The Incident on the Bridge by Laura McNeal

Author:Laura McNeal
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Random House Children's Books
Published: 2016-04-25T16:00:00+00:00

The cop behind the desk said, “Driver’s license?”

Clay kept the real one in the front of his wallet, behind the yellowish transparent panel. The fake one was tucked in with the money.

His hand was trembling a little when he double-checked the age really fast, because how dumb would that be if he handed his fake ID to a police officer? The officer was a big, cranky-looking guy with curly hair and a mustache and freckles all over his cheeks. He didn’t act like he noticed the trembling but he did what clerks at skate parks did (and liquor store workers almost never did): he compared the face in the picture to Clay’s face. He tapped the keyboard without saying a word.

“Did your car break down on the bridge?”

“No, sir. Like I said on the phone, it must have been stolen.”

“You didn’t notice it was gone?”

“No, sir.”

“Why not?”

“I left it parked like I always do at the yacht club. I don’t drive it that much. I ride my bike, mostly.”

“The yacht club?”

“I’m living on our family’s boat for the summer.”

He could feel the guy’s disgust. Any minute now he’d make some sort of crack about what a hard life kids have these days. Tap tap on the keyboard. The cop let his chair rock back a little more.

There was nothing illegal about living on your boat, was there? He was pretty sure you didn’t have to be an adult to sleep on your own boat without your parents, but maybe there was some weird rule, so he hoped he wouldn’t have to get into that part. He needed to use the bathroom right now because he’d drunk the whole Gutter Water Gush.

“Should I call a lawyer or something?” he said.

“I’m not arresting you, Mr. Moorehead.”

Mr. Moorehead. Okay, fine. Who cared about attitude as long as he was not being arrested? He was only here in the police station because his car had been found on the bridge, a thing that had been done to, not by, him. His bladder was going to pop. “I don’t mean to be rude, sir, but if we’re going to talk some more I could really use a bathroom.”

“Down the hall to the right, Mr. Moorehead. I’ll wait right here.”

“Thanks.”

The bathroom was enormous. A lot nicer than the yacht club’s, actually. He couldn’t see any cameras but he felt like he was on one.

A woman officer in a black uniform and a fancy gun belt, the whole cop regalia, was waiting for him in the lobby when he came back. “Clay Moorehead?”

He nodded.

“Can I ask you some questions?”

“What about?”

“Come on in here,” she said.

It was the same place he’d had to wait on the night of the bad party, the room that was like where you waited to be called into the principal’s office, except here they had a glass wall so you could see the cops working on computers and saying stuff about you that you couldn’t hear. Renee took like an hour to come and get him and he had to sit there the whole time with nothing to do.

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