Young Writers Society

Make sure you read the Prologue first, or else none of this will make much since when it comes to what happened before.

Everything else happened so fast. My meeting with my lawyer went smoothly. He was one of those types of lawyers who weren’t good enough to go corporate or big time. He was the type of lawyer who got stuck with all the cases that wouldn’t be won. I guess his gain is my loss. There was no way this guy could get me off. So as I sat with him I barely made effort to care. I was from Harbor Bay, this was my destiny. We Harborians were born jailbirds.

“I’ve got good news Cru.” my lawyer smiled. He had asked me to call him Mr. Anderson, but I opted for Anderson.

“And what’s that Anderson, a lighter sentence?” I smirked.

“Better.” Anderson smiled. “The judge viewed the tape from the Seven/Eleven.”

“And?” I asked.

“Well, it’s obvious that you weren’t an accomplice to the robbery.” Anderson smiled.

“Yeah, but can’t they put accessory on me or something?” I asked.

“No, they can’t. The audio shows that you weren’t expecting them to rob the place.” said Anderson. “Hell, you argued.”

“But I fled the scene of the crime.” I said.

“You were clearly in shock.” Anderson replied.

“Now what? I don’t believe this judge is being nice all of a sudden.” I said.

“Hey, the guy has a heart. He’s letting you go free. You’re a first time offender, and he’s not even giving you probation.” Anderson smiled again. Something else was up. The judge didn’t think twice about locking me away.

“What did you do?” I asked.

“Maybe I found him in a hotel room with a sixteen-year-old girl.” Anderson smiled. “He’s well over eighteen.”

I sighed, “Anderson, man you’ve got balls.”

“I know,” Anderson smiled proudly.

“So, what happens now?” I asked. “When do I go home?”

“Uh, you don’t.” Anderson said.

“Why not?” I asked.

“Your mother gave custody of you over to your aunt Megan and your uncle Martin Lewis.” said Anderson. “They live right here in California in…”

“Why?” I asked.

“She says it’s time you get some class in you.” said Anderson.

“Class? What’s going on?” I asked as I sat up in my chair.

“You’re going to Pacific Coast.” Anderson smiled.

Pacific Coast, land of the filthy stuck rich?

“I’ve never heard of these people.” I said.

“They’re family that’s all you really need to know.” said Anderson.

“That doesn’t say much.” I replied.

“Well, they’ll be picking you up in an hour. So I’ll let you go.” Anderson stood up.

“What about my car? It’s still in Harbor.” I said.

“You can pick it up tomorrow morning from Joe’s Garage. It’s on…”

“I know where it’s at. I worked there once.” I sighed.

“Well, I guess you should go shower and change.” Anderson said.

“Look, I don’t know these people.” I said. “I don’t like being in an environment where I’m uncomfortable.”

“You have two years where you have to live with these people. After that, you can move out if you want.” said Anderson. “Besides, if you behave well, maybe you could go home early.”

“But I’m from Harbor Bay, these people are rich.” I said as I stood up. He wasn’t getting it.

“So, now you have money.” said Anderson. “There’s nothing wrong with that.” Anderson smiled and left.

I thought Anderson was wrong, money always led to problems; and the more of it, the more of the chaos.

. . .

After I showered, I went and got my belongings.

I couldn’t stop thinking about my predicament. Me, live in Pacific Coast? Everyone in Harbor Bay wouldn’t believe this. I guess it’s best to describe Harbor and Pacific. They were total opposites. Sort of like a rocking hell and a glamorous heaven.

Harbor Bay, my hometown. Harbor Bay is more feared than Oakland, Crenshaw, and Compton combined. I guess it’s notorious for all the crimes it’s endured. The cops tried to set up curfews, but hell, no one follows rules. It’s not like they don’t pay for all the rebellion. Walking the streets at night in Harbor could lead to robbery, rape, or murder. That’s why it’s safe to stay home if you’re a girl. Most guys in Harbor hang in gangs; it’s the only way to avoid trouble. The gang I had hung in wasn’t always so bad. Either way you look at it Harbor was full of immorality. I know that, but the bad stuff about Harbor didn’t bother me. All the drugs, all the teen pregnancies, nothing bothered me. I mean sometimes there was nothing else to do but make babies and do drugs. Not that I had any kids or did drugs, that was just what the locals did. Some may say that Harbor Bay was the slums, but to me it was more than that. Nobody in Harbor may have been rich in money, but to me, we were rich in uniqueness. No other town on earth could put the fear of God into someone like Harbor Bay could, and that in itself was reason enough to love Harbor.

Now Pacific Coast on the other hand was completely different. Everything about Pacific Coast was classy. The town held cotillions, yacht parties, and brunches. In that town you weren’t anyone unless you were talked about. Gossip and scandals were a must have. Pacific even had its own magazine. I’ve seen one, it was full of crap. They had a section in the magazine for candid shots of the local teens behaving badly. Like it mattered, those trust fund brats didn’t care. All they care about is getting their new cars, credit cards, and tans. The kids were spoiled; they thought they were royalty, better than anyone else. That’s the number one reason why every kid in Harbor Bay loves kicking the Pacific kids’ asses. They were no match for us. Pacific Coast was just a town high on plastic surgery and gossip.

And now, I was forced to call this place home. I was going to have to be around the enemy for two long years.

Well it wasn’t all that bad. If there’s one thing Pacific Coast and Harbor Bay have in common it’s getting high. Both towns considers weed to be the best drug to use among the youths. Everyone smokes it, from the geeks to the virgins. The stoners were the kids who did a pharmacy of drugs. I guess we weren’t that different after all in the drug department.

I sighed as I went to claim my belongings.

“Name?” the man behind the glass wall asked.

“Cru Sommers.” I replied. The man typed on his keyboard. His nametag read Stanley. That name always belonged to a momma’s boy.

“Cru Sommers: white male, sixteen. Your belongings are: one blue jean jacket, one dark blue hoodie, one pair of blue jeans, one pair of sneakers, and one pocket watch.” Stanley read from the computer monitor.

I looked at him.

“I had cigarettes.” I said.

“What kind?” He asked.

“Marlboro.” I replied. He went behind the door on the other side of the wall.

After about five minutes he reemerged with a box. He placed a carton of Marlboro cigarettes on top of my folded clothes. He then held up an old fashion lighter, a Zippo to be exact. It was twenty-four karat gold.

“I found this underneath your box, honestly, is it yours?” Stanley asked.

“Yeah.” I nodded.

“All right, just to be sure, what’s the inscription on the bottom?” asked Stanley. I rolled my eyes.

“To Cru, smoke up the world. -Mark.” I cited.

Stanley chucked the lighter in my box. “That’s a filthy habit, smoking I mean.” He said.

“Did your mother tell you that?” I asked rudely.

Stanley looked at me and smiled. He had this look on his face that said he knew me, like he had been in my shoes once. But he didn’t know me, I wasn’t a thief. Robbing Seven/Elevens wasn’t my thing.

“My mother’s dead, but still, smoking is a disgusting habit. Girls don’t like kissing ashtrays, trust me.” Stanley said.

“Where I’m from, girls like everything filthy.” I sighed.

“This is Harbor Bay, you’re going to leave this town one day, if you’re going to fall in love with a woman some place new, you’re going to have to kick the habit.” Stanley said.

“Whatever.” I sighed. I didn’t need any life lessons from Stanley the momma’s boy.

“Why don’t you pawn that lighter? It oughta be worth a couple grand.” Stanley said.

“It’s the most valuable thing my dad ever gave me.” I replied. Actually, it was the only thing valuable my dad ever gave me.

“He helped create your life, didn’t he?” Stanley asked. I looked at him. We were standing in a juvenile detention center.

“What life?” I asked.

Stanley shrugged; I walked over to the receiving counter. To my surprise there was Stanley without a wall of glass protecting him. Which made me think, why was there a wall of glass up when you told him your name?

“Here you go, don’t come again.” Stanley smiled.

As I was getting my box, a man in an expensive looking suit came over.

“Hello, I’m here to pick up Cru Sommers.” He said.

“You’ve found him.” Stanley pointed to me.

The man in the suit turned and looked at me. He stuck his hand out.

“Cru, nice to meet you. I’m your uncle, Martin.” He smiled.

“You already know my name.” I replied. He took his unshaken hand back.

“This is going to be fun.” He smiled.