His eyes are so red, bluish purple on the edges, bags exaggerated.
He sniffs, wiping his arm over his nose. “Cops raided my place, found a lot of shit—”
“How?” I ask. None of his boys are snitches, or at least I didn’t think they were.
“Someone must have called them, told them where to look.”
Someone…
Aces…?
My heart races and I feel a little sick.
“Have you got bail?” I ask, swallowing the guilt. Bail can get him out, right?
“Too expensive.”
“Did they give any info on how long they’re keeping you in for?”
“Until the trial.”
Trial?
I rest my head in my hand. Dre can’t go to trial, let alone prison.
It’s all my fault: If we’d read the signs earlier, dropped out sooner, did what they wanted us to do, Aces wouldn’t have come for Andre.
I hear a knocking sound, and I look up a bit.
“It’s fine, I’m fine,” he says, eyebrows knitted together. He places his hand on the glass. I look at it at first, then him.
“You’re not fine, Dre.” I place my hand on the glass over his, our hands similar in size, but so different at the same time. I know his hands are rougher than mine, thicker.
“Your face is fucked up.”
He looks at our hands. “My face is fine.”
“Isfineslang for messed up? Dre, look at me. Who did this to you?”
Andre looks at me, and my face goes warm, because he’sreallylooking at me, not just my face, but my eyes, my mouth… eyes flickering.
He sighs heavily. “Just some guys, told me they’d heard of you and me, and—” Dre’s face scrunches up as he starts silently crying. “They beat me every night, said they wanna knock sense into me.”
I wish I could hug him, but this stupid glass separates us. He wipes his eyes harshly, then puts his hand down and sits up.
“How’ve you been?” he asks, voice cracking a little.
Stressedis the first thing that comes to mind. Stressed and tired.
“Good,” I say.
“Good,” he repeats.
I feel like I’m gonna die from an overactive heart. It beats fast, ringing in my ears and in my mind, throat vibrating, hard to swallow, fingers moving like I had too much coffee again.
“You need to get out of here,” I tell him. “You need a good lawyer.”
He nods slowly. “My boys are working on it.”
