People move before I even understand why. I push through the crowd and find Diego.
He's pale. Not just pale — white. His jaw is hanging open, his eyes fixed on something across the way like he's forgotten how to breathe.
"Cuz," I say, grabbing his arm.
He doesn't even blink.
"Diego!" I shout, touching his face until he finally looks at me.
"He… h-he…" His voice catches in his throat. "Is he okay?"
"Who?"
I follow his stare.
An ambulance is pulling up outside. Kids are being shoved back, voices rising, everyone trying to see at once and pretending they're not. Then I spot the body on the ground, half-hidden in the chaos.
"I don't know," Diego says, eyes still locked in place. "One of the kids from this morning. I think he's just a freshman."
My blood goes cold.
"What happened?"
Diego swallows hard. "He h-had to have collapsed. I don't know. There was so much spit. Drool. And then he just… hit the ground."
His eyes finally drop to the concrete before meeting mine. "Raul, there was so much blood. I can't do this anymore."
CHAPTER 11
RAUL
…present day
Handcuffs close around my wrists as three correctional officers lead me down a dim hallway. My shackled legs struggle to keep pace, each step clipped and awkward, the chain between my ankles biting at my stride.
I've got court this morning for my pre-trial. Part of me is hoping Diego and Mr. Dominguez will be there, but the paperwork is still moving through the system, so there's a good chance I'm getting a court-appointed attorney instead.
We load into the shuttle with a handful of other inmates. None of them are people I've bothered getting to know. I know my time here is temporary, and I'm not trying to make friends in a place built to swallow people whole.
The ride is miserable.
Static crackles low over the van's radio, some song buried beneath the noise and distortion. The air conditioning fights against the heat of all our bodies pressed too close together, mixing with the sour smell of jail soap, sweat, and metal.
Luckily, the courthouse is only about ten minutes away.
We pull up and file out one by one, herded through the back entrance by a mix of correctional officers and police like we're livestock being moved through a chute. There's no room to breathe, no room to think.
We still have to go through screening. The wand buzzes over each of us. The chains would've set off the typical detector anyway.
Out of the corner of my eye, I spot Mr. Dominguez tapping away at his phone. Diego isn't with him.
My eyes search the crowded hallway for a familiar face, but all I find is bodies, uniforms, and strangers trying to see as much as they can.
Once I make it through security, Mr. Dominguez steps toward me.
"Diego went to the restroom," he says quietly. "We pushed to get the paperwork completed today. I'm going to try something during your pre-trial, and I need you to trust me."
I give him a small nod, careful not to make any sudden movements.
