"Peak is our writer!" the headmistress declared one day, holding up an essay I'd scrawled out that morning as I gulped down a bowl of cereal before leaving for school.
I would have preferred to be their climber, but GSS doesn't recognize sports as a worthy human endeavor.
Don't get me wrong, I like GSS. The students and teachers are a quirky bunch and wildly entertaining. I've even managed to learn some things there. The problem is that I don't have any friends at the school. This isn't anyone's fault, really. My main interest is climbing. The other students are interested in things like number theory, what kind of gut to use on their violin or cello bows, and painting techniques.
Anyway, this is how I got hooked up with Vincent. As the school's English teacher he got stuck with the job of mentoring the alleged writer.
He unwrapped one of the Moleskines and showed me how there was a little pocket in back to store notes and how the elastic band stretched to mark your place or hold the notebook closed.
"I brought you a pen," he said. "But they would not let me give it to you. They were afraid you would write on your wall with it."
I think they were probably more afraid that I would use it to stab somebody (or more likely someone would take it away and stab me with it).
"I will see what I can do about getting you something to write with," Vincent said. He always spoke slowly, enunciating each word precisely, and I had never heard him use a contraction. "Some of the best literature ever written was composed inside prison cells."
I didn't plan on being at JDC long enough to compose anything.
"Whether you come back to school or not, you can still complete this year. I have talked to the headmistress. Four other authors and I will evaluate you by the words you put in the notebook."
Evaluate meant graduate at GSS.
"I brought you two Moleskines in case you write a longer piece. It must be a story—not a diary, or a journal—with a beginning, middle, and a denouement at the end to tie the story together. The story can be based on your life, someone else's life, or events completely from your imagination. You only have to complete one of the Moleskines to fulfill your requirement, using some of the writing techniques I have taught you during the past year."
"I'm coming back to school," I said.
He didn't look like he believed me.
"Regardless," he said. "The assignment will remain the same."
LATER THAT MORNING I had a second visitor. A woman. Long brown hair, pale blue eyes, olive-colored skin, carrying a garment bag. She was short, but powerfully built, with good muscle tone in her arms. Aside from a slight stiffness in her back (which you'd have to know her to notice), the only flaw she had were her hands. They were scarred from years of climbing.
"Sorry I couldn't get out here sooner," Mom said. "With the twins, and the attorneys, and—"
"That's okay," I interrupted. JDC was at least an hour-and-a-half drive from our loft in Manhattan. In addition to everything else, Mom worked full-time at a bookstore she and a friend owned. Still, I would have liked to have seen her before this.
She walked over to where I was sitting and looked at the scabs on my face.
"Ugly," she said.
"Thanks."
She started pacing.
"How are the twins?"
"They haven't stopped crying since you got busted."
I winced. It was one thing to upset my mom, but I didn't like upsetting Patrice and Paula. "Two peas in a pod," as Mom and Rolf called them, or "Pea-Pea" as I called them, which always made them giggle. They were six years old and looked up to the third "Pea" (me) like I was a god.
"You've really done it this time, Peak. Six skyscrapers! They're going to eat you up and spit you out. Rolf has cashed in every favor he has in the city, but I don't think any of it is going to work. He got your arraignment delayed, and tried for a second delay..."
(I had seen my mom agitated before, but I had never seen her like this. She was pacing the small holding cell like a caged leopard.)
"...hoping that the publicity would die down, but after last night that's all down the tube. The district attorney, who Rolf went to school with, and the judge nixed that idea—"
"Wait," I said. "What happened last night?"
She stopped pacing and glared at me with her mouth open and her eyes wide.
"You didn't hear?"
I shook my head.
"A boy fell from the Flatiron Building. He's dead."
I stared at her. "What does that have—"
"To do with you?" she yelled. "It's because of you, Peak. The boy had all your news articles pinned up in his bedroom. He had a can of blue spray paint in his pack. He had never been climbing in his entire life, which explains why he only made it up seventy-five feet. But the fall was enough to kill him, and enough to keep you in jail for the next three years."
"What?" I was on my feet now.
"Unbelievable!" She let out a harsh laugh. "You're circling the drain, Peak, and you don't even know it."
Circling the drain—a term from our past lives out West. I hadn't heard it in years.
"What do you mean 'three years'?"
"And three months," she said. "That's when you'll be eighteen."
I started pacing now. All I did was climb the Woolworth Building. I didn't brag about it or post it on the Internet. It was my little secret. My way of ... Well, I didn't know exactly why I had done it. I felt bad about the other boy, but it wasn't my fault.
"Did you tell Dad?" I asked, meaning my real dad, not Rolf.
This elicited another harsh laugh.
"He's in Nepal. I left him a message with a Sherpa who barely spoke a word of English. I'm not even sure why I called him. Desperation, I guess."
She took a deep breath. "Look, I have to go. Rolf and I are meeting with the attorneys."
"Attorneys?" I thought Rolf would be my attorney.
"Two of them. Rolf can't represent you. He's your stepfather, conflict of interest."
"Do you think—"
Her whole demeanor changed when she noticed how scared I was. She softened and her pale blue eyes filled with tears.
"I hope so, Peak," she said quietly. "But I'm not optimistic. The city wants to make an example out of you." She turned away and wiped her eyes, then handed me the garment bag. "This is a suit. You'll have to wear it tomorrow. And I talked to them downstairs. A barber is going to come in and cut your hair sometime this afternoon."
I sat down heavily in the chair.
"Buck up," she said with strained cheerfulness. "I don't think he'll butcher your hair too badly. You've got to look like you're—"
"I'm not worried about my hair! I'm worried about those three years. I'm already going crazy in here. I can't—"
It all hit me at once: the climb, the arrest, the kid falling from the Flatiron.... I broke down.
My mom held me.
CIRCLING THE DRAIN
I COULD TIE A BACHMAN, bowline, butterfly, figure eight, double fisherman, and a half dozen other knots with one hand in the dark, but I couldn't get the tie knotted properly around my neck. The few times I'd worn one, Rolf had done the honors. The guard assigned to escort me to the courtroom finally came to my rescue. Between us, we figured it out, then he led me into the courtroom.
Sitting at a table to the left of the bench were the prosecuting attorneys (a man and a woman) shuffling papers, barely looking up at the person whose life they were about to ruin.
At the table to the right were my attorneys (another man and a woman). They too were shuffling papers, but they stopped when the guard passed me off to them, smiling, shaking my hand, introducing themselves....
I didn't quite catch their names. I was too busy staring at the five people sitting behind them. Rolf, looking dapper and professional with a perfectly knotted tie. Next to him were Patrice and Paula. They were a little teary-eyed, but excited to see me, wearing their favorite dresses. (Matching of course.) They waved and tried to stifle giggles when
I mouthed "Pea-Pea" at them. (Don't get me wrong: I wasn't in a joking mood at that moment, but I felt the twins could use a boost. They had been through enough the past few days.)
Next to the twins was my mom, looking worried, but distinctly more relaxed than she had been at JDC the day before. Maybe this was because of the guy sitting next to her. (Although I doubted it.)
His name was Joshua Wood—arguably the greatest mountaineer in the world. He was also my father.
I hadn't seen him in seven years and he looked about as comfortable in his suit as I felt in mine. He had shaved his trademark beard. (Recently, by the looks of it.) The skin beneath was pale compared to the upper part of his handsome face, which was windburned and sunburned. His lips were chapped and his nose was peeling, giving him the overall look of someone who had just been dug out from under an avalanche.
His eyes were the same pale blue as my mother's. He gave me a nod and a smile, which I was too stunned to return.
"All rise," the bailiff said, startling me out of my stupor.
One of the attorneys turned me around and gave me a dazzling smile. I expected her to say, "Love the tie." But what she said instead was, "Don't say one word unless I tell you to. Act remorseful."
She was obviously my lead attorney. I thought her name was Traci.
The judge—a tough-looking guy with a white crew cut—took his seat behind the bench and made us stand for a few seconds more before nodding at the bailiff.
"Be seated," the bailiff said with a slight quiver in his voice.
My mom was right: The judge was going to eat me up and spit me out. He put on a pair of glasses and went over some notes, then started reading the charges aloud. "Criminal trespass, vandalism, reckless endangerment..."
It went on and on.
Finally reaching the end of the list, he pushed his glasses to the end of his nose and looked over the top of them directly at me. "How do you plead?"
Traci pulled me to my feet and whispered the answer in my ear. I wasn't sure I had heard her right. She whispered it again with the same smile plastered on her face from before.
I took a deep breath.
"Not guilty," I said.
"To all charges?" the judge asked incredulously.
"That's right, Your Honor," Traci answered, her smile unwavering.
"You've gotta be kidding me. The state has videotape of him climbing the Woolworth Building. There were twenty-three cops on the roof that saw him being pulled over the railing. He signed a statement attesting to the facts."
"Duress," Traci said. "He was exhausted, injured, and half frozen at the time."
"Oh please. This kid has received absolutely every consideration the system can offer, including delaying this arraignment. Now, what's this all about?"
"We want to go to trial," Traci answered.
The arteries in the judge's neck looked like they were about to burst. He glared over at the prosecutors' table. "Do you two know anything about this?"
The prosecutors shook their heads, vigorously.
"Perhaps we should retire to your chambers," one of them suggested.
"Yes," Traci agreed cheerfully.
"The four of you crammed into my office," the judge said. "Forget it. There's no one here but..." He noticed Patrice and Paula sitting between my mom and Rolf.
"Oh," he said, then looked over at the guard who had brought me down in the elevator.
"Do you think you can take these young ladies out and find them some ice cream?"
"What about the prisoner?" the guard asked.
"I think he'll hang around for this." He looked at the twins. "Do you like ice cream?"
"Chocolate," Paula said.
"Vanilla," Patrice said.
"I think that can be arranged."
"Do you want us to bring you back some, Peak?" Paula asked.
"I bet they have strawberry," Patrice said (my favorite), but it sounded like "awe-berry" because she had recently lost her front teeth.
"Nah," I said. "I had a big bowl for breakfast."
"You did not!" they said in unison, giggling, as the guard took them out.
The judge waited for the door to swing completely closed before continuing the proceedings. He nodded at the court reporter. "We're off the record."
She turned off her recorder and stopped typing.
"It's just us now," the judge continued, looking at Traci. "You know as well as I do that we don't want to go to trial with this. It's turned into a media circus. A boy was killed two days ago. I'm sure you and Peak and his parents don't want that to happen again."
"Of course not," Traci said. "But by the same token I can't let my client be unfairly incarcerated because the media is out of control. This whole thing has not been handled well by the police department or the mayor's office."
The judge looked at her for a moment, then looked over at the prosecutors. "She makes a good point. What do you think?"
The older of the two prosecutors (the woman) stood. "Prior to the arraignment we offered a plea bargain of two years with six months off for good behavior. Eighteen months is a pretty good deal considering the charges."
Not if you're serving it, I thought. But it was better than three years. Traci picked up a sheet of paper from the table.
"In the last five years, fifteen adults have been arrested for climbing skyscrapers in New York City. The longest sentence has been six months, and several of these climbers served no time at all." She looked at the prosecutor. "We can beat this in court. We're going to trial."
The prosecutor gave her a sour look.
I felt the drain being plugged, but it wasn't watertight yet.
"What's your bottom line?" the judge asked.
"A fine with probation," Traci answered. "And no time served."
"Forget it," the judge said gruffly.
"What if we could arrange for Peak to leave New York today?" Traci asked. "Out of sight, out of mind, out of the newspaper. No interviews. The story dies because the story is gone. Poof!"
The judge almost smiled. "A disappearing act, huh? Explain."
"Peak's biological father has offered to take custody of him."
I whipped around so fast I hurt my neck.
My father had gotten to his feet.
"I take it you're the father?"
"Yes, sir. Joshua Wood."
"The climber?"
"Yes, sir."
The judge glanced at Rolf and Mom, then looked back at Joshua. "Mr. Wood, how much time have you spent with your son lately?"
"Not much the past few years," he admitted.
Not any for the last seven years to be exact, I thought.
"When Teri and Rolf got married," he continued, "we decided it would be best for Peak if I kept a low profile."
This was the first time I'd heard of this. In fact, I wasn't sure my father knew that Rolf and my mother had married until he stepped into the courtroom. Maybe she had sent him a postcard or something. He certainly hadn't been invited to the wedding.
"Why do you want to do this?" the judge asked.
"Peak is my son. It's time I stepped forward and took some responsibility."
I looked at my mother and Rolf. They were both staring straight ahead, expressionless.
"What do you think?" the judge asked.
Traci elbowed me in the side and I turned back around.
"Me?"
The judge nodded.
"Uh ... that would be great ... uh ... Your Honor."
The judge turned his attention back to my father. "Do you have the wherewithal to support and raise a fourteen-year-old boy?"
"We've prepared a complete financial statement," Traci said. She grabbed a sheaf of papers from the desk and took it up to the bench.
The judge flipped through the pages.
"As you can see, Mr. Wood is a very successful businessman."
"On paper," the judge said begrudgingly. He looked at my father again. "Where do you live, Mr. Wood?"
"Chiang
Mai," my father answered.
"What state's that in?"
"It's in Thailand."
This was followed by a very long silence, and I felt the drain plug loosen.
"What about Peak's schooling?" the judge finally asked.
"There's an International School less than five miles from my house," my father answered. "I've already enrolled him. He'll begin in August."
"Peak is currently attending the Greene Street School," Traci said. "He only has one requirement left to complete this year. It should be easily accomplished in Thailand."
"The Greene Street School?" The judge smiled for the first time. "It just so happens that I went to GSS when I was a kid."
I didn't know they had legal prodigies.
The judge waved the prosecutor up to the bench, where they had a long whispered conversation. When it was over he looked at all of us one by one.
"All right," he said. "This is what we're going to do. Peak, you are on probation until you reach the age of eighteen. If, during that time, you break a law in the state of New York, thus violating your probation, you will immediately serve out the rest of your time in a juvenile detention facility. Do you understand?"
"Yes."
"Furthermore, the court fines you one hundred fifty thousand dollars..."
My shock must have shown, because the judge put up his hand for me to calm down.
"The money will be held in escrow by the state and returned if you fulfill the terms of your probation." He looked over at my three parents. "I assume you can scrape the money together."
"No problem, Your Honor," my father said. Mom and Rolf concurred.
"If I'm going to cut Peak loose, we have to make this look good," the judge continued. "I'm putting a gag order on all of you. You are not to discuss any aspect of this case with the media or anyone else. Especially the refundable fine. We want to discourage people from copying Peak's idiotic stunt. In other words, we want this to go away."
He looked at Traci and me.
"Poof!" he said.
THE TWINS
THE JUDGE TOLD US there was a swarm of reporters waiting in front of JDC and we would have to leave the back way.