Alexandria of Africa

Also by Eric Walters

Bi-Focal

House Party

Boot Camp

Camp X
—
Fool’s Gold

Tiger Trap

Sketches

We All Fall Down

Shattered

Laggan Lard Butts

Stuffed

Elixir

Triple Threat

Camp 30

Grind

The True Story of Santa Claus

Juice

Run

Overdrive

I’ve Got an Idea

Underdog

Death by Exposure

Royal Ransom

Off Season

Camp X

Road Trip

Tiger Town

The Bully Boys

Long Shot

Ricky

Tiger in Trouble

Hoop Crazy

Rebound

The Hydrofoil Mystery

Full Court Press

Caged Eagles

The Money Pit Mystery

Three on Three

Visions

Tiger by the Tail

Northern Exposures

War of the Eagles

Stranded

Trapped in Ice

Diamonds in the Rough

Stars

Stand Your Ground

Splat!

The Falls

In a Flash

The Pole

When Elephants Fight

La Voyageur

Safe as Houses

Kenya and Surrounding Countries

My mother tried to straighten the collar of my blouse and I brushed her hand away.

“I’m just trying to make sure you look all right,” she said, sheepishly.

“I look as good as I can … in
this
outfit,” I said. “But not as good as I could have looked if you hadn’t picked out my clothes for me.” I was just so glad that none of my friends were there to see me dressed like this: boring brown secretary skirt, white blouse with a Peter Pan collar, beige pantyhose, and flats … 
shudder!

My mother’s style was pretty much classic—nothing but the best—but it was old-people fashion. She wasn’t up on the latest.

“She was just doing what I instructed her to do,” said my lawyer, Mr. Collins. “Appearance means a lot.”

I huffed. I knew more about appearance than he
ever
would. The nerve of this man to decide how
I
should
dress! Wrinkled suit, a stain on the tie, and the width of his lapels was so far out of fashion that it was almost back in again. For the amount of money my parents were paying him, you’d have thought he’d have the cash to dress better.

I heard the sound of a door opening and I spun around in time to see my father rushing in to the courtroom. Nice of him to find the time to make it.

“Sorry, traffic was terrible,” he said.

Traffic is always terrible when you don’t get into your car on time
, I thought.

He came up and gave my mother a little kiss on the cheek. It looked really awkward. I hadn’t seen them kiss for years
before
the divorce, so what was this all about? Were they putting on a show just for me, or demonstrating how sophisticated they were to people in general?
Divorced, but still friends
. It sounded like an episode for
Dr. Phil
.

Either way, it was just wrong on so many levels. Like a little show of affection was going to make me forget those last few years? The yelling and screaming, the threats, the household objects chucked at each other? I wasn’t about to forget. In fact, I still used all that ammunition to my advantage. A little bit of guilt goes a long way, and a lot of guilt goes even further.

My mother didn’t look well. She was really pale, and I thought she was even shaking a little. She looked so fragile. Whoever said it’s impossible to be too thin never met my mother. She was painfully skinny. I always thought that a strong wind might blow her away and she’d just go flying off into the sky. Funny, she did look a bit like a bird.

My father glanced at his Rolex. “It looks like the judge got caught in traffic as well,” he said. “Do you think he’ll keep us waiting much longer?”

“His court, his time,” Mr. Collins said.

“It had better not be long. I have places to get to,” I said.

“You’d best put that attitude away, young lady,” my father scolded.

I wanted to tell him that my attitude was something I’d inherited from him, but I didn’t say a word. Never mind, I think my expression pretty well said it all.

“You just let your lawyer do the talking,” my father warned me sternly.

“First I’m told how to dress, and now I’m not allowed to talk. Is it all right if I breathe the way I normally do?”

My father shot me a look, and I knew I’d be pushing it to say anything else, although I was severely tempted.

“She’s just a little nervous, that’s all,” my mother said.

She put an arm around my shoulder but I edged away from her grasp.

“There’s nothing to be afraid of,” she continued.

“I’m not nervous, and I’m certainly not scared,” I snapped.

“Maybe you
should
be afraid,” my father said. “This isn’t a joke. This is a court of law.”

I started to chuckle but stopped myself. We both knew—we all knew—that my last trip to court was no big deal, just a slap on the wrist. It cost my parents time and a lot of money in legal fees, but for me it was nothing more than a minor inconvenience. This wouldn’t be any different. It wasn’t like I was going to get life in prison for stealing a couple of tops and a purse.

“I’m sure there’s nothing to be concerned about,” my mother said. She turned to my lawyer. “Right?”

“We can hope,” he said.

“For the money I pay your firm I expect more than just
hope,”
my father said. “I expect
certainty.”

“Nothing is certain in a court of law. The outcome is solely in the hands of the judge. You have to hope he’s in a good mood … that he wasn’t caught in traffic.”

“I’m sure it will go just as well as the last time, sweetie,” my mother said, soothingly.

“I’m afraid that might be the problem,” said my lawyer. “Generally, judges are quite understanding the first time you appear before them, but I don’t think Judge Roberts will be happy to see you in his court again so soon. Sometimes they feel that you’re not just breaking the law but defying them. They take it very personally.”

“How can he take it personally?” I asked. “It’s not like I stole
his
clothes.”
Unless he’s wearing something frilly under that black robe
, I thought.

“But you did defy him by violating the terms of your probation,” Mr. Collins said. “He might feel that, in essence, you lied to him.”

“Lied? How did I lie?”

“You gave him your word that you would not break the law again. And yet here you are, less than two months later, back in his court.”

“But it helps that she pleaded guilty in the pre-sentencing, right?” my mother asked.

“It certainly shows that she is willing to accept responsibility for her crime.”

“Crime? I didn’t kill anybody. I only took a few things, a few
little
things.”

“Breaking the law and violating probation aren’t generally considered ‘little things’ by most judges. They tend to take the law rather seriously. That’s why they decided to become judges in the first place.”

“And I even offered to pay for them right then and
there,” I said. “I pulled the money out of my purse, but the store people wouldn’t take it.”

“Stores usually operate on the premise that you pay willingly for their products, not simply offer to pay if you get caught trying to take them. They’re funny that way.”

Now I was getting attitude from my lawyer! Actually, where was my
real
lawyer? Why did I have this junior associate instead of the lawyer I’d had the first time I was in court? This guy was way too young to be a lawyer. And how good could he be if he couldn’t afford better clothes, or shoes that didn’t look like they came from Payless?

“You need to know that this could be serious,” he said.

“Whatever,” I snapped. “What’s he going to do, throw me in prison?”

There was an uneasy silence and I felt a shiver go up my spine. I looked from my mother to my father. Both were looking at the floor and not at me.