I curl up on my bed, wishing that there were some way I could have a do-over. That I could come home and leave Rob alone sitting in front of the TV, playing video games. That I could go up to my room and read a book or listen to music or watch videos of cute puppies trying to climb stairs. That I could do anything except convince my brother it’s a good idea for us to go see a movie and then get ice cream afterward.

One decision leads to another and another. Decisions you think are good, but end up leading the person you love—and think you’re helping—to disaster instead. I keep replaying the afternoon over in my head, looking for the clues that should have showed me that it was heading in the wrong direction. The little signs I didn’t see, or ignored, that could have prevented the catastrophe from happening.

Meanwhile, what I didn’t tell Farida was that I think I have to quit the election now.

I just couldn’t face telling her the whole story tonight, even though she’s my best friend. Because I know I was born wearing white girl goggles, and inevitably I’m going to say something wrong, and normally I don’t mind when she calls me on it. But everything is a mess right now and it’s my fault, and I just can’t face messing up in one more way.

So it feels easier not to say anything. To just add it to the growing list of things I’m not telling her.

Except that leaves me alone in my room with my racing thoughts and squirming insides, feeling like even more of a coward than ever.

My phone buzzes.

ADAM: You okay? Sounds like you had an intense afternoon.

ME: Intense doesn’t even begin to describe it.

ADAM: Did you really end up at the police station?

ME: Yes.

My fingers hover over the screen.

ME: Would you hate me if I quit?

ADAM: Quit what?

ME: The election.

ADAM: What?!! Why? Let’s talk first. Do you want me to come over?

I check the time. It’s almost midnight.

Cons: 1. It’s late. Way too late to expect Adam to drive across town to talk to me. 2. My parents would freak if he showed up here. 3. I’d have to sneak out of the house. 4. I’m so tired it feels like someone harnessed a boulder to my chest and I have to drag it around with me everywhere I go.

But on the other hand, the Pros: 1. Adam just offered to drive across town to see me. 2. I wouldn’t feel like I’m so alone. 3. I’m not going to be able to sleep anyway. 4. I want to see Adam.

ME: Are you sure it’s not too late? What about your dad?

ADAM: Don’t worry about me. What about you? Will your parents freak out?

ME: Park at the end of the street and text me. I’ll sneak out.

ADAM: Okay. Heading out now. Hang in there!

And he sends a GIF of a cute sloth hanging from a branch.

A few minutes ago, I was curled up on my bed, drained of energy. Now I feel a flutter of excitement in my stomach. It’s because of the cute sloth GIF, I tell myself as I jump up and throw on one of Rob’s old marines hoodies and swap my pajama bottoms for jeans.

Then I check the hallway situation. My parents’ door is shut, but light shines under it, meaning at least one of them is still awake. Rob’s light is off. Peggy has been sleeping with him, so as long as I’m quiet, she won’t bark. I creep down the hallway and tread softly downstairs. I go through the kitchen and sneak out the back door, making sure it’s unlocked so I can get back in.

There’s enough of a glow from the crescent moon for me to see my way around the side of the house without having to use the light on my phone. I breathe in the cool, crisp night air and snuggle into the oversized hoodie. Despite the light on the horizon from town, I can see a few stars in the dark sky. Closing my eyes, I wish for everything to turn out okay. I can’t undo what happened today, but I can wish for it to end well. If wishes on stars work, which I know they don’t. But I’m sort of desperate here.

I sit on the front step and wait to hear from Adam. In the meantime, I check what’s happening on social media. Sure enough, Wade Boles has posted a picture of his broken nose on Instagram—both before and after it’s bandaged. Not a pretty sight either way. He’s made sure to say that it’s my brother who broke it in both posts, each of which have hundreds of reactions and comments.

People are already linking it to my class president slogan. Stella Walker isn’t the smart solution, she’s the violent solution is one of the nicer things that’s written.

How can I stay in the race after what happened?

Now that I have a good excuse for dropping out, it’s strange that I don’t want to. I was just starting to feel more confident about the whole thing, like maybe I could make a difference. But it looks like I’m going to have to take myself out of the running, because of Rob.

Not just because of him. Because of me. I persuaded him to go to the movies. He didn’t want to go. If it wasn’t for me, he wouldn’t have been at the mall. This never would have happened.

I wrap my arms around my knees and shiver, inhaling the autumnal smell of decomposing leaves. I never thought of it as sad before, but as I sit here waiting for Adam, contemplating the end of a political career that never even started, I think from now on I’ll always associate this smell with a feeling of “what if?”

An incoming text pulls me out of my depressing reverie. It’s Adam, telling me he’s at the end of the street.

My muscles are already stiff from the chill. I rub my arms as I walk to his pickup, trying to get some circulation back.

He’s got a classic rock station blasting when I get in the truck, but he turns it down right away.

“Hey. How are you holding up?” he asks, reaching out for my hand—except my hand is still inside the sleeve of my hoodie for warmth, so he can’t find it.

“What happened? Did they chop off your hands?” he asks. “Have you been texting me with your nose? I didn’t know that worked.”

He tries it on his phone and despite myself I laugh.

“Ewww. Remind me not to touch your screen now that it might have snot germs.”

Adam grins. “Snot germs. More effective deterrent than any password.” His smile fades quickly, though, and he reaches into my hoodie sleeve, tugging out my chilled fingers. “Yikes, your hands are freezing! Do you want me to turn on the heat?”

“No, it’s okay. Your hand is nice and warm.”

And it is. Comforting, too. What I don’t tell him is that holding it is sending tingles up my arm.

“So I know this is a really stupid question but … how are you doing?”

I don’t even think about lying and saying fine.

“Terrible. Awful. The world is falling apart and it’s all my fault.”

“Stella, you’re smart and cool as anything, but no offense, I think you’re overestimating your ability right now,” he says. “I mean, do you seriously think that you have the power to cause the entire world to fall apart?”

Despite how miserable I’m feeling, I laugh again. When he puts it that way, it does seem a little, well, dramatic. But it’s not what I meant.

“Okay not the entire world. A small portion of it that figures large in my life.”

“Tell me exactly what happened, because all I know is what I’ve read online,” Adam says. “And I’m pretty sure that’s not the whole story.”

And the words I couldn’t bring myself to say to Farida I say to Adam. Maybe it’s because he doesn’t know Rob. He doesn’t really know me. Maybe that makes it easier. I don’t know. Either way, I tell him what’s been going on with my brother since he got back from this last tour. I tell him how difficult things have been at home, and how Rob freaked out when Jason died. I tell him how I pressured Rob to go to the movies so he’d get out of the house. I even tell him about almost running over Mall Dog and the story Rob told me about the boy and his dog, even though I’m not sure if I should. I tell him what happened at the food court.

“Have you seen the comments on Wade’s Instagram posts? How people are already tying this to my campaign slogan? How can I stay in the race? I’ve got to drop out.”

He doesn’t say anything right away, and in the absence of words I’m acutely aware that our hands are still touching and start wondering how I can enjoy having that the point of physical contact if he doesn’t understand. Except that his hand is comforting, and I don’t want to let go.

“People are only saying that stuff because they haven’t heard your side of the story,” Adam says finally. “If you quit now, you lose the chance to tell it. You’ll have let them win without a fight.”

“But look at what they’re writing about me already,” I say. “It’s so ugly. And it’s not even true.”

“You knew it wasn’t going to be easy, right?” he says. “It’s not like this was ever going to be a walkover.”

“I know. But I didn’t think it was going to be this hard, this big, this fast.”

He pushes a stray piece of hair away from my face with the hand that’s not holding mine.

“Life comes at you fast. But you can handle it, Stella. I know you can.”

“I’m glad you’ve got so much confidence in me,” I say. “Because clearly I don’t.”

“You should,” he says softly.

I bite my lip and look down at our still interlocked fingers between us, then up at Adam. He’s watching me, like he’s trying to make a decision. He lets go of my hand and I’m more disappointed than I expected. (What, like I thought Adam and I were just going to hold hands forever?) But instead of saying he’s got to go or something, he fists his hand around the excessive fabric of my hoodie pocket and tugs. I feel myself sliding across the truck’s leather bench seat and when I collide with Adam, I giggle. A smile lights up his face and I notice the slope of his cheeks and his smooth, tanned skin and his single dimple. How does that happen? Don’t people usually have them on both cheeks? Note to self: Look this up on the internet later. I reach up and touch his dimple, and his smile deepens.

He releases my hoodie and winds his hand around the back of my neck. I let my fingers slide from his dimple so I can run my thumb along his jaw. He gives me a look, like checking to make sure this is cool, and I give a small nod in return.

Then his soft lips are on mine. This intense feeling of happiness explodes in my chest, winding its way around my heart. His fingers tangle in my hair, urging us closer.

When we break apart, my heart is fluttering and my brain is buzzing.

“Have I persuaded you to stay in the race?” Adam asks, like he’s just picking up our conversation right where we left off.

I raise my eyebrows. “So that’s what this is all about? Using your masculine wiles to get me to stay in the running?”

“Totally,” he says. “Did it work?”

I hesitate, and not because I want to keep him guessing so he’ll kiss me again, although I hope he will.

“I don’t know if I’m as brave as you think I am,” I confess. “Sometimes I wonder if I was adopted. The courage gene seems to have skipped me.”

“Being scared doesn’t mean it skipped you,” Adam says. “It just means you know the odds. It takes courage to keep going despite that.”

I want to be as brave as Adam sees me. But right now, even in the cocoon of his truck and warmed by his kisses, I’m not sure I can I do it.

“Can I sleep on it and let you know tomorrow?” I ask.

“Sure,” Adam says, squeezing my hand. “Although now I’m feeling all insecure about my masculine wiles.”

I lean forward and kiss him. “Don’t. They are very persuasive.”

“Keep telling me that,” he says.

“Speaking of sleeping on it, I better go do that,” I tell him. “Tomorrow is going to be hard enough as it is.”

He cups my cheek and pulls me closer for another kiss. “Good night, Stella. Don’t give up.”

I don’t promise him anything except that I’ll see him in the morning, but I watch the taillights of his truck until they disappear, before sneaking back into the house.

When I finally get to sleep, my dreams are of face-sucking aliens taking over the mall. I call out to Rob, but he’s being led away in handcuffs by the police. Except the police are Wade, Jed, and Chris, and they just laugh at my despair.

I wake up at four in the morning with a start, heart thumping in my chest and sheets tangled around my legs.

While I’m relieved that it was just a dream, the real nightmare of Rob being arrested isn’t, and that makes it impossible to get back to sleep.

When I tell Dad I didn’t sleep well, he makes me a big travel mug of strong coffee—what he calls “battery acid” from his own marine days.

“If I’m addicted to coffee as a grown-up, I’m blaming it on you,” I tell him.

“If that’s the worst of your problems when you’re an adult, I’ll pat myself on the back for having done a good job,” Dad says. “Better that than having to bail you out on an arrest charge.”

I glance over at Dad, because I can’t tell if he’s joking or serious. There’s no crinkling around his eyes, no hint of humor in his face.

“Rob didn’t start it,” I say. “Wade and Jed did.”

“That’s not the issue here, Stella.”

I want to ask him what the issue is, but Farida pulls up outside and honks the horn. So instead I grab my travel mug and backpack. “Gotta go. See you later.”

“Chin up, head down,” Dad says.

“Yeah, okay,” I say on the way out the door, although I’ve never understood how doing both things at the same time is possible.

Farida usually plays music in the car, but today her radio is tuned to the last thing in the world I want to hear this morning: Mayor Abbott on some talk show being interviewed about his campaign.

“Hey, Stella,” she says, leaning over to accept my hug. “Did you hear this? My parents were listening at home earlier.”

“Hear what?”

“Wait. It’s coming up.”

Mayor Abbott is blathering on about business or something, but then the host asks: “Some consider your position on immigration extreme. How would you respond to those critics?”

“How is it extreme to protect American lives from the evil forces that are trying to sneak past our borders?” Mayor Abbott says.

“But hasn’t immigration been part of what has made America the great nation that it is? The fact that we’re a melting pot of ideas and experiences? Isn’t it exactly that diversity that’s made us stronger?” the host asks.

“I’m not saying we have to permanently halt immigration,” Mayor Abbott says. “I’m saying we need a pause. To think more clearly about what we’re doing, and make sure that we’re vetting people thoroughly and properly so that no bad apples slip through the net to cause harm to innocent Americans.”

“But you’ve gone significantly further than that in your speeches,” the host says. “We have concerned listeners calling in about the impact such talk has already had in their communities and schools.”

“Let me tell you about something that happened just yesterday at the Lone Pine Mall near Argleton,” Mayor Abbott says. “My son’s good friend was brutally attacked by a mentally unstable male who it appears may sympathize with radical Islamic extremism. The kid had his nose broken.”

“What?!” I gasp.

The host says, “But, Mayor Abbott—” before the mayor cuts him off.

“When an American teenager can’t even go to the mall safely in this great country, what have we come to?” Mayor Abbott ends with a dramatic flourish.

“He’s lying!” I shout at the radio. “What’s he talking about? That’s not how it went down! He wasn’t even there! I was!”

“And your brother isn’t an immigrant, so it’s not like it had anything to do with the discussion anyway. He’s deflecting.” Farida switches it off. “So what did happen, Stella?”

I hesitate.

“Seriously?” she says. I can hear frustration in her voice. And she’s right. She’s my best friend and I should be able to tell her everything. But once I do, there’s no escape. No place where I can be just … me. Not an afterthought to Rob’s drama.

I take a deep breath and launch into the story. The whole story. The good, the bad, and the ugly. And when I’m done, we’re almost at school.

“So, uh, in that radio interview, what do you think Mayor Abbott meant by ‘sympathizes with radical Islamic extremism’?” Farida asks as she drives into the high school parking lot and finds an open space. She turns off the car. “I mean, where did that come from?”

“I … don’t know. Um … Maybe because Rob served in Afghanistan?” I say.

Farida looks at me, her brown eyes narrowed. “You really think that’s the whole reason?”

“What other reason could there be?” I ask.

“Come on, Stella,” she says. “Don’t play dumb with me.”

Except I’m not playing dumb—it takes me a few seconds to figure out what she’s talking about.

“Wait—you think they’re making the leap from us being friends to Rob sympathizing with radical Islamic extremism?”

“Not yet, maybe, but they will.”

I laugh. “Like anyone would believe that.”

Farida isn’t laughing. She’s dead serious.

“But it’s ridiculous. What do you and I have to do with Rob? And anyone who knows you—”

“But most of the people who just heard Mayor Abbott don’t know me, or my family, do they? They’ll just hear our foreign-sounding name and see our brown skin and my dad’s beard and the fact that my mom wears the hijab. And that’ll be enough to make us threatening.”

I want to be able to tell her she’s wrong, that we’re better than that, but I know she’s right, especially after what happened at the mall yesterday.

“I need to think about these things more, don’t I?” I say, breaking the awkward silence.

Farida nods. “Yup. ’Fraid so.” She starts tracing the word Ford in the middle of the steering wheel with her index finger. “For a smart person, you’re really slow to pick this stuff up sometimes.”

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I don’t mean to be a clueless idiot.”

“I know you don’t mean to be. But …” She hesitates and looks out the window. “It gets really old having to walk you through this stuff all the time. Sometimes I wonder if you’re ever going to get it.”

“I try,” I tell her. “I’m not perfect.”

“I know that you try. But sometimes it feels like trying just isn’t enough. I want you to get it.”

“I’m sorry,” I say again. “I’m sorry for being continually clueless, and that you might be dragged into this mess for just being friends with me.”

“I know you’re sorry. And I know you didn’t mean for this to happen. But it did. And like it or not, meant for it to happen or not, no matter how good your intentions, my family is going to feel the impact, trust me. We’re going to be collateral damage from your drama, and you didn’t even want to tell me what happened, even though we’re supposed to be best friends.”

I know she’s right, and I understand why she’s hurt. I should have told her. I’m silent, trying to figure out how to explain why I didn’t.

“Stella, why didn’t you tell me what was going on with Rob before this? Why didn’t you tell any of us?” She asks the question softly, and that makes it hurt worse. Because she knows me so well, and it’s a fair question, but it’s not one I know how to answer.

“I’m not sure, exactly … maybe because I wanted to keep it separate from my life?” I say. “It’s bad enough that it is taking over everything at home without having to talk about it with you guys, if that makes sense?”

“I guess,” Farida says. “But I still think it’s strange that you’ve been keeping it from me. It’s the kind of thing we’d normally talk about. It makes me wonder what else you’re not telling me.”

I flush, thinking about last night—about Adam and our first kiss.

“See, you’ve got secret written all over your face,” she says, and I can hear the sadness in her voice.

Why did I get stuck with a telltale face instead of a poker one?

“Adam and I kissed last night,” I confess.

“You and Adam? Kissed? Last night?”

I nod sheepishly.

“But … when? You were too tired to tell me what happened, but not too tired to make out with Mountain Man?”

“I’m sorry. I just—”

I stop because I’m afraid telling the truth about why I didn’t want to talk to her last night will just make things worse, especially if she’s right about Mayor Abbott making the radical Islamic extremism link because of our friendship.

“I just couldn’t sleep. And Adam texted me to see how I was holding up, and then he offered to drive over. Which was crazy, but I was so frustrated and upset and …”

“So you told him what’s going on?” Farida asks, arching her eyebrow at me.

I hesitate, but that’s enough.

“Really, Stella? You’ve apparently been hiding stuff from me for months and Adam calls you up in the middle of the night and you just tell him everything? We’re supposed to be best friends!”

I cringe at her words, but she’s not wrong. I squirm in my seat, not sure how to make it right. “I know! I should have told you. I’m sorry. But … it’s just …” I stop, afraid to admit this because I know she wanted to run for class president in the first place, but her parents were worried about her involvement. Except now, because of Rob, they’re probably going to be involved anyway.

“I didn’t mean to tell Adam everything. But I was thinking about quitting the race for class president, and I was scared you’d get mad at me if I tried to talk to you about it. And then Adam was just … there. And it just happened.”

Dead silence follows my words before Farida finally says, “Are you kidding me? Quit? You drag my family into this mess and now you’re going to quit?”

I don’t think I’ve ever seen Farida this angry.

“I didn’t drag you into this mess, Mayor Abbott did,” I protest.

“Way to miss the point, Stella! Did you even hear what I said, like, two minutes ago?” Farida says. “I wanted to run and my parents were worried about the fallout. But now we’re going to get the fallout anyway. How can you even think of quitting?”

“Have you seen what people are saying on Wade’s Instagram posts?”

“Come on, toughen up. My little brother has worse stuff said to him every day on the school bus. You still don’t get it, do you?” She checks the time on her phone. “We better get in. But don’t you dare quit on me, Stella Walker.”

I bend down to pick up my backpack so I don’t have to answer, because I still don’t know what to do.

Just before she slams her door, Farida says, “And you’re right: I am mad at you. So don’t think this conversation is over.”

I try to imagine myself as the brave Stella that Adam thinks I am. But I don’t feel at all courageous as I follow Farida’s stiff back into school. She’s furious and I don’t blame her.

Maybe I’m like the Cowardly Lion in The Wonderful Wizard of Oz and I have courage hidden deep inside.

Or not. I’m pretty sure I’m just completely terrified at this particular moment.

Is everyone looking at me or is it just my imagination? Are they talking about Rob and what happened at the mall?

“Stella! Farida! Wait up!”

Haley catches up to Farida and me.

“What happened at the mall?” she asks before even saying hi.

I glance around to see if anyone is looking. Strangely, it seems like everyone is purposely not looking, which gives me the feeling of being shunned.

“Why would Rob break Wade’s nose?” Haley continues. “I mean, I know he’s been acting kind of weird, but that’s super messed up.”

“I don’t want to talk about it right now,” I say. “But Rob didn’t start it. Wade did.”

“But Mayor Abbott said—”

“Mayor Abbott wasn’t at the mall,” I tell Haley. “I was.”

“I know but—”

I glare at her. “Haley, are you my friend or aren’t you?” I ask her. “I’m telling you, Rob didn’t start it.”

“I am your friend, Stella. I’m just saying, I was there that time at the convenience store. So was Jed.”

Oh crap. Would Jed have told the police about that? Could that influence the case against my brother?

“That’s got nothing to do with what happened yesterday,” I insist.

“All I’m saying is that your brother was acting pretty strange that day. Maybe he’s messed up from being in the marines or something.”

Some way to thank my brother for his service.

“Are you trying to be a friend and make me feel better about how awful the last twenty-four hours have been?” I ask her. “Because if you are, I hope there’s a plan B.”

Haley pushes her straight black hair back from her face. “Fine. Sorry I said anything. See you later.” She turns and walks away.

I look at Farida, who stood stone-faced throughout the conversation. “You still think I should stay in the race? Haley’s my friend and she doesn’t believe me.”

“Maybe she wasn’t really your friend,” Farida says, giving me a pointed look. “Maybe you should trust the people who are your friends.”

Even though her words hurt, I nod slowly, hating that we’re at odds, and knowing that I’m going to have to find the courage to fix it.

Ken catches us in the hallway on the way to AP Gov, and he wants all the details, so I have to explain everything that went down yesterday again.

“I mean, I get it. Obviously, Rob shouldn’t have broken Wade’s nose. But to make out like Wade was just hanging out doing nothing?” I shake my head in frustration.

Farida touches my shoulder and I notice that she’s staring at the wall where Chris’s and Amy’s campaign posters hang. There’s an empty space where my campaign poster used to be. It’s been ripped into little pieces, just like the truth of what happened at the mall, and tossed onto the floor like garbage.

“That didn’t take long,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. “I knew this was going to be a disaster.”

“It’s not a disaster,” Farida says. “We can make new posters. Right, Ken?”

“Riiiiiight,” Ken says.

I think he shares my agreement that it’s a disaster more than Farida’s optimism.

“I should quit,” I say quietly.

“No!” Farida says with such ferocity that Ken and I both stare at her.

She’s grasping her books tightly to her chest like a shield. “How many times do I have to say it? You can’t give up now, Stella,” she says. “You can’t let them beat you.”

“Even if there’s no chance that I’ll win?”

“Even then,” she says.

“But what’s the point?” I ask. “Can you imagine how humiliating it’s going to be when I come in third after Amy Sarducci and the soft toilet paper ticket?”

“You won’t,” Farida says.

I look at the shredded remains of my campaign poster on the floor and give a bitter chuckle. “Right. And you’re basing this on what, exactly?”

“Because we’re going to show them how wrong this is,” Farida says.

“How?” Ken asks. “How are we going to do that?”

“Et tu, Kenny?” Farida says. “You promised last night you’d be positive.”

“Oops. My bad,” Ken says, flushing under Farida’s glare. “I forgot.”

“You’ve got the memory of a goldfish—unless it’s for something you want to remember,” Farida says, her frustration with Ken more than evident. She turns back to me. “Don’t quit, Stella. We’ve got the truth on our side.”

“But is that enough?” I ask. “Is the truth enough? I mean, look at how Mayor Abbott just twisted the truth on the radio.”

“My point exactly,” Ken says.

“Honestly, how do you two survive in this life when you give up on everything so easily?” Farida says. “I can’t deal with you right now.”

She marches ahead of us into class, while I try to ignore the smirk on Chris’s face as I pass his desk, the one that makes me decide that maybe Farida is right. I am giving up too easily. I shouldn’t back down—because if I do, then I’ll have let the liars win.

Adam catches my eye, too, as I sit down, and he gives me a half grin that makes my stomach flip. I give him a quick, secret smile, then turn around before my transparent face starts giving me away.

He catches up to me at the end of class.

“How are you doing?” he asks. “Did you get any sleep?”

“Not a lot,” I confess. “Nightmares.”

“Yeah, I can imagine.”

“Did you hear what Mayor Abbott said this morning?”

“Yeah,” Adam says. “He’s bad news.”

“So you don’t believe my brother is some psycho terrorist lover?”

“Like I’d believe anything that Chris’s dad says? Besides, I know Wade and Jed,” he says.

“That’s a relief,” I tell him.

“I mean, even if your brother is a little weird, we’re all entitled to a strange relative. I know all about that. Most people at this school think my dad’s a tin foil hatter.”

“Is he?”

“Nah. He’d never waste good tin foil on a hat when it could be used to make a solar oven in the event of the zombie apocalypse.”

Adam makes me laugh out loud, something I didn’t expect to do today.

“It’s good to hear you laugh,” he says. “Listen, I saw that some idiots have been ripping up your campaign posters. If you want help making new ones, count me in.”

“Thanks,” I say. “I’ll definitely take you up on that. I’m going to need all the help I can get.”

“Well, I’m here,” he says.

I don’t know if it’s because of the way his eyes lock with mine or the warmth of his fingers on my arm, but I want to believe him.

I also want to kiss him again.

While I was at school, my parents and Rob met a lawyer, Ms. Tilley, who says given that Rob was acting in defense of another and considering his otherwise exemplary record, the case probably won’t even go to trial—most likely they will plea bargain and he’ll have to do community service and pay for Wade’s medical bills.

“Unless the prosecutor decides to play hardball because he’s listening to the mayor’s campaign speeches,” Ms. Tilley warned.

Mom was shocked. She asked if that could really happen.

Ms. Tilley reminded her that in our state, not only are prosecutors elected, but if the mayor wins election as governor, he could influence legislators in the General Assembly who elect judges. He’d remember a prosecutor he viewed as acting favorably to his interests.

“That doesn’t seem right,” I say when they tell me about it at dinner. “Isn’t justice supposed to be blind?”

“Supposed to be is the key phrase there,” Dad says. “Doesn’t mean it is in practice, necessarily.”

“Which basically means I’m screwed,” Rob mutters.

“No, you aren’t,” Mom declares. “Because we’re right here beside you.”

I’m not saying that Mom’s wrong or anything. But a fat lot of good that did for Rob and his problems before this happened. What makes her think it will be enough now?