The Notorious R(uth) B(arakat) G(rimaldi)

Chapter 19: E.T.

"You're joking!" Elliott sat at the Barakat-Grimaldi's dinner table, forkful of shepherd's pie halfway to his mouth.

Todd Grimaldi shook his head, his own fork hovering in the air. "Unfortunately, it's their first brush with the law, hard as that is to believe," he said grimly.

"But what about Ruthie's recording?" Elliott asked, setting his fork down. "That's proof, corroboration or whatever, of what we say happened! And Gordon and Linda--"

Phil looked at Elliott with something close to sympathy before looking at his husband. They'd both gone through this too many times to count. Even Ruthie, having heard it that afternoon, wasn't as shocked or offended as Elliott now was.

"It doesn't matter," she said, taking. bite of her salad. "They're not contesting our version of events, that's what 'no contest' means." She chewed and swallowed before looking back at her dads. "Right? In exchange for the nolo contendere plea they get a better deal than they would've risked."

"So they get nothing?" Elliott finally just put down his fork and took a drink. "No punishment for assault, sexual assault, intent to cause grievous harm or whatever the fuck it's called?"

Ruthie knew that the subject at hand was so serious, and she should be focusing, but it was really hard when Elliott was sitting across from her, dark curls framing his narrow face, tickling his neck, large eyes flashing.

He was so hot.

"Not nothing," Pop said. "At least for Brett, because he's eighteen, it stays on his record, and they all have to do community service, give up their weekends? For those boys, that's serious, because it's the heart of football season, they're going to have miss practices, maybe even games.

Elliott's eyes, which Ruthie didn't think could get any bigger, did, eyelashes nearly touching his eyebrows, it seemed.

"Wait a minute, sir. Are you telling me they're still allowed to compete on a school team?" His voice was so high it made Clarence Darrow, who as usual was napping near the fire, lift his head. "Surely they're chucked, erm, expelled from the team?" He looked between Ruthie's fathers, and, finally, at Ruthie herself.

"That is up to the school," Ruthie's Pop said, his voice growing curt. "Some people think they should be cut, some do not." He took a huge swallow of his wine.

"They're suspended the week after Thanksgiving," Ruthie supplied.

"What? Nearly two weeks after the fact?" Elliott had by now given up all pretense of eating and was just looking from face to face.

"They didn't want to act until the legal stuff was 'sorted out,'" Ruthie explained, using air quotes. "Translate as 'They wanted to wait as long as possible, and give the boys the minimum amount of punishment, so as not to affect Warren High School's football season.

"And they won't get to make up the work they miss during that week, which will affect their grades a little," Ruthie went on. "Coach Kavanaugh is talking to all their teachers, especially the boys he wants for basketball and baseball in the spring, to try not to have it hurt their eligibility.

"Welcome to America, Elliott, I'm sorry," she finished, with a look filled with sympathy across the table.

After dinner, they went to her room, where Elliott paced back and forth. "This is making me crazy," he told Ruthie. Seeing those knobs all last week, walking around school like they'd done nothing wrong, jerking their heads at me whenever we'd run into each other like we were friends or like we shared some secret or something.

"And drama's the worst!" he continued, slapping his palm against the post of Ruthie's bed, making her jump. "Seeing Brett and his goon, that fucking Leroy, who hit you, who wanted to grope you? Said he'd dreamed about it for years?" Elliott's eyes were blazing as he raked his fingers through his hair. "I'd like to run him through with something sharp, and that fucking Carmichael as well!"