THE CYCLONES
I can’t avoid looking outside even though I know shouldn't’t. The blinds block most of the view but how many blinds can a PD department have? Dozens of reporters hammer the windows, shouting for interviews, news and the latest updates. Every single one of them has Mike Cameras®. I slide further down the wooden bench in the waiting room, like it’s going to help something. At least my family’s here. At least we’re all in this boat together.
The front door rattles and a few cops race to open it, letting one woman slip under their arms as they hold the rest back. The shouting gets louder as the reporters push back. The cops are stronger though, more assertive, and the door slams shut.

The woman’s hair is fizzed on one side and her suit missing a button or two. She lets out a deep sigh as she tries to fix herself up. “Those... monsters,” she says smoothing out her hair. An officer asks if she’s okay and she waves him away, thanking him. She stops at the front desk where we all can see her, which is pretty unnecessary because we all know why she’s here. The man behind the desk motions to us, sitting in the corner of the station. Looking over to us, she tucks a lock of hair behind her ear and thanks the front desk guy.
She comes my way and I look away staring down at my sneakers and ringing my fingers to the bone. I don’t like the police station. I hate it actually. Couldn’t they take us somewhere else, me and my family? We shouldn’t be here. All the years of avoiding it and now… “Hi,” a perky voice says and two heels stop in front of my sneakers.
When I look up she’s beaming at all of us. Her chin is narrow and her eyes an innocent brown. I bet this girl’s never even seen the places I’ve been to. It’s obvious she’s rich, or her parents were rich but she seems sincere enough. Then again so did Foress.

“My name is Andria Remoras,” she says, holding out a hand to Salen, “but you can call me Andria.” No one is in the mood for greetings so Andria’s hand shake offer lingers in the air. She clears her throat and wipes her hand on her suit skirt. “Follow me,” she says cautiously and we do.
In the back room there are a dozen school chairs just for us. Pencils and sheets of paper cover every desk. The room is sound proof which is good because after half an hour of listening to the pounding reporters outside, it can get pretty hard to think.
“I just want you to write down everything,” she says. “Everything from your past to this point. These communities aren’t formed at random. And rarely willingly. I just want your version. Anything you write can help.” My version. Since when does that count for anything? Since when do I have a version?
I take a seat next to Kiddjoy, who looks a little dazed as she picks up her pencil.
“Don’t worry,” Andria says, “you have plenty of time.”
I pick up my pencil, because maybe I do have a story.
And then… I start to write.

>>>
08/12_ 6:19pm
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: IMPORTANT
Hi, it’s Andria.
I am emailing you an attached memoir (its long so I’ll break it up) of a group of young adults I need for you to look over. It’s a matter of great importance.
It has to do with the case of The Sunken Scrappers. I’m sure you’ve read about it in the news.
I asked the teens to give me as much information about themselves and the defendant, Mr. Asher Wallis as well as this mysterious Mrs. Foress whose legal name I learned to be Marco Young. There’s no logical reason she would by this name other than to hide her crimes. Let me tell you first that I’ve been over everything and I’ve made comments and highlighted what I think will stand in court.
I know what you said about being “finished with the law” and our legal system but this is so very important, Moe. It’s important to me and everyone involved. The way these kids lived-it has to be stopped-for Level Ones all over. Please email me back, Moe. Really, really need your help on this.
-Andria

08/12_ 6:23pm
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: grudgingly

Like I’ve said a million times over, I’m done with the law…
But you are my best friend.
I guess I’ll take a look at the evidence and examine its substantial qualities in the court of law. But ONLY because you asked nicely. And PS I’m NOT going to take this case. I’ll help you but I won’t go anywhere near a court room.
-Moe

To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: so, so, so, so, so thankful

You’re the best Moe. Feel free to make any comments you want.
-Andria