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It doesn’t help when Cody leans over Meghan and stage-whispers, “Hey man. So since you’re, you know, here. Maybe could you spot me something for this party I’m going to tonight?”
I shake my head. “Man. Come on.”
An awkward chill settles around the table.
Cody is nonplussed. “I just meant if you and Leela are together, then we’re friends, and friends do these kinds of favors, if you know what I mean.”
“Cody, that’s enough,” Leela says.
Under the table, I rest my hand on Leela’s knee.
I notice, too, that she’s barely touched her food.
“Aren’t you going to eat?” I nudge her knee with mine. We’re so close I notice her body is still stiff against mine.
“I’m not very hungry after all, I guess.” Her voice is meek and distant. I don’t like what these people are doing to her. I don’t like that I’ve made her feel uncomfortable around her friends. In my mind, I start to question everything. It was too soon. I should have been honest with her upfront and told her everything that is going on with me. How I made my money, all of it.
I turn to Leela and say, “Let’s go. We need to talk anyway.”
Under the table, I hook her pinky with mine and tug for emphasis.
She nods and seems physically relieved, though her eyes are haunted. “Yeah. Let’s go.”
The only thing lucky about this situation is that we’re seated at the edge of the seat and don’t have to beg people to move out of the way for us to leave.
When we are safely out of earshot, I grab her hand. “I’m sorry for putting you through that.”
Dodging servers with platters of steaming pancakes and sausage and coffee pots, she asks, “What are you talking about? I was pissed at them for talking to you that way.”
“It’s nice of you to say that, but—”
I wait until we are outside the restaurant to continue speaking; it’s too chaotic here.
Once outside, I turn to her. “Listen. There are lots of things you should know, and I shouldn’t have minimized anything about your life. I know those people are important to you. So here’s the deal.”
Leela’s attention is elsewhere, though, making this speech all the more difficult to get through. I follow her gaze out to the parking lot, where a police patrol car approaches.
“Um,” she says when the vehicle screeches to a stop in front of us, right where we’re standing.
Two cops exit the patrol car, hands resting on their sidearms, but not drawing them.
This is not good, and it must be a mistake.
“Crosby Nash?”
“Yes? How can I help you?” Even as I say this, my gut rolls over, and I want to vomit.
The bigger one comes around behind me, and the second one stands between Leela and me.
“What’s going on?” Leela asks, a note of shock and panic in her voice.
The bigger cop replies, “I’m placing you under arrest for facilitating the sale of alcohol to minors.”
As my wrists are bound in handcuffs, right in front of the window with the booth full of Beta Beta Psi and Zeta Gamma Nus watching, a tear runs down Leela’s cheek.
“Leela. It’s all a misunderstanding. I—”
My Leela might have just slipped through my fingers. She holds up one finger, and her face goes completely stony. “Crosby! Listen to me. Don’t say another word, do you understand me?”
