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“I think he’s going to get clean. It feels different this time.”
“I hope so, for you and your father’s sake. I’d hate to see you get let down after everything you’ve been through.”
My walkie crackles on my shoulder, and Phil groans after the dispatcher finishes talking. “Really? Those punk kids at the skate park again?”
I give the puppy one last kiss on his head before setting him down with his siblings. “Let’s go scare them straight.”
When we arrive at the scene, the group of teenagers spray-painting the side of the skate ramp scatter in different directions.
“Fuck, I hate running.” Phil bolts out of the car and pounds the pavement after them.
We’ve received multiple calls about these kids for the past couple of weeks. They’re vandalizing the new skate park and terrorizing the younger kids who want to skate. They’re bored sixteen-year-olds who haven’t had proper parental supervision or discipline.
The fuckers are fast, but not fast enough to outrun me and my partner. We each grab a kid by the collar of his shirt, while the rest get away.
“Get off me.” The boy tries to squirm out of my grip but fails. “You can’t manhandle me like this. I’m a minor.”
“I’m holding your shirt, not manhandling you. And you shouldn’t have been spraying graffiti everywhere if you didn’t want to be manhandled by the police.”
He grunts. “There’s nothing wrong with art.”
“There is when it’s on public property.”
“What about the children you’ve been fucking with all month?” Phil tugs his offender’s elbow. “That part of your art too?”
He grits his teeth and says nothing.
“Oh, you the strong and silent type?” Phil snorts. “You’ll do well in jail.”
He scoffs. “Jail? I’m only sixteen. I can’t go to jail.”
“There are kids younger than you sitting in the juvenile detention center because of the dumb choices they’ve made.”
I look down at the boy in front of me. “You want to do art? Go to school. Take a class. Set up a studio in your garage.”
He rolls his eyes. “Yeah, like my parents would let me do that.”
“Have you asked?”
He looks down at his shoes and shakes his head.
“Another dumb move, assuming instead of asking. What’s your name?”
“Cory.”
“You have any plans on going to college, Cory?”
He shrugs like he hasn’t thought about it.
“There are plenty of art schools you can get into. You can start building your portfolio now and do some volunteer work to look good on your college applications. Start thinking long term about your art, and you could make this a future for yourself.”
He kicks a rock with his shoe. “I’m not that good. I just spray paint to mess around.”
I gesture to his mural on the side of the half-pipe. “That’s good. You should believe in yourself and your abilities.”
His friend pipes up. “If you’re not going to arrest us, then you have to let us go. We don’t need a lecture from you, Grandpa.”
Phil’s eyebrows shoot up. “Grandpa? Boy, I’ll run circles around your ass. Watch your mouth when you’re talking to authority and show some respect.”
