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“We have to help him,” I say, my jaw flexing. “He needs us.”
Mr. Reinhart meets my gaze. “Then I guess we better get to work.”
***
The next day, Mrs. Reinhart sets a cup of tea in front of me, right on top of the embroidered flowers. “It might be a little hot,” she says, sliding a jar of sugar toward me before she sits next to her husband.
He’d asked me to come over straight after school. Izzy seemed worried about me when I told her I’d be missing work for a while, but I’ll explain it to her later. School is already impossible to get through each day; I can’t go back to real life until Elijah is free.
“So what’s the plan?” I say, spooning some sugar into my tea.
“I’m afraid it’s not looking too good.” Mr. Reinhart was able to visit Elijah, but only by video call. The jail no longer allows in-person visit
s through a pane of glass and a telephone, like you see in the movies. It’s all done over the internet now, at scheduled sessions. I was stuck at school today and had to miss out on his call.
Mr. Reinhart studies a notepad in front of him, his notes scrawled every which way in handwriting I can’t decipher from across the table. “I spoke with his public defender. The evidence against the boys is stacked a mile high, and it turns out his friend Anthony has been dealing drugs for months now. Elijah wasn’t aware of it, says he’s been spending all his time working and being with you. Anthony is claiming they were all a part of the deal because he thinks he’ll be in less trouble that way.”
“Elijah wouldn’t deal drugs,” I say through clenched teeth.
“I believe you, dear.” His lips form a thin line. “I believe Elijah, too. But there’s nothing we can do. His lawyer is going for a plea deal. He’d only get five years, probably get out early with good behavior.”
“Five years?” I spit out, raw anger coursing through my veins. “He’s innocent! He can’t stay in jail, it will ruin his life! He’s going to college. He’s going to get a degree in social work.”
It’s not that easy, Raquel. Elijah told me that so many times and I never believed him. But maybe he was right. Nothing in his life has been easy. Things only got a little better for him when he discovered Sasha, and then they came crashing down again when she died. But now Elijah has me. I know I can’t make the world easy, but I can damn sure try to make it a little better.
Mrs. Reinhart dips her head down, staring at her intertwined fingers. “That’s just how this works, honey. The system has failed him, just like it’s failed so many other kids.”
“So that’s all?” My chair skids across the linoleum as I bolt up. He’s just a worthless orphan in the eyes of the legal system. “I’m not believing that excuse. The system sucks, but it’s not everything. He’s going to get out of this.”
“This happens a lot to kids who age out of the system,” Mr. Reinhart says, seeming to ignore that last shred of hope I’m still holding on to. “Like we talked about before, even if we could scrape together enough money to get him out on bail, once this goes to court, there won’t be much we can do.”
Mrs. Reinhart shakes her head while stirring her tea. “If we could afford a good lawyer, he’d be fine. Just like those rich brats who get off scot-free after driving drunk and killing someone. Those are the people the law should throw behind bars.”
My jaw hurts. Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath and try to settle down. These people are kind souls and they’re trying to help. I can’t direct all of my anger at them.
“Thank you for trying,” I say, making an effort to smile, but it comes out like a frown. Even with all the despair roiling around my insides, I suddenly feel a spark of something in me. Like the steam from my cup of tea, a warmth rises in my chest.
A sign.
If Elijah had money, he could get out of this. Rich people get out of worse things all the time. My knuckles go white on the table in front of me. My resolve is set, and there’s no turning back now.
He just needs a good lawyer.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
At school, I forgo doing my makeup work in an effort to Google everything possible about local lawyers and how to find the best one. I wear an oversized hoodie and hide my phone in my sleeve so I can slouch over my desktop in class and secretly figure out how I’m going to make this plan of mine work. I’m pretty sure the whole process is nothing like what I’ve seen on TV and in the movies, so I want to go into this prepared and not like an idiot teenager with no clue of how life works. I need to find someone who will believe in me and work with me. Unlike Sasha’s adventures, I’m planning this one, which means I have to take the reins.
The Greenwood Group is just down the road from Mr. Cade’s office, and they are similarly ranked in online reviews. Even though my best friend’s dad is the best lawyer in Texas, I think I’ve found a good second in Max Greenwood.
There’s an online form to request a free consultation, free being the key word here, and I fill it out in history class. My research has informed me that I’ll need to pay this guy a retainer fee when I hire him, probably to the tune of a few thousand dollars, but I shove that to the back of my long list of worries to deal with later. I’ll find a way to make this work. I have to.
By the time the eighth period bell rings, Mr. Greenwood’s assistant has replied to my email, saying she can fit me in for a consultation today at four thirty. My heart races with the thrill of possibility and I respond right away.
I rush home after school and change into a pair of dress slacks that I only own from my incredibly short tenure in the debate club freshman year. They’re a little tight, but they still fit and I match them with a navy blue button-up blouse that was an ugly gift from my aunt Renee last Christmas. These are the most professional clothes I have, and I’m grateful I let them hang out, ignored and hated in the back of my closet for so long. Today, they’re going to help me make a good impression.
The Greenwood Group is a squat building at the end of Main Street, tucked off the road a bit. Unlike the tall, gray building where Mr. Cade works, this place looks like an old house that was turned into a business. There are flowers planted all along the edges of the parking lot and even more flowers at the entrance. I take a breath and open the door.
Soft jazz music plays from somewhere in the distance, and I’m immediately greeted with a smile from the woman at the front desk. She has dark skin and short, curly brown hair and is wearing a gorgeous string of pearls over a shirt that’s not all that different from mine. I smile inwardly at my clothing choice, feeling confident that I can pull off the mature vibe for a few more minutes.
