47.
“Congratulations, Ben,” Colonel Higgins said to me as he drove. “You’ve established a new record. Fastest felony in school history.”
I looked out the window of his car, avoiding his squinty glare that was meant to ignite my face in flames. Apparently, he didn’t need to see the road to drive. “I explained all that,” I said.
“Your explanation sucked.”
“Are you allowed to say sucked to a student?”
“You’re going to hear a lot worse in prison.”
We stopped at a railroad crossing. The red lights on the wooden arm were flashing and a warning bell was clanging. There were no other cars around. In fact, we hadn’t passed any since leaving the police station. I looked at the clock on the dashboard. 3:18 a.m. That explained it.
The police had been questioning me for hours. I stuck to my story: I didn’t know the robbers. Then why did the girl ask me to go with her? No clue. Maybe I reminded her of someone.
“Or maybe you’re just irresistible to chicks,” one of the cops had snorted.
“Maybe,” I’d said.
“You think this is funny?” he bellowed, jumping to his feet.
“Maybe,” I’d repeated. I was too tired for snappy comebacks.