Price of Justice

Chapter 1

Westby, California - 2009

Home means safety. That's what Mom always says: when you have a place to call home, there's always somewhere danger can't touch you. For me, home is easy to define: Mom and Dad and Cathy. Even if my little sister's sole purpose in life is to torment me. Maybe that's why the thought of leaving Westby terrifies me. Change feels too much like danger. Everyone else in school can't stop talking about their post-graduation plans. What fancy college they're going to, the new friends they'll find. I'm happy sticking at the local community college, taking my general education classes until I decide what path works for me.

"You're too quiet," Cathy says, punching me in the arm as we make the familiar trek from the school parking lot down Hammond Cross Way toward our nice, normal cul-de-sac on Vincent Circle.

"Well, you're too talkative," I counter, tightening the strap on my backpack to keep my hands from fidgeting.

She turns so she's walking backwards—one of her strange habits—and grins like the cat who caught the canary. "Fine, be quiet then. I have news."

"Do I really want to hear it?" I barely suppress the groan building in my throat.

"Of course you do, Megs. It's very important, like earth-shattering."

We pause at the intersection of Hammond and Miner Street to let a beat-up Chevy pass us by before she continues. "I was in the locker room after gym and I heard some of the junior girls talking about Dean Whalen. They said that he's trying to get up the nerve to ask this girl out that he doesn't think will say yes. Well, I told them that they were all stupid because any girl would be dumb not to say yes to him."

Dean is one of the most popular boys in school. Handsome, athletic and an honor roll student. And Cathy knows he's been my crush since the seventh grade. Ever since our shared science lab that year, I've dreamed of Dean asking me out.

"You shouldn't have said anything," I answer, mortified. I can feel the heat rising up my neck, turning me beet red with embarrassment.

"Well, they told me I didn't know what I was talking about because I'm just some lowly sophomore, so you know what I did?" she continues, putting a little hitch in her step.

"Please don't say you went and talked to Dean," I groan.

"Duh. Why listen to gossip when you can get the answer right from the athlete's mouth?"

I stop walking and grab my sister by the arm, pulling her to a halt. "If you told him I like him, I am going to disown you forever."

"He likes you back," she answers with a broad smile and a sing-song voice.

"He does not," I reply, shaking my head with enough force to send tendrils of brown hair into my face.

"Does so." She reaches into her pocket and passes me a neatly folded piece of paper.

I don't want to open it, but my hands are already doing the work before my brain can order them to stop. There, on this lined paper, is Dean's name and phone number. I memorized his handwriting during our year as lab partners. It is definitely his. "It could be fake," I protest.

"Would you stop being so boring? I watched him write it down and I called him to make sure it was his real number." She throws her arms around my shoulders and squeezes. "You're my big sister, Megs, and you deserve to be happy. Now, you have to promise me you're going to call him and say yes when he asks you out on a date. One of us needs to at least have our first kiss before you graduate."