In the car Coach Levine didn't say anything to me. He drove along 130th until we reached Greenwood. From there I gave him directions to Sound Ridge, which isn't the kind of neighborhood a teacher could afford.
When we reached the gated entrance, Simon Chang, the security guard, stepped out of his small brick guardhouse and approached Levine's car. "Can I help you?" he asked, his voice courteous but remote.
I leaned across toward him. "It's me, Simon. Shane Hunter."
Simon always asked how my pitching was going. But that day he only nodded, then pushed the button. The gate opened and Levine drove through.
I directed Levine through the winding streets to my house. When we could finally see it, I understood why Simon had been so quiet. Three police cars were parked in front. Uniformed officers were walking down our driveway carrying away boxes filled with file folders.
Levine hadn't come to a complete stop, but I grabbed my equipment, opened the door, and jumped out of his car. "Wait a second, Shane," he called out, but I didn't wait. I ran up the long walkway and threw open my front door.
Rausch was sitting on the sofa looking at a clipboard. Mom was across from him; she had a dazed look on her face. Rausch stood up. "I'm sorry about today, son," he said, "but your—"
"What's he doing here?" I said, turning to my mom. "Tell him to get out."
"He'll be leaving soon," Mom said, her voice not much more than a whisper.
"Tell him to get out now. This is our house."
"Shane, that's enough," Mom said, snapping out of her apathy. "These men have work to do. When they're done, they'll leave. Now let them do it."
My mother's words stung, making me feel childish, but I couldn't let Rausch know that. I glared at him before heading upstairs to my room.
It took a while to reach it. That house was huge—the garage alone was probably bigger than the little duplex we live in now. We had an exercise room, a computer room, an entertainment room, and other rooms I can't remember anymore. It seemed as if a police officer was in every one of them.
I wanted to be alone, but when I reached my room, my sister, Marian, was sitting at my desk, a plateful of Oreos and a glass of milk in front of her. She hadn't touched either. "Shane, what's happening?" she asked, her eyes watery.
Marian is five years younger than me, but she's smart, so I couldn't bluff her. "I don't know for sure," I said. "Dad's in some kind of trouble, though."
"Is he in jail?"
"He'll be back tonight, or tomorrow at the latest."
She sat there looking at me. "He is in jail, isn't he?"
"Yes, he's in jail." I waited a minute. "You want to watch a movie?"
"No," she said.
"Come on, Marian. You might as well. I'll watch with you."
"What do you want to watch?"
"I don't know. You pick."
She went to her room and got part one of The Lord of the Rings. I popped it into my DVD player, and turned the volume up. We sat on my bed, watching Frodo Baggins escape one danger after another. All the time, we could hear men and women talking as they opened and closed file cabinets and moved up and down the stairs.