I want to call, I have to bail Dizzy out of jail and that's that. Even if I spent half the night looking out the window expecting to see the social worker. Even though I'm so exhausted it's hard to think straight. 

I stand and stretch on Dizzy's mattress. I slept in his room last night. Sometimes I do that. If he stays out too late or crashes at a girl's place he's sure will one day bear his last name, I sleep in his room. I always move if he returns, and neither one of us ever mentions the shuffling. 

Sometimes I wish he'd mention it. 

Dizzy and I have never hooked up. I guess I've never hooked up with anyone, really. Not in the no-turning-back,you're-a-woman-now way. Still, it seems like we should talk more, even if we don't share a pillow. But he says talking is overrated. 

I dig through my wigs until I find a green one, chin length.And I don't bother with makeup, which is saying something. After grabbing a stale bagel, whose origins are unknown, from the kitchen, I head out. I don't have extra cash for a cab. Even if I did, I'd never spend it when I've got two perfectly good legs. 

Rogers County Jail is four miles away, and I'm praying Dizzy is there. By the time I arrive, I'm dripping sweat from the July heat and feeling good about my decision to forgo foundation. I even left out most of my piercings. Look how civilized that girl is who's come for her friend, is what they'll say. 

I've got sixty-four dollars and ninety-one cents heavy in my pocket. That includes the ten the lady gave me. If it isn't enough to bail Dizzy from jail, I don't know what I'll do. We rarely have spare cash, because we've never stolen anything good enough to buy much outside of food and Band-Aids and maybe a pack of Marlboro Reds when Dizzy is anxious. 

I can't steal like he can, so I need sixty-four dollars and ninety-one cents to do the trick. 

I push through a glass door, and a bell chimes. It seems way too cheerful for such a place, but I take it as a sign that things aren't so bad. How scary could it be? There are happy little bells for crying out loud. 

A woman sits behind a glass wall. She isn't dressed in uniform, and the knot in my stomach loosens. I'm terrified someone will recognize me from last night. Maybe they'll throw me in with Dizzy. I thought I might want as much, but now that I'm here I know better. I want no part of this place.I want to go back to the house that isn't ours, and I want Dizzy to come along. 

The woman slides the glass wall open and leans forward. "Can I help you?" 

There's a row of chairs on my side of the wall. A girl sits in one of them with her legs spread wide. She's picking a scab off her thigh, tongue between her lips in concentration. She doesn't look up when the woman speaks.

"I need to get someone out." 

The woman cocks her ear toward me. "What's that?" 

I clear my throat and speak up. "My friend got taken here, I think. I need to get him out." 

"Name?" 

"Dizzy." 

The woman raises her eyes. "Last name?" 

I shake my head. "I don't know." 

She sighs and types something into a computer. "Got picked up last night around midnight?" 

"That's right." I push against the counter, forgetting my fear. Dizzy really is here. He's locked up, and people are probably invading his space. He's going to drown in his own head. 

"He has a warrant out for shoplifting. Third offense. You want to pay that ticket for him?" 

Dizzy got caught shoplifting? Three times? 

"Can he get out if I do?" 

"Mmm-hmm." She hands me a slip of paper. "Take this across the street to Quick Bonds. It's next to the frozen yogurt place. Your friend will still have to appear in court." 

The money in my pocket is worthless. It means nothing without Dizzy walking home next to me. Dizzy telling me how it stunk inside his jail cell. Dizzy suggesting we pawn a video game or two for some chili cheese fries and jalapeno burgers, even though I hate jalapenos. 

I glance at the paper she handed me. The total is filled in at the bottom. 

Pay to the order of Rogers County Jail: $423.52 

My heart ceases beating. My foot stops tapping. I'm going back alone. It would take me months of petty theft to save that kind of money. I'm nowhere near as good as Dizzy, and now that he's gone I'll be the one buying the things I need. It'll be a miracle if I can keep myself fed. 

I meet the woman's glare. She's tired of me already. "How long will he stay in there if I can't cover this?" 

"Until his court appearance, and then longer if he can't pay the fines." 

"He won't be able to pay the fines." My voice rises. I no longer care whose attention I draw. "And he can't stay in there, either. He's claustrophobic. He'll go crazy." 

The woman glances behind her like she's got a live one. 

A second woman appears through a doorway. She's in uniform. She doesn't say or do anything, just leans against the wall and looks at me with authoritative eyes. 

I lower my voice. "Listen, maybe I can pay in installments.A little now, the rest later. Will that work?" 

The woman points to the sheet in my hand. "Just go to bonds if you come up with the money." 

My throat tightens. I'm overreacting. I know I am. But I can't leave Dizzy here, confined. I slam my hand against the glass wall, and the woman in uniform strides over. "He can't take being in this place," I yell. "If you just listened. He can't stay here. He'll die." 

The officer grabs onto my arm, but I yank out of her reach.She looks angry at first, but then her face softens. "Look, kid. He's fine. He's just hanging out back there, chatting up the other detainees. Save your money, he'll be out before you know it." 

"He's not fine," I snarl. "I know Dizzy." 

I back toward the door I came through. 

Do you need me? Wilson asks. 

I startle in the doorway, because I'd hoped he'd vanished as I slept. But I know better. 

No, never, I say. Go away.

***

After I leave the jail, I do two things. 

I try to swipe a camera from Wal-Mart and fail. 

I ask for an application at Electrobuzz. 

The application asks for my social security number and says I need two forms of ID. Dizzy was right. Electro-whatever doesn't want a homeless chick greeting their shiny customers. And there's no way I'm giving them a way to probe my background. 

Because worse than losing Dizzy, worse than Wilson waking up and staying awake, is someone finding out about my parents.