Strawberry skies

--- The alley reeked of stale beer, damp cardboard, and something sour I didn’t want to think about. Craig’s bag hung off my shoulder, its frayed straps digging into my skin. I shifted uncomfortably, glancing at the corner store he’d ducked into a few minutes ago. “Just grabbing a drink,” he’d said, laughing like there wasn’t a care in the world. But Craig didn’t move fast on his best day. I leaned against the wall, watching cars hum past on the street ahead. The neighborhood wasn’t great, but it wasn’t the worst. Still, the streetlights above me flickered like they couldn’t decide whether to stay on or leave me in the dark. I hated standing here. Too open. Too quiet. Then I saw them—headlights coming toward me, too slow to just pass by. A police cruiser. My stomach tightened, my heartbeat hammering in my ears. Being 17, Black, and alone in an alley at night? Not exactly a winning combo. I shoved my hands deep into my hoodie pocket and pretended not to notice them as the car rolled to a stop in front of me. The doors opened. Two cops stepped out. One was white, tall, and wiry, with close-cropped hair and sharp, restless eyes. His partner, shorter and broader, was Black, but his expression wasn’t any more welcoming. “Hey!” the tall one called. “What are you doing here?” I forced myself to stay calm, keeping my voice steady. “Just waiting for a friend, sir.” The shorter cop stepped closer, his gaze flicking to the bag on my shoulder. “What’s in the bag?” “It’s not mine,” I started, but the tall one wasn’t listening. “Hand it over.” Before I could say anything else, he grabbed the strap off my shoulder and started rummaging through it. I clenched my fists in my pockets, keeping my face blank. Craig had his notebooks in there, maybe some trash from the party, but nothing to worry about. “You’re good,” the tall one muttered, closing the main compartment. Then his partner spoke up. “There’s a zipper at the back.” The tall cop’s gaze snapped to mine, sharp and accusing. My chest tightened. “Don’t move,” he ordered, unzipping the hidden pocket. His hand stilled when he pulled something out—a small plastic bag filled with white powder. My breath caught in my throat. “Figures,” he muttered, stepping behind me. “Turn around.” “What—no, wait! That’s not mine!” “Yeah, right,” he said, pulling my arms back and snapping cold handcuffs onto my wrists. “It’s not! I swear—Craig must’ve put it in there!” “Craig?” the shorter cop said, raising an eyebrow. “That your supplier?” “No! He’s my friend!” “Sure he is,” the tall one muttered, pushing me toward their car. They didn’t care about anything I had to say. The cuffs bit into my wrists as they shoved me into the back seat. --- The holding cell was cold and smelled like sweat and despair. I sat on the bench, staring at the cracked cement floor. Every now and then, someone would shift, cough, or mutter, but mostly it was quiet. I’d never been anywhere so loud with silence. I couldn’t stop replaying the moment they found the bag. My heart sank every time I thought about Craig’s stupid smirk when he left me holding his stuff. He’d probably meant to deal with it later, but now I was the one paying for it. The cell door clanged open. “Coleman?” I looked up. A cop stood there, his expression unreadable. “Your father’s here,” he said flatly. I stood, my legs stiff from sitting so long. The other guys in the cell didn’t even glance at me as I followed the officer down the hall. We turned the corner, and there he was—my dad, standing at the desk, signing forms with sharp, clipped movements. His gray suit was slightly rumpled, and his face was calm in that terrifying way he got when he was angriest. He didn’t say a word as we walked out of the station and into the car. --- The ride home was suffocating. I stared out the window, the streetlights blurring into long, pale streaks. “Drugs?” Dad said finally, his voice cold. “They weren’t mine,” I muttered. “That’s not what they told me.” “They weren’t,” I repeated, louder this time. “Craig must’ve—” “Craig,” he interrupted, his voice sharp. “Let me guess. Your ‘friend.’ The same one who left you in that alley holding his bag.” I clenched my fists in my lap, biting back the words I wanted to say. “You’re lucky I didn’t leave you there,” he said. I turned to him, my anger boiling over. “What, you think I wanted this? I didn’t even know the drugs were there!” He slammed his hand against the steering wheel, making me jump. “You don’t get it, do you?” he snapped. “You could’ve been charged, Louis. Charged. You think you’d just walk away from that? One night in a cell would’ve been the least of your problems!” I didn’t answer. What was the point? When we pulled into the driveway, Dad killed the engine but didn’t get out. “You’re not spending this summer sitting around doing nothing,” he said after a long silence. I frowned. “What are you talking about?” “Consequences,” he said, his voice clipped. “You’ll spend the summer volunteering. You can either pick up trash or work at the hospital.” “You’re joking.” “Do I look like I’m joking?” I sighed, slumping in my seat. “Fine. The hospital.” “Good,” he said, getting out of the car. I stayed in my seat for a moment, staring up at the stars. My summer was over before it had even started.