We rounded the corner and there it was—my car. It was parked crookedly across two spaces, the pearl-white paint gleaming under the harsh sodium vapor lights of the parking lot. It looked alien in the setting, a diamond in a gutter. And there was Lucas. He was leaning against the driver’s side door, laughing. He was wearing a faded hoodie and jeans, a cigarette dangling from his lips, ash falling onto the pristine paint of my door. He was talking to a guy I didn’t recognize, pointing at the rims, gesturing grandly as if he were the king of the world. My father wasn’t there. Lucas was alone with his friend.
Martinez hit the lights. The sudden burst of red and blue shattered the casual atmosphere of the parking lot. Lucas flinched, dropping his cigarette. He squinted at the cruiser, looking more annoyed than afraid. He clearly thought it was a misunderstanding. Or maybe he thought he could charm his way out of it like he did with everything else.
Martinez stepped out, hand resting near his holster, his voice booming.
“Step away from the vehicle. Keep your hands where I can see them.”
“Whoa. Whoa.” Lucas raised his hands, a smirk still playing on his lips. “What’s the problem, officer? Just grabbing some supplies.”
“I said, step away from the vehicle,” Martinez commanded, closing the distance. “Turn around and place your hands on the hood.”
“This is my car,” Lucas protested, though he complied, his body language oozing arrogant defiance. “My dad gave it to me. You can call him.”
I couldn’t stay in the car. I knew Martinez told me to, but the sight of the cigarette ash on my door triggered something primal in me. I opened the door and stepped out into the night air.
Lucas turned his head as he heard the second door close. When he saw me, his eyes went wide.
“Elina,” he sputtered.
Then his confusion morphed instantly into rage.
“You called the cops. Are you crazy?”
“You stole my car, Lucas,” I said, my voice trembling not with fear but with adrenaline. “And you don’t have a license.”
“Dad gave it to me!” he screamed, struggling as Martinez grabbed his wrist to cuff him. “It’s a family car, you selfish be asterisk tch. Dad said it was mine!”
“You have the right to remain silent,” Martinez intoned, snapping the cuffs shut.
The metallic click echoed across the parking lot, a sound of finality that Lucas had clearly never expected to hear.
“Call Dad!” Lucas was yelling now, thrashing as Martinez marched him toward the cruiser. “Elina, tell him to stop. You’re arresting your own brother. For a car? For a stupid car?”
“It’s not just a car,” I said, stepping closer, looking him dead in the eye as Martinez pushed him into the back seat—the hard plastic seat I had avoided. “It’s my life, and you’re not entitled to it.”
As Martinez shut the door on Lucas’s screaming face, my phone rang. It was Dad. He must have been trying to reach Lucas and gotten no answer. Or maybe Lucas had managed to text him before the cuffs went on. I answered, putting it on speaker so Martinez, who was walking back to me, could hear.
“Elina.” Dad’s voice was a roar. “I’m calling Lucas and he’s not picking up. I checked the app. Why is the car at a liquor store? I told him to go straight home.”
“Lucas can’t come to the phone right now, Dad,” I said, watching my brother kick the window of the police car.
“What—why are you with him?”
