Bait (5 page)

T
HE MORNING OF HIS COURT HEARING
,
Diego woke up ahead of his alarm, filled with anxiety. He could barely eat breakfast; his stomach was so tense. He put on his necktie without his mom telling him to and squeezed into his outgrown dress shoes, determined to make a good impression.

During the drive to the courthouse he sat silently, rehearsing in his mind what he planned to tell his attorney.

“Do you feel okay?” his mom asked from across the car seat. “You seem so quiet.”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Diego muttered. He’d decided to keep his plan to himself, having learned in the past how easily his mom could be swayed by other people.

The court waiting room was packed with boys in baggy jeans and unlaced sneakers, accompanied mostly by their moms or grandmoms. On the far side, somebody’s baby was crying. After a while, Ms. Delgado arrived and headed directly to the prosecutor. When she finished, she came over to Diego and his mom.

“Great news,” she announced. “The prosecutor agrees with your PO’s recommendation. Restitution and an SIS.”

“Is that good?” his mom asked.

“Yes. Your son is very lucky.”

Diego sat up in his seat, taking an anxious breath. “But, um, I want to be on probation.”

Ms. Delgado furrowed her brow as though failing to understand. “No,
mijo
, you don’t have to be. I thought Mr. Vidas explained that to you.”

“Yeah, but—”

“There’s the bailiff,” she interrupted. “Our case is next.”

“Why are you arguing?” his mom asked Diego.

“Case number six!” The tan-uniformed officer bellowed across the waiting room, causing the baby to wail louder.

“That’s us.” Ms. Delgado stood up. “Come on!”

“But I
want
to be on probation,” Diego insisted.

She apparently didn’t hear him as she followed the bailiff and prosecuting attorney.

Vidas was already in the courtroom from the previous case. He nodded hello, but Diego glanced away, not wanting to lose his resolve. Taking his seat at the defense table, he whispered to Ms. Delgado, “I said I want to be on probation!”

“Shh!”
She patted his hand to shush him. “That’s not for you to decide.”

Diego slumped back in his seat, frustrated. Wasn’t his lawyer supposed to do what he wanted?

“Let’s see here.” Judge Ferrara adjusted his horn-rimmed glasses and read from a folder: “‘Diego MacMann pleaded guilty to misdemeanor assault….’” The judge peered up and over the bench as if trying to recall Diego from among countless other cases. Then he glanced past Diego at his mom. “You’re the boy’s mother? How are you today, ma’am?”

The color bloomed in his mom’s cheeks as she answered, “Fine, thank you, your honor. And you?”

“So-so.” The judge made a gesture with his hand. “How is your son behaving? Is he being a good boy, doing what he’s supposed to and not giving you any trouble?”

“Yes, your honor. He’s doing much better.”

Diego rolled his eyes. He wasn’t doing better; he was as messed-up as ever.

“I’m glad he’s behaving,” Judge Ferrara said, for the first time smiling at Diego.

As Diego smiled back weakly, he recalled how the judge had told him he could speak for himself last time in court. If Ms. Delgado wasn’t going to make his case, should he do it himself? No way. That would be truly crazy.

“Are you in agreement,” the judge asked the prosecutor, “with Mr. Vidas’s recommendation of restitution and SIS?”

“Yes, your honor,” answered the prosecution.

Diego drew a deep gulp. If he was going to speak up, he had to do it soon.

“Counsel?” Judge Ferrara asked Ms. Delgado. “Have you discussed the recommendation with your client?”

Before she could answer, Diego raised his hand. “Um, excuse me, your honor, sir?”

The judge turned to him, as did every other person in the room. “You wish to say something?”

“Yes, your honor.” Diego’s voice quavered. His face felt like it was on fire.

The judge leaned back in his high-backed leather chair and folded his hands over his black robe. “Go ahead. What is it?”

Diego swallowed the lump beneath his tie. “I’d like to be on probation, sir.”

The judge’s eyebrows rose up from behind his glasses. “You
want
to be on probation?”

Diego nodded, too tense to speak. Instead he glanced warily at Vidas and found him staring back, looking a little bewildered.

“Well, this is a first,” the judge mused. As though delighted, he addressed the room: “I’ve had parents, teachers, police, and victims ask me to put a boy on probation, but it’s the first time I’ve ever been asked by the offender.”

He returned his gaze to Diego. “And what makes you think you should be on probation?”

Diego thought carefully about how he might make the judge understand. He glanced at Vidas, whose look had turned stern.

“Because,” Diego said, remembering their conversation, “my anger is dealing with me. And I don’t know how to handle it…your honor.”

Judge Ferrara stared back at him. Hard.

Diego felt himself weaken. Was he about to get yelled at in front of everybody?

After a minute, Judge Ferrara turned his gaze to Ms. Delgado. “Did your client discuss this with you?”

Diego avoided looking at her, figuring she’d be mad, but her voice came out flat. “He mentioned probation, your honor, but I thought he’d misunderstood.”

The judge looked across the courtroom. “Mr. Vidas, did he discuss it with you?”

Diego gripped his chair arms. Would Vidas be angry and tell the judge to send him to a shrink?

“He asked about probation,” Vidas said. Although his voice sounded a little angry, his next words seemed to put the blame on himself. “But I didn’t realize he felt so strongly about it, your honor.”

Judge Ferrara’s gaze traveled between Diego and Vidas. “Well, I don’t think it’s an offender’s role to tell this court he should be on probation.” His eyes narrowed at Diego, but then his voice softened. “On the other hand, it’s definitely unusual for a boy to
ask
for probation. Mr. Vidas, could you handle one more case?”

Diego held his breath, recalling the stack of folders already on Vidas’s desk.

“If that’s the court’s decision,” Vidas said, “I can handle one more.”

“Would you have any objection,” Judge Ferrara asked Ms. Delgado, “if your client was placed on probation?”

“If he feels he needs it, your honor, I’d have no objection.”

“Any objection?” the judge asked the prosecutor.

“No, your honor.”

Judge Ferrara leaned back in his big leather chair and stared at Diego, continuing to deliberate in his mind. “Mr. Vidas, I’m going to yield to your discretion. Whatever you recommend, I’ll sign off on. Would you please talk to the boy?”

“Yes, your honor. I’ll do that.”

“Next case,” the judge announced. But he kept his eyes trained on Diego as he closed his file and handed it to the silver-haired clerk.

Diego stood, nervously bumping his foot on the table, and followed the others out of the court.

“Let me know what you decide,” Ms. Delgado told Vidas in the waiting room. Then she turned to Diego. “Talk to Mr. Vidas about why you want to be on probation, okay? And no more surprises.” She smiled at Diego’s mom and patted her arm good-bye, explaining that she had to attend another case.

“I’d like to speak with him alone,” Vidas told Diego’s mom. His voice had a noticeable edge.

“Listen to what he tells you,” his mom scolded Diego.

“I know,” Diego replied, tugging anxiously at his necktie.

Like the last time they’d met, Vidas led Diego down the hallway into the cramped office. Except this time, he slammed the door closed.
Bam!

Diego flinched.

“Don’t you
ever
,” Vidas said, stepping up to Diego’s face, “pull a stunt like that again! If you have something to say to me, say it!”

I tried,
Diego thought, but he felt too nervous to utter it aloud. He attempted to scoot back but had no room with the chair behind him.

“Do you hear me?” Vidas asked louder.

Diego didn’t like him standing so close.

“Yeah,” he sputtered, every muscle in his body fighting the urge to push Vidas away. “I guess I messed up.”

“Damn right, you did!”

“No,” Diego said, looking Vidas in the eye. “I mean I messed up by thinking I could talk to you.”

“What?” Vidas tilted his head, perplexed.

Diego took a breath and collected his thoughts. “You told me unless I open up, nobody can help me, right?”

“Yeah,” Vidas said guardedly. “That’s right.”

“You said,” Diego continued, “I’ve got a lot to feel hurt and angry about because of people leaving me. Right?”

“That’s right,” Vidas repeated.

“Well, I tried to talk to you,” Diego said, his throat tightening, “but it’s like you want to ditch me too—just like everybody else.”

Tears were brimming in Diego’s eyes. He lifted his hand to his cheek and the cuff of his shirt rose up a little—enough for Vidas to notice.

His gaze fixed on Diego’s wrist. “Let me see your arm.”

Diego brought his hand back down, realizing his mistake. “Um, what for?”

Vidas ignored the question. “Unbutton your sleeve.”

Diego hesitated, his mind a whirlwind. He’d never expected this to happen. How could he have been so stupid? Reluctantly, he lifted his arm, unbuttoned the cuff, and rolled up the sleeve, displaying the crisscross slashes.

Vidas’s eyes widened. “Your other arm?”

Diego balked, a faint mist of perspiration beading on his forehead. Grudgingly, he unfastened the other cuff, exposing more scars.

Vidas shook his head in disbelief. “How far up do they go?”

Diego glanced away, not wanting to answer. The sweat rolled down his face.

“Unbutton your shirt,” Vidas ordered.

“Why?” Diego protested. If Vidas tried to lay one finger on him, he’d deck him, even if he was his PO.

“I just want to see,” Vidas said. “I’m not going to hurt you.” He stepped back and sat down in his swivel chair to give Diego room.

Diego remained still. He didn’t want Vidas to see his wounds. He wished he could bolt out the door. But then what? Not seeing any alternative, he slowly pulled his tie loose from his collar and let it drop onto the chair behind him. Gazing down at the carpet, he unbuttoned his shirt.

“My God!” Vidas exclaimed. “Who did that to you?”

To Diego, the question seemed strange. “I did it myself.”

Vidas winced as if failing to understand.

Diego tugged on the elastic cord around his neck and held up the bone-colored shark’s tooth, feeling suddenly emboldened. “I’ll show you.”

The impulse came unexpectedly; he’d never shown anybody how he did it. Pressing the tooth across his right forearm, a bright red stripe flooded from his skin.

“Stop it!” Vidas leaped up, pushing the tooth away. He yanked a tissue from his desk and shoved it onto Diego’s arm, staunching the blood flow. “Why didn’t you tell me about this?”

The shock in Vidas’s voice, usually so calm, surprised Diego—and he saw an opportunity. “Now will you put me on probation?”

Vidas glared at him. “I don’t like being manipulated. Button your shirt—”

The phone rang, interrupting him. While Vidas answered, Diego closed his shirt. He hadn’t meant to manipulate Vidas. Had he?

“Please tell the bailiff I’ll be right there,” Vidas said into the phone. But upon hanging up he stared at Diego, hesitating.

Diego glanced down at the carpet, ashamed and confused, wondering if Vidas would try to stop him by taking the tooth away. If he did, it wouldn’t matter. Diego would use something else. Surely Vidas knew that.

“Sorry,” he told Vidas softly, “if you think I’m manipulating you. Let me just ask you something, then I won’t bother you anymore.” As he spoke, his voice started to break. “You said I’ve got to find ways to connect with people other than with my fists, right?”

Vidas gazed back at him without answering.

“So how do I do that, Mr. Vidas? Can you tell me?”

The two faced each other across the stillness of the room. The phone jangled again and Vidas let it ring: once, twice, three times.

“Yes?” he finally answered. “I’m on my way.” He picked up a folder, telling Diego, “I’ve got to go. You should’ve told me about this earlier.”

A curtain of silence hung between them as they stepped down the tile hallway to where the bailiff gestured impatiently at his watch. “The judge is waiting, Mr. Vidas.”

Vidas turned to Diego. “I’ll let you know what I decide.” His voice revealed no clue. Then he disappeared into the courtroom, leaving Diego standing in the hall.

“W
HAT HAPPENED
?”
Diego’s mom asked. She’d waited for him in the court reception room, talking with another mom.

“Nothing happened,” Diego grumbled and started toward the elevator. “Can we just go?”

He punched the down button and waited, wishing he’d never revealed his cuts to Vidas. He hadn’t meant to admit all the things he’d said. Now he felt exposed and raw, like he wanted to crawl out of his skin and start life over as somebody different. Someone new.

Instead, he had to return to the same stupid school, put up with Guerrero’s dumbass comments, fantasize about a girl he couldn’t even manage a simple conversation with, and try to block from his mind memories and images that made him wish he were dead.

When he got home that afternoon, he slammed the door to his room, pulled off his shirt, and finished the slash he’d started in Vidas’s office, wanting to forget about everything—the world, his life, Mac. And for an instant, he did forget. But when the pain of the cut subsided, everything he’d forgotten came crashing back on him.

In geometry class later that week, Ms. Rainier was explaining tangent circles when a knock at the door interrupted her. After answering, she called into class: “Diego? Come to the hall, please.”

As she resumed her lecture, Diego stood up, wondering: What was he in trouble for this time? He felt so nervous that he accidentally knocked the book off his desk. Fortunately, Kenny caught it for him.

When Diego got to the hallway, there stood Vidas. No doubt he’d come to inform him if he’d be on probation or not. In his hand, he held Diego’s crimson-colored necktie. “You left this in my office the other day.” Vidas handed him the tie.

“Thanks.”

“How’re you feeling?” Vidas asked.

“Um, okay. I guess.” Diego fidgeted the tie into a circle, waiting.

“I gave the judge my recommendation,” Vidas announced, his eyes fixed on Diego. “Congratulations, you’ve got six months probation.”

“For real?” Diego asked, the tie slipping from his fingers.

“I want to see you in my office at four-thirty Thursday,” Vidas answered.

“Got it.” Diego nodded eagerly, picking up the tie. “Um, thanks.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” Vidas said. His tone made Diego a little nervous, but then he gave Diego a faint grin—enough to reassure him.

When he walked back into class, Kenny whispered, “Are you in trouble?”

“No.” Diego sat down with a cheerful bounce. “The judge put me on probation.”

After his last court date, Diego had explained to Kenny what had happened with Vidas. Now Kenny peered at him through his glasses. “Are you sure you’ve thought this through?”

“Yeah.” Diego tossed his pencil into the air and caught it.

“Diego! Kenny!” Ms. Rainier called out. “Pay attention, please.”

“I’m sure,” Diego whispered to Kenny and tried to calm his excitement.

When he got home that afternoon, he phoned his mom and told her, “I got bad news: The judge put me on probation.” He wasn’t sure why he said it that way. Maybe he was having second thoughts and needed reassurance. Or perhaps he just wanted to get a reaction from her. Either way, it worked.

“That’s
good
news,” she argued. “Maybe now you’ll learn to control your temper.”

“Yeah,” Diego said, happy with her response.

His good mood continued into the next day, when he saw Ariel at her locker. Ever since his last screw-up, he’d been hoping she might need his help with her books again or something. This time he was determined to be less of a blithering dork. Unfortunately, though, she was busy with her friends and didn’t even look in his direction. Each day that followed, he waited—and hoped.

Two days later, a storm blew in from the Gulf with swirling gusts and pouring rain. When Diego got to school, he sprinted inside and was shaking the water off his jacket when Ariel suddenly ran in beside him, her face shimmering with raindrops.

The wind had blown her umbrella inside out and she struggled to fold it into place. Diego saw his chance. Shoving his sopping hair out of his eyes, he asked, “Can I, um, help you?”

“Oh, hi. Sure.” She handed him the umbrella and smiled gently. “You seem to always be coming to my rescue.”

“No problem.” He grinned nervously and wrangled the thing into shape.

“Thanks,” she said when he gave it back. Then they both stood there, staring at each other, while students jostled past.

“So, um…” Diego swallowed the knot in his throat. “Can we like, um, maybe hang out sometime? I mean, if you have a boyfriend, never mind. I understand.”

“No, I don’t have a boyfriend,” she replied. “How about you? Are you seeing someone?”

“Me?”
Her question floored him. Who on earth would he be seeing? “Um, no.”

“All righty,” she said. “Then I would like to hang out sometime.”

A wave of amazement washed over him. Now what was he supposed to say?

“Are you always this shy?” she asked. Without waiting for an answer, she pulled a ballpoint from her jeans and reached for his hand to write her number on.

“Um, no, don’t!” He moved his hand away, afraid she’d see his cuts.

“What’s the matter? You ticklish?” She glanced toward his wrist and her face changed as if she’d noticed something.

“Here, write on this,” he said, handing her a notebook from his backpack.

She gazed at him as if she wanted to ask a question. He tugged his jacket sleeves down, his arteries pulsing with panic and excitement.

To his relief, she didn’t ask. Instead, she wrote down her phone number with a smiley drawn next to it. “Call me, okay?” She grinned slightly but her voice sounded serious.

“Um, sure. Thanks.”

Had she spotted his cuts? Would she ask about them if he did call? How could they hang out without her discovering his scars and asking questions about him? How could anything possibly ever work out with her?

While she joined some friends, he headed toward his locker, thinking about what Vidas had told him: He was already in jail. A jail he was making for himself.