Trevor almost laughed. Chad was older than his brother had been when he went to prison. Eighteen was old enough for Michael Barber to have his life ruined. But not Chad Drake? And all his brother had done was sell weed, and sometimes a little Molly or mushrooms, to friends; Chad Drake was a rapist. But Chad Drake had Daddy Ridley. Trevor’s father had to start driving an Uber to pay for the lawyer after both his boys were arrested that icy Sunday afternoon at the duplex on Maple. Trevor had never tagged along with his big brother to the house where he got his supply before, but they’d gotten high together that morning and Mike promised Dunkin’ on the way. Trevor stayed in the car with the donuts while his brother ran in. Mike was a senior with a B-average; the definition of small time. The goofy, long-haired kid who carried the party with him, earning just enough for some pocket money, a payment on the Camry, and a chunk into the college fund. He went to Maple barely once a month for a backpack full of product. But he was there, they were both there, when the cops raided the place and found way more than weed.

Trevor might have avoided being arrested if he’d just stayed in the car, but when the cruisers pulled up he panicked and ran. The neighborhood was unfamiliar, and as he heard the boots behind him getting closer, he looked back and tripped. So they handcuffed him, threw him in the waiting van, drove him rough downtown, and made him spend the night. Mike was booked into the jail and stayed for almost a week, until Trevor’s dad could get into his 401(k) for the bail. The retainer for taking both boys’ cases was $10,000 and a month later the lawyer suggested they make a deal: community service for Trevor, a juvenile; eighteen months behind bars for Mike. And a felony on his record forever.