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up with any more clichés? And how the fuck can I “distance” myself from everything? That’s like expecting the President to duck out to the supermarket unnoticed.
    “I’m okay.”
    I deliberately look at the floor. Can’t take the pity in his eyes. It’s almost as bad as the disgusted looks that some of the kids here give me.
    “You don’t have to cope on your own,” he says, yet again totally ignoring what I just said. “I understand you’re taking responsibility for your younger sister. If you need time off for any reason, you only have to ask. Just don’t disappear without permission. Likewise with homework. If you need extra time, you only have to ask. But don’t forget to do it or it won’t look good on your record if you let things slide.”
    Listen to him. He just doesn’t get it. What planet is he on if he thinks everything can be made right by having a good report card? That’s the trouble with teachers—they live in their own little school bubble and can’t see beyond it to what’s really happening.
    “Sure. Thanks.” I get up to leave.
    “Before you go, there’s the matter of the fight. I’ve given Darren three hours community service, and the same applies to you. I’m assuming you were provoked, but I can’t be seen to condone that type of behavior. Go see Coach Ames after school and he will find you a job to do.”

Chapter Twelve
    I slink down into the chair, pulling my gray hoodie tightly around me, and fix my eyes on the door used to bring in the prisoners. The courtroom’s full, everyone waiting with baited breath to see “The Arizona Monster” aka my dad. So far, no one has recognized me, which is a miracle seeing as half the street is here. Fucking rubberneckers.
    I asked Mom this morning if she was going to the trial, and she said no. Then, when I told her I was going, all she did was sigh loudly and say it was up to me. It’s like she doesn’t realize how important it is. Or maybe she doesn’t care.
    I’ve never been in a court before, only seen it on TV, and it’s very different from how I imagined. For a start, it looks like a classroom, apart from all the cops. I bet they’re expecting someone to take a swing at Dad. And who’d blame them? Not me, that’s for sure. Because, given the opportunity, I’d do the same thing.
    “Bring the prisoner in,” one of the cops calls.
    In an instant, the whole place is silent, and everyone’s head is turned in the direction of the door.
    A shiver runs down my spine, and I hold my breath as the door opens and Dad’s brought in, handcuffed and flanked by two prison officers.
    Shit.
    Fucking shit.
    He’s got a black eye and looks at least twenty pounds lighter than when I last saw him. And he wasn’t overweight then. He sits in the dock, wearing the expensive Armani dark gray suit Mom bought him for work; he was wearing it the day he was arrested. He holds his head high, defiant almost. It’s like he’s still pretending to be innocent. That won’t last long once the evidence comes out.
    Starting from over the opposite side of the courtroom from me, he stares at everyone, each second his gaze getting closer and closer to where I’m sitting. I try to look away, to lower my head so he doesn’t realize it’s me, but something compels me to keep looking. Then it’s too late.
    Our eyes lock, and his light up. His lips turn up into a slight smile. My heart is pounding in my ears. What the fuck should I do? The guy sitting next to me whispers to the woman on his right, and she whispers to the person next to her, until everyone sitting in my row is giving me the most evil stares. My instinct is to get up and run. But I can’t. Not without causing even more of a freak show than I’m already doing. Instead, I force myself to look down and keep my eyes focused on the floor until the judge calls for opening statements.
    The prosecution lawyer stands and faces the jury.
    “Elliott James, Garret Mitchell, Robert Morrison, Ethan