Trouble

“What happened to your eye?”

I looked up at the polished man in front of me. Slicked-back brown hair, sparkling dark green eyes with an orange burst around the pupil, unlined pale skin, tall and stocky build. He was everything I hated in a human being, and to top it all off, it looked like he’d worn his best suit to consult me about my trial, which was coming up at a relatively fast rate.

“I walked into a doorknob,” I replied in a monotone voice. “I’m clumsy.” I had lied, yeah, but what else was I supposed to say? That some girl accused me of taking her bread, and she got in one good shot before I knocked one of her front teeth out? That wouldn’t make me look too great in my trial.

The man cleared his throat and shook his head. “Okay, Miss Martinez, it says in the report that you already confessed.”

I winced at the sound of that. It just seemed so official, so proper. He was talking to me, an inferior being by society’s standards, and he shouldn’t have been using the “Miss” term with me. “It’s Soledad,” I responded shortly. “Or Sol.”

“Solitude shorted to sun,” he observed musingly. “It’s ironic, don’t you think?”

Um. No. And I had no idea why the gringo was trying to show off the fact that he knew a bit of Spanish, but it certainly wasn’t impressing me. “What am I doing here?”

The man sighed and ran a hand through his hair, probably getting his palm all slimy and disgusting. Ugh. “I’m here to make sure you don’t want to change your plea. But the defense has made a deal, so if you want to go with it, then we can do that.”

I cleared my throat. “What’s the deal?”

“If you confess to murdering Cristobal, then they’ll knock the charge down to second-degree murder, and they’ll give you twenty years in jail instead of a life sentence.”

I wanted to vomit. Twenty years in jail? I couldn’t do twenty years. I’d miss everything on the outside. “I’m not doing that. Change my plea to innocent.”

His skin took on a little green tone as he shook his head. “You do realize that it’s not going to do much though, right? If you already pleaded guilty, then the jury is going to think you’re insane for switching it back. You’d be way better off taking the deal.”

“I don’t even know why I’m here,” I groaned, throwing my head back on the chair. “I was just protecting my friend. My best friend, whom I’ve known since he was born. He could have shot him. I was waiting in the bush for him to defend himself, to shoot Cristobal like he’d always been trained, you know? He was a bodyguard; he should have known. But instead, he threw his gun away, and I had to defend him. It was basically self-defense, except it was not technically me.” I coughed shortly, realizing my rant, and added snarkily, “Plus, I took down the head of the Monstruos. Someone should be giving me some kind of award or something.”

The guy stared at me for a long time, examining my face. The longer he looked, the further I leaned away from him, wondering what the fuck his problem was.

“Sol,” he breathed, like we were life-long buddies who went prancing through the fields when we were niños, “that’s it.”

“What?”

“You have a completely valid argument there! You weren’t killing anyone in cold blood. You were defending family, and you felt there was no other way to handle the situation. It’s noble. Add that to the fact that you’re about one hundred ten pounds soaking wet, and we’ve basically sealed the deal.”

“Hey, I’m not one hundred ten pounds,” I snapped. “I’m more solid than I look.” After a lifetime of fighting hunger and starvation like a lot of families in my streets, I prided myself on the fact that I had a fairly healthy weight for a girl my height. Plus, I had to be, if I was going to kick the shit out of people on the streets. Not that he needed to know that.

My lawyer didn’t pay attention to me, though. He was typing away on some fancy white computer, his fingers flying across the keys, his tongue running over his lips about a million times a minute in his excitement.

“Ugh, Soledad, you’re brilliant. On the court date, I’ll come in, we’ll get you dressed properly, and then we’ll win this thing. And you’ll get to go home to your sisters.”

My sisters. Ignoring the pang in my stomach, I asked, “What happened to them? My sisters, I mean?”

He shook his head slowly and said, “I have absolutely no idea.”

And then he was gone.



“Hi,” Alejo said from his seat at the table, squirming uncomfortably. I knew he hated showing up at the jail, seeing me in my jumpsuit. And I knew he could tell that I hardened my outside while I’d been in jail, destroying all the progress Liam had made toward making me a decent human being.

“Hey,” I smiled a little too widely. “How are things?”

“Fine,” he responded, shrugging. “Money’s tight, but the Monstruos are falling apart. Cristobal was an idiot and told three different people that they could take the gang leader title if he ever died, and they’ve kind of split into three different groups that all fight each other all the time. Sometimes, one of the leaders come by to recruit me, but I always refuse to go with any of them. Somehow, none of them know the secret Cristobal found out. But I’m done with the gang life anyway. It’s pointless and stupid.”

“How’s your…?” I trailed off, not knowing if he was comfortable with me saying it aloud.

But a smile flashed across his face as he realized what I was saying. “He’s incredible. I think…” He leaned forward, his eyebrows shooting up to his hairline, as he whispered, “I think I’m in love with him.”

“Aw!” I cooed, grinning like a maniac. “Alejo, that’s perfect. I’m so happy for you.”

“I wish I could say the same for you,” he mumbled, taking in the look of the awful room they used for visits. “I don’t want you to be in this place.”

“It’s alright. There’s a master plan.”

“What?”

“Don’t worry about it.” I coughed into my elbow before asking in a low voice, “Dime, Alejo. What happened to my sisters? Are they in foster care?”

Alejo swallowed audibly before he shook his head. “It’s not mine to tell you.”

“Yes it is! You’re family! Now tell me what happened to them.”

“Liam should tell you,” he mumbled again.

“Liam should tell me?!” I screeched, fighting the urge I had to slap him across the face. “Liam’s not spoken to me or sent me any letters or anything since I got in here. I told him to take care of my sisters, put that little speck of trust in him, and now you refuse to tell me anything?”

Alejo opened his mouth, but I cut him off before he could say anything. “And why is it that you always told Liam everything personal about me, but you won’t do anything the other way? I’m sensing a double standard. What? Do you like him more than me now? Are you playing favorites?”

“Sol, no. Why would I like a gringo over you? Sure, he’s nice, and I think he’s real good to you, but that doesn’t mean I like him more. I just think it’s something he has to face up to himself.”

Face up to. Bad connotation. Liam didn’t do anything. He let my sisters get taken to foster care, where they were probably getting abused and neglected. Little Marisol, starving and beaten or worse, scarred for life. She’d have to grow up too soon, her childhood ripped from her.

“Sol?” Alejo whispered, leaning across the table and taking his hand in mine. “Sol, can you hear me?”

I could, but I couldn’t answer. My breath was too ragged and panicked to form any real words.

“I’m going to go,” he said quietly as he got to his feet. “I’m sure your lawyer will call me about the master plan to testify, and I’ll do it for you. Good luck, Sol. Stay safe, and take care of your eye. It looks like it hurts.”

He left, and I shattered.