The Kids Aren't Alright

Chapter 1: Finn

June 1988

It's the middle of the night, and I'm getting arrested by my dad.

He's giving me one of his classic, soul-crushing glares; a deliberate look that he's perfected, possibly with the help of a mirror, during his years of being an Indiana cop. The look is combined with the perfect dose of parental disappointment and is so effortlessly withering that I can actually feel all my hopes and dreams crumbling away beneath it.

"Finn," he says. His voice is soft, but it carries easily through the late-night stillness. "Give me the papers."

I glance down at the stolen files in my hand. Then I look back up at him. Guilty as charged.

"Before you arrest me, I just want you to know that I was trying to save the frogs," I blurt out. "That's why I'm here. That's why I broke into the school."

Dad doesn't speak. His expression is unchanging, indiscernible. I'm not even sure if he's arresting me- I thought he was at first, but now, as we stand here in silence, I have my doubts. He is wearing his uniform, which is never a good sign; he doesn't even look like my dad in it, too fancy and professional. Not that I look much like him even without the blue suit. I got all of mom's red hair and brown-eyed genes and none of his black curls or dark stare. The only trait I share with both of them is my skin's tendency to go from bone-white to red as a tomato in the summer, no matter how much sunscreen I slather on.

He extends his hand. "Finn. Give me the papers." When I hesitate, he continues in an even sterner tone, "Don't make me ask again."

I hold out the papers, defeated, and he yanks them away. I watch him stuff them into his pocket, and wonder if he even understands why I stole them- or if he even cares.

So maybe he is arresting me. Or maybe he just hasn't decided yet, and he wants to draw out my misery- because honestly, even jail would be a better fate than this.

An eternity passes before he speaks again. "Grab your bike and get in the car, Finn. Now."

I unchain my bike from the fence and wheel it over to dad's standard-issue Chevrolet Caprice cruiser. There's so much shit in the trunk already that I can barely fit my bike inside, but I can't complain- this is a small act of mercy coming from my father. I don't have my driver's license yet, so the bike is my only way of getting around our small town. Without it, I'm stranded.

"C'mon, Finn, hurry up. It's midnight and I don't want to keep your mother waiting. She's worried sick."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. Can I ride shotgun?"

"No."

He never lets me sit shotgun. So I slip into the backseat instead and say, "What, you aren't going to read me my rights?" hoping that maybe he'll crack a smile, but he doesn't even acknowledge the joke.

His face is cold as stone as he just starts the car and shifts it into gear, easing us out onto the street. The neighborhood is still, motionless. The only sounds are the cicadas humming in the trees and the creek gurgling in the distance. For all I know, my dad and I could be the last two people on Earth.

I stew in the backseat, feeling oppressed by the sluggish silence. I've never minded living in such a small, sleepy town, but the quiet does have a way of burrowing under your skin when you're feeling restless.

Hopelessly, I try to think of something to say to break the lull, but I've never been in a situation like this before and words fail me. I've never been arrested before. I've been sent to the principal's office plenty of times, but I'm not a bad kid- I've never actually broken the law. I've been in trouble with my parents, but never like this. What do I say? What do I do?