The officer nods once. “Go ahead.”
Parker releases both hands from the steering wheel, reaching over my lap to open the glove box and retrieve his paperwork. He hands his information to the policeman, who says he’ll just be a minute before walking off to his car.
“Now,” he says.
Panic wreaks havoc within me as I do exactly as he instructs. I reach into my bag without dipping my head and feel around for the small round container holding the illegal prescription drugs.
“Hurry up,” Parker barks, and my heart hitches. Nervousness. Fear. Anxiety. I sob silently as my hand searches blindly, my ears on fire and my vision blurry with tears.
Finally, my fingers clasp around the small container, and I pull it out, passing it quickly over the cupholders and placing it into Parker’s palm.
He grasps it tight, then shoves it into his pocket before he looks over at me, forcing mine to meet his.
“This isn’t your fault, Alana. Do you hear me?”
It doesn’t feel that way.
“No matterwhat happens next, this isn’t your fault. You tried to do a good thing the only way you knew how. It’s okay.”
I cry more when he grabs my hand. The cop is making his way back to us now. “It’s gonna be okay. I promise.”
“P, I don’t want you to get in trouble for something I did. Please—”
“Listen to me. This has nothing to do with you, okay? Derek has his own vendettas. This is not your fault,” he repeats, but there’s no way I could ever believe him.
Guilt crashes into me, layering itself into my petrified state. I can’t believe I did this. I can’t believe this is happening!
“Let’s make a new plan. Let’s just tell them, P! Let’s just tell them what happened—”
“It doesn’t work that way, Lana,” he says calmly, his eyes still forward. “This has everything to do with me and nothing to do with you, I promise.”
“Just… Just give them back. I’ll tell them what happened. I’ll tell them they’re Derek’s.”
“No. You can’t get in trouble, Alana. You’ll lose your scholarship to UT.”
“I don’t care!” My voice cracks with fear and shame. “We can figure something out!” My eyes bounce between the officer walking back to us and my brother’s blank stare. He’s not listening to me. He’s already decided this is it. “Parker—”
“The cop is going to ask me to get out of the car next. And when he does, he’s going to search me. If that happens, Lana, do not say anything. No matter what. Do you understand?”
I barely nod.
“Say it,” he says through gritted teeth.
“Yes, P. I understand.”
He takes a jagged breath. “It’s gonna be okay, Lana Lane.”
It’s the last thing hewhispers before the cop arrives at the door and asks him to step out of the vehicle.
The officer asks him a few questions to which Parker responds accordingly. My heart pounds in my ears, the flow of my blood a loud woosh. I can’t make out the exchange through my muffled sighs and sobs.
They give him a sobriety test. Recite the alphabet backwards. Stand on one foot while touching his nose. Switch. Take five steps forward and three steps back. He passes each one.
A flicker of hope calms the roaring anxiousness in my belly.They’re going to let him go, I think. I pray. Ibegthe Heavens above.
A second officer meets with the first, this one a bit older with a permanently fixed snarl that screams he has something to prove. A bone to pick with society and a hard-on for derelicts like us.
Officer Two tells Parker to lace his fingers behind his head as he begins to pat him down. Under each arm. Along his torso. Down one leg. Then the other.
