“Still . . . it wasn’t cool of me. I don’t know what I was thinking. I was just so frustrated, and tired of chanting while they ignored us. It made sense at the time.”
“Yeah, well. You’ve had a lot on your mind lately.”
I shoot him a glare. He thinks I’m behaving irrationally because of the breakup, but that’s ridiculous. I’m not crazy. Matt, my mother, my roommate Nell—everyone keeps waiting for me to snap, to fold in on myself and just lose it because my boyfriend and I are no more. And maybe they’re right. Maybe this is some weird emotional shock, and in a few weeks the hurt will hit me out of nowhere. But right now? The tiptoeing around the subject just makes me want to scream. “This had nothing to do with that.”
Sure my life plan has taken a nosedive. And it wouldn’t be unreasonable to freak out that the future I’ve been envisioning since Henry and I started dating four years ago has been blasted to bits.
But my boyfriend (or lack thereof) can’t be the most important thing about me. So screw plans and futures and heartache and all of that. For the moment, I just need to focus on me.
Or I could keep doing crazy things like ignoring a direct order from police after a day of being ignored and derided for daring to stand up for the homeless population in town, which is about to lose one of only two shelters within twenty miles. Well . . . maybe I went a little further than just ignoring a direct order. I might have handcuffed myself to a pole outside the shelter.
“Then what was it about? Why’d you do it?” Matt asks.
“Because I couldn’t not do it.”
“Yeaaaah . . . that explanation is going to hold up really well against your father.”
“Next time I promise not to let my emotions get the better of me when handcuffs are involved.”
The attractive potential criminal shifts, and when I look at him, his eyebrows are raised in interest. His eyes really are far too pretty for a guy like him. Dudes who look dangerous should just be dangerous. Period. The end. They should not be dangerous and beautiful all at the same time. It leaves the universe out of balance, and it makes me do stupid things like stare. At a guy behind bars. If ever there were a kind of guy I should not stare at, someone potentially going to prison definitely has to rank in the top three.
Matt stretches out his long legs and says, “Next time, just tell me you want to get arrested ahead of time. That way I can make sure we’re prepared. Javier is going to be pissed. Unless, of course, you want to call daddy dearest to get us out.”
I don’t even have to glare before he’s holding up his hands in surrender.
“Why would you want to get arrested?” The dangerous one speaks. His voice is low and smooth with a slight Texas drawl that stretches out his words and draws my eyes to his lips.
“Handcuff fetish,” Matt says, and I go bright red.
I am going to thump him so many times.
I glare and clear my throat. “Getting arrested can sometimes be the most powerful way to draw attention to a cause.”
He lifts an eyebrow. “A cause?”
“A political one.” That eyebrow drops, and he nods, crossing his arms and turning his attention away from me.
I must still be cracked in the head because his complete dismissal reminds me of our protest today, of the way the city can just take away a sanctuary for people who have no other place to go, and not even bat an eye. It makes me want to do some more stupid things. I stand and grip the bars in front of me and say, “You know, it’s youth like you that give our whole generation a bad name.”
He leans back and surveys me with annoyance. “Youth? How old are you?”
I wave a hand. “Young people. Whatever. My point is everyone thinks that we’re these ignorant kids who are more concerned with our phones than the state of the world, and it’s because of people like you turning up your nose at the slightest mention of politics.”
He stands to mimic me, only he’s so much taller, and his shoulders are broad, and his arms too muscled to slip completely through the bars like mine do. “People like me? What the f**k does that mean? Poor? Uneducated? Trash?”
I jerk back. “What? No. I didn’t say any of those things. I just mean the stereotypical young adults who—”
“Only care about their phones. Yeah, I heard that part. I’d rather be that stereotype than the pampered little rich girl who thinks it’s fun to get arrested, to burn money so she can throw a temper tantrum about whatever thing in the world is bothering her this week.”
“Temper tantrum?” I’m aware even as I speak that I’m practically yelling, and I sound just like the spoiled girl he’s painted me as. “I’m not throwing a temper tantrum.”
Matty, ever the pacifist, says, “Maybe we should all just take a couple of breaths.”
I storm on, desperate to win at least one argument today.
“I am so sick of people thinking what we do is a waste of time. At least we’re doing something, instead of sticking our heads in the sand while the rest of the world goes to hell around us.”
“The rest of the world has been hell all along for some of us, princess.”
That stops me mid-rant, and I’m staring again, opening and closing my mouth in a way that definitely isn’t doing anything to prove my point.
Finally, I huff out a breath and some of my desperation breaks through. I’m not even sure if it’s desperation for his approval or just for someone, anyone, to listen. “Haven’t you ever wanted to do something that everyone tells you is impossible or pointless? Haven’t you ever cared about something enough to sacrifice for it? Regardless of how stupid or unlikely it seems. Haven’t you ever just wanted things to be different?”
He studies me for a few moments, his large hands lifting to curl around the bars. And when I expect him to make another crack about me being spoiled or naive, he surprises me.
“What exactly are you hoping to change?”
Matt snorts. “Congratulations, man. You’ve officially found a way to occupy however many hours you have left here. This girl wants to fix the whole world.”
An officer comes then and takes Matt away to make his phone call. He glances at me and mouths, “Javi?”
I nod, and watch him leave.
I know he’s prodding, hoping I’ll give in and say we can call my dad instead. But I just can’t. I know he could get us out faster, but I can’t see him yet. Not until I’ve figured out some excuse. Not until I’ve figured out what crack in my brain made me behave so rashly tonight.