This I do not need.
"Please don't call the police." The plump blonde was visibly shaking. Her eyes, which were ringed by enough black eyeliner to do a raccoon proud, beseeched him. "I've got a three-point-eight grade point average. My mom says if I keep it up I can get a scholarship to maybe an Ivy League college. But if I get arrested, I probably won't even be able to get into college. Any college. My mom'll die."
"Juvenile records are sealed," the guy with the spiky black hair said scornfully. "You get arrested when you're under eighteen, nobody ever knows."
"You been arrested?" Scott asked him. If this kid had priors, it would make a difference.
"No."
"Then where you getting your information?"
"I heard it around."
"Any of you been arrested before?"
He was answered by a chorus of scared noes.
"Who drove?"
The kid with the spiky black hair held up a hand. Scott's lips thinned.
"Besides the whole being underage thing, you ever hear of the law against drinking and driving?"
"I wasn't drinking and driving! I just opened up this one beer after I got here. I didn't even get a chance to take a sip."
Scott had already concluded that he 'd interrupted the group almost immediately after they'd arrived. Nobody'd had time to get so much as a buzz going.
"Who else drove?"
Silence greeted that. Between the guilty expressions and the scared ones, and adding in his brother's truck, Scott was pretty sure he knew the answer even before Chase gave him a truculent look and said, "Me."
Scott held his nephew's gaze. The blue eyes that ran in the family stared back at him defiantly.
"Any of you working? In summer school?"
"Nobody's hiring. Not even Walmart," Austin said. "Sometimes Matt and I cut grass."
"I babysit sometimes," the black-haired girl said.
"That it?" Scott looked around. Nobody said anything.
"What are you going to do?" The blonde's voice shook.
Scott made up his mind. Hell, he'd known enough wild kids in his life to fill up a stadium. The majority of them had even turned out okay. Luckily, stupid was something most people grew out of.
"First, I want everybody's name, address, and phone number. And I want to see some ID."
Two driver's licenses were produced. The others were too young to possess them. Improvising, he used his cell phone 's camera to record them giving the information he 'd asked for. The object, besides the obvious, was to scare them into realizing how much trouble they were in.
"Ashley Brookings. I'm fifteen." That was the blonde girl. She brushed away a tear, and he saw that she had black nail polish to match the mess around her eyes. She gave her address and phone number, adding, "Oh, please don't call my mom."
"Matt Lutz. Sixteen," the kid with the spiky black hair said as Scott next pointed his phone at him. He, too, gave his address and phone number. "Hey, Ashley, the worst your mom'll do is ground you. Big deal. If my coach finds out, I'll get kicked off the basketball team."
"My mom will cry. " Ashley's lips trembled. Jesus, he was starting to feel like an asshole. Next thing on his list should be kicking puppies. But what else could he do? "She'll think she's done a bad job raising me. Because she 's a s-single mother."
"You only ever sit on the bench, Matt. It's not like you getting kicked off the team would be some big loss," Austin said.
"At least I made the team," Matt retorted, and the two glared at each other.
"That's enough," Scott intervened, and pointed his phone at the black-haired girl. "You. Go."
"Sarah Gibbons. I'm fifteen." The black-haired girl looked at him instead of at the camera as she provided the rest of the required information. "I live with my grandparents. Me and my brother. If they find out about this, they're going to be so pissed at me."
"They're always pissed at you," Austin said. "It's 'cause they didn't want to get stuck with you in the first place."
"That's not true, Sarah." Ashley turned reproachful eyes on Austin, who shrugged.
Scott gritted
"Please don't call the police." The plump blonde was visibly shaking. Her eyes, which were ringed by enough black eyeliner to do a raccoon proud, beseeched him. "I've got a three-point-eight grade point average. My mom says if I keep it up I can get a scholarship to maybe an Ivy League college. But if I get arrested, I probably won't even be able to get into college. Any college. My mom'll die."
"Juvenile records are sealed," the guy with the spiky black hair said scornfully. "You get arrested when you're under eighteen, nobody ever knows."
"You been arrested?" Scott asked him. If this kid had priors, it would make a difference.
"No."
"Then where you getting your information?"
"I heard it around."
"Any of you been arrested before?"
He was answered by a chorus of scared noes.
"Who drove?"
The kid with the spiky black hair held up a hand. Scott's lips thinned.
"Besides the whole being underage thing, you ever hear of the law against drinking and driving?"
"I wasn't drinking and driving! I just opened up this one beer after I got here. I didn't even get a chance to take a sip."
Scott had already concluded that he 'd interrupted the group almost immediately after they'd arrived. Nobody'd had time to get so much as a buzz going.
"Who else drove?"
Silence greeted that. Between the guilty expressions and the scared ones, and adding in his brother's truck, Scott was pretty sure he knew the answer even before Chase gave him a truculent look and said, "Me."
Scott held his nephew's gaze. The blue eyes that ran in the family stared back at him defiantly.
"Any of you working? In summer school?"
"Nobody's hiring. Not even Walmart," Austin said. "Sometimes Matt and I cut grass."
"I babysit sometimes," the black-haired girl said.
"That it?" Scott looked around. Nobody said anything.
"What are you going to do?" The blonde's voice shook.
Scott made up his mind. Hell, he'd known enough wild kids in his life to fill up a stadium. The majority of them had even turned out okay. Luckily, stupid was something most people grew out of.
"First, I want everybody's name, address, and phone number. And I want to see some ID."
Two driver's licenses were produced. The others were too young to possess them. Improvising, he used his cell phone 's camera to record them giving the information he 'd asked for. The object, besides the obvious, was to scare them into realizing how much trouble they were in.
"Ashley Brookings. I'm fifteen." That was the blonde girl. She brushed away a tear, and he saw that she had black nail polish to match the mess around her eyes. She gave her address and phone number, adding, "Oh, please don't call my mom."
"Matt Lutz. Sixteen," the kid with the spiky black hair said as Scott next pointed his phone at him. He, too, gave his address and phone number. "Hey, Ashley, the worst your mom'll do is ground you. Big deal. If my coach finds out, I'll get kicked off the basketball team."
"My mom will cry. " Ashley's lips trembled. Jesus, he was starting to feel like an asshole. Next thing on his list should be kicking puppies. But what else could he do? "She'll think she's done a bad job raising me. Because she 's a s-single mother."
"You only ever sit on the bench, Matt. It's not like you getting kicked off the team would be some big loss," Austin said.
"At least I made the team," Matt retorted, and the two glared at each other.
"That's enough," Scott intervened, and pointed his phone at the black-haired girl. "You. Go."
"Sarah Gibbons. I'm fifteen." The black-haired girl looked at him instead of at the camera as she provided the rest of the required information. "I live with my grandparents. Me and my brother. If they find out about this, they're going to be so pissed at me."
"They're always pissed at you," Austin said. "It's 'cause they didn't want to get stuck with you in the first place."
"That's not true, Sarah." Ashley turned reproachful eyes on Austin, who shrugged.
Scott gritted