Sour by Tracey Miller

Author:Tracey Miller
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers
Published: 2014-07-27T16:00:00+00:00

In For a Shock

They kept adjourning and longing out the case, until my 16th birthday came and went.

“See you later.”

Yusuf grunted goodbye from his bedroom. He was still half asleep. He was staying at home less and less, so it was unusual to see him lying there with all his shit scattered over the floor.

There was only a day left of the hearing.

As soon as I got this boring shit out the way, I was going to buy a pair of new trainers, then meet him outside the cinema.

“Don’t be late, yeah?”

That morning, Styles and I were back sitting in the same uncomfortable seats, losing the will to live. I was watching the clock. 11.45am. The solicitor said we’d probably be done before lunch.

The judge seemed even grumpier than yesterday. She had already reprimanded us for not taking the whole circus seriously, when the rugrats gave their evidence. How could you not laugh? They didn’t seem to know what the hell was going on.

And what was going on with the heating in this room? It was sweltering.

When the suits got up, that’s when my brain switched off. A few minutes later – maybe longer – Styles kicked me in the shins.

“Sour, wake up,” he hissed.

I’d nodded off.

She was telling us to rise. I wondered why. She ain’t the Queen. I stood next to Styles. He took my hand. Suddenly, things started feeling serious.

“You have both been accused of robbery,” she said, “a crime for which you appear to have shown little or no remorse.”

I wondered whether I would have time to get to Oxford Circus and back for the trainers.

“Mr Belmont, I’ll deal with you first. This is clearly not your first offence …”

If I got the Tube straight there and back, I could meet Yusuf in time for the 6.50pm showing.

“You have been found guilty of the charge. In conclusion, I have no choice but to sentence you to 90 days’ detention at Feltham Young Offenders Institute, where on account of your young age you will be held in A wing …”

Styles’s hand slipped from mine as he put his hands up to his head. He exhaled and shook his head in much the same way as if he had just seen Crystal Palace lose at home. He was going to Feltham. That meant I was going to Feltham too, to join the rest of the Man Dem.

An overweight male prison guard waddled over and led Styles away. For all his bravado, he seemed a bit tearful.

“Stay in touch,” he said, as he followed the guard out. “Don’t break the chain.”

As he left the courtroom I suddenly felt exposed. The judge was now giving me the same long speech, but my mind was already distracted, trying to remember everything I’d heard about Feltham. It was near Heathrow, I knew that, because Man Dem were always talking about the noise of the planes when you’re trying to get to sleep at night.

On the plus side, there were connections to be made inside Feltham.

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