Alive

Chapter 35

Oliver

Four years ago

"Please," Mom's voice comes from behind the door. "Please don't do this. He had an episode, it won't happen again."

"Mrs. Stanton." The officer clears his throat. "I know Oliver's a troubled kid. I understand. But you have to understand, this is far from a first-time offense. My hands are tied, here."

"It- it was graduation," Mom says, laughing quickly. "You know how kids get. You remember what it's like."

"Vandalism, indecent exposure, arson, underage drinking, the list goes on."

Geez, he makes it sound bad when he says it like that. Cops are real buzz killers. They don't understand anything. High school is like a fucking prison. It's not like kids want to go, and sure you can drop out—if you don't mind ending up homeless. The system's screwed. You don't even learn anything anymore either. I've got my diploma now, so what better way to say fuck you than streaking through the campus and setting fire to the school? Fuck dress codes, fuck the building, fuck the system. Super poetic and meaningful, honestly. A true work of art, until the cops showed up. Just before things really got going. As usual.

"I understand." Mom's voice is shaking. "Please, this is the last time, Vincent."

There's silence. Then a sigh.

"You've got to do something about him, Margaret. This kind of thing can't keep happening."

"I know," she says. "I know, I know. I try, you know? He won't..." She sighs. "I don't know what to do."

"Could be good for him," the officer says, "keeping him here overnight. Teach him a thing or two."

"No," Mom almost cuts him off. "No, please. I'll ground him. I promise. Please don't keep him here."

Which might sound like she's being all great and protective, but I know it's just because of Dad. He'll lose his shit if he finds out. When he finds out. Sorry, Mom. I fold my arms, smirking as I lean back against the plastic chair. Bring it, old man.

"My hands are tied," the officer says. "I'm sorry."

Perfect. I mean, I don't like mom crying, but she's always crying about me so what am I supposed to do about it? I listen to the click of her heels getting further away, the sound of her voice getting more distant as she begs the officer. And I don't know. I look around the crappy interrogation room with this grin on my face. Because I guess, in some way, it's like I was heard. You know? Heard, for once. I'm gonna spend the night in prison, 'cause I fought back. I'm a fucking hero, you know?

I think of all the kids out there who'll hear about this. Who knows, maybe they'll break out of their brainwashed minds. Realize that, hey, they can fight back. Right? Maybe I didn't burn down the school tonight, but some kid will. Someday down the road, thanks to me.

I can't really contain it right now. It's too awesome. But I'm also stuck in this room, so I get on the ground, start busying myself with pushups. I've gotta get ready for prison life. I mean, the officer says it's just overnight, but I'm obviously not remorseful so who knows? Maybe I'll be here longer. Actually go to a detention center, that'd be the shit. Though now I'm regretting not getting a tattoo with Arlo last week. I don't think you can really go to prison without one. Should've dragged myself out of bed. Gotten a giant skull on my shoulder or something. Oh well. Maybe I'll just borrow someone's knife. Cut a skull shape somewhere, give myself some sick scars.

The door opens, so I shove myself up, spinning around to face the officer. And he's there, but I kind of jump because Dad's there too. Well...great. Awesome. Really, though. This is way better than having him hear about it. Him seeing me in this place himself. Yeah, he looks about as thrilled as I'd expect. He doesn't say anything, striding up to my face. And I just stare in his eyes, let him feel it. How much I don't give a shit about him or his opinion of me.