The cop car I rode in the night I got arrested was really clean. Spotless, almost. So was the station house. It wasn’t like the police stations you see on TV, where there are druggies and lowlifes everywhere you look and everything is total chaos. It was pretty quiet, very neat, and there didn’t seem to be much going on. It reminded me of the locker room at Dad’s country club. I guess there’s not a lot of serious crime in Beverly Hills. Except for me, of course—Rachel Buchanan, one-girl crime wave.

We only got caught that night because Boozer made
an illegal left turn in the car he’d boosted. Unluckily for us, a cop happened to drive by at exactly the wrong moment. So much of life is just timing.

Boozer is so smooth, he probably could have talked his way out of it, but instead he panicked and took off. So there we were in a high-speed chase. The weird thing was, I thought it was funny. For some reason, when I get scared or nervous—or apparently in a high-speed chase—I start to laugh. Maybe I’m a psycho. I’ll get on a roller coaster at Magic Mountain with a drop straight down, and while everyone is screaming at the top of their lungs, I’m sitting there laughing like an idiot. It’s this really weird nervous laugh that I can’t stop. I wonder what a shrink would say about that?

Anyway, so Boozer, Jamie, and Grego were scared and screaming the whole time the cop was chasing us, and when Boozer ran the car up onto a lawn, they piled out right away and took off running. I was laughing so hard in the backseat that I couldn’t move, and that’s how I got busted.

The cop ordered me out of the car and asked me what I thought was so funny. Stealing a car and driving it up on somebody’s lawn? And who were my friends and
where did they go? And I was in a lot of trouble, missy, make no mistake about it. And blah, blah, blah, blah, blah. I couldn’t stop laughing, so he hustled me into his car and off we went to the station.

I wound up sitting on a bench outside the interview room, where a detective named Daniels asked me all kinds of questions about who took the car. He kept saying I’d better tell them what they wanted to know or I’d be in worse trouble. I told him to stuff it because there’s no way I was telling the cops who I was with. So he called my parents and invited them down to spend a little quality time with me at the Beverly Hills PD.

It took about an hour for Dad to show up—of course, with the ever-present cell phone glued to his ear. Probably calling Marvin. Marvin is his attorney. Check that. Marvin is more than Dad’s attorney. He’s like Dad’s most favorite person ever. Dad looks at Marvin and sees dollar signs. He just loves Marvin, who is quite possibly the most boring human being on the face of the earth.

No sign of Mom. Probably at home with her coffee cup full of “medicine.” I bet she was already working the phones in the neighborhood, trying to find out if word had spread about her daughter the criminal, and
wondering how she was going to keep this out of the
Beverly Hills Gazette
.

“Hi, Charles! Always nice to see you,” I said. “Mom busy?”

He didn’t even stop to ask if I was okay. He skipped right to the yelling part.

“What were you thinking stealing a car!” he said.

“I didn’t steal anything. I—” As usual he didn’t let me finish.

“Do you have any idea what kind of trouble you’re in? Do you realize what you’ve put us through?” By “us” I wasn’t sure if he meant him and Mom or him and Marvin. Any time he spent having to deal with me meant less opportunity to make even more zillions of dollars.

“What do you have to say for yourself?” he said.

“I didn’t do anything,” I said. “I was just out with some friends.”

“You mean that bunch of juvenile delinquents?”

“Ouch, Dad. I mean, really, that hurts.”

“You think this is funny?” He was getting angrier.

“Well, this part not so much. The high-speed chase had its moments, though.”

“You think you’ve got it all figured out, don’t you?”
he said. “This isn’t the first little scrape you’ve been in. Shoplifting, vandalism, and now you’ve graduated to Grand Theft Auto. That’s a felony! You realize you’ll have to appear before a juvenile court judge again?”

“Juvenile court! Again? That’ll be great,” I said. “Maybe you and Mom can both make it this time. We’ll pack a lunch and make a day of it!”

“Keep cracking wise, Rachel. You seem to think it’s all a great big joke. Well, if you won’t cooperate with the police, that’s your problem. No Marvin, no other attorneys, no help from us. You’re on your own.”

CHAPTER TWO
How I Got Here

The next couple of weeks seemed surprisingly normal. Sure, for the first couple of days Charles and Cynthia were really upset with me. There was a lot of yelling and the using of first names. Whenever they are mad at each other, or me, they use their first names a lot. “Charles this” and “Cynthia that” and “Charles,
do
something.” But after that, as usual, they sort of forgot about me again. Charles even cooled off to the degree that he said he’d actually send Marvin to court with me this time instead of one of Marvin’s junior associates. But as far as
he was concerned, whatever the judge decided was too good for me. I was grounded, of course, so I stayed in my room, surfing the Web and watching TV when I wasn’t in school.

The day after I was unjustly incarcerated, I got to school to find Boozer, Jamie, and Grego all waiting for me by my locker. They were kind of hovering and pacing back and forth. It put a lump in my throat that they were so worried about me. That went away pretty fast, though.

“Did you tell?” That was the first thing out of Boozer’s mouth. Not “Are you okay?” or “Are you in trouble?” or “Did they work you over with a rubber hose?”

“Of course not,” I said. “I didn’t tell them anything.”

Boozer and Grego let out visible sighs of relief. They had both been in a lot more trouble than me before, and if I ratted them out, they’d really be in for it.

“I don’t understand why you didn’t run,” Grego said. “You wouldn’t be in this mess if you’d taken off like the rest of us.”

“I don’t know. I just froze, I guess. Anyway, I have to go to court in a couple of weeks—” I started, but Boozer interrupted me.

“Yeah, well, your dad’s rich, so your lawyer will get
you off. Don’t worry about it. Come on, guys,” Boozer said. They all followed Boozer down the hall and left me standing by my locker alone.

That got me thinking. I’m not the kind of person who does that very often—think about things, I mean. Mostly I just try to get through the day. But for some reason, being at the cop house stayed on my mind. I kept wondering,
How did I get to this point?
What was I thinking going along with my friends, the ones who took off at the first sign of trouble and left me footing the bill for a stolen car? Truth be told, I really didn’t know the answer.

Maybe it all started when Grandpa died, a couple of years ago. It kind of sounds like a cop-out, I know. But I remember being a lot happier when Gramps was still around. I think he was the only person in the world who loved me unconditionally. He was the coolest, always spoiling me and making me feel like I was important to him. I mean, I guess Charles and Cynthia loved me. Maybe. So long as I didn’t cause them any grief and spoke only when spoken to. Then Gramps died and left Buchanan Enterprises to Charles, and everything changed. Charles was obsessed with removing all evi
dence that Gramps had ever built the company in the first place. He wanted it to be bigger and better and to make more money than Grandpa ever did, and Grandpa had already made hundreds of millions. So he spent all of his time at work, and, of course, Cynthia hated that so she started taking it out on me. Because obviously it had to be my fault.

Up until then, I’d been pretty much a normal kid. I did okay in school and made decent grades. Then Cynthia started spending all of her time at the gym and with the ladies from her club, and when she was around the house, which wasn’t often, the coffee cup of “medicine” was never very far out of reach. Charles was always at the office or away on business, so that left me pretty much alone.

So for the last two years, from age thirteen on, I pretty much raised myself. And I started not caring what Charles and Cynthia thought about where I was and what I did. I started to cut class—not a lot, but enough. (They have truant officers even in Beverly Hills, after all.) And I stopped caring very much about school when I was there. For all I know, maybe it wasn’t Gramps dying at all—maybe it was hormones, or maybe it was just
boredom. Soon I started hanging out with Boozer and his gang.

Boozer was a couple of years older than me, and I have to admit I was kind of flattered that he noticed me. I mean, me with a bad boy! It’s no secret how he got the nickname Boozer, and he’s what Charles would call part of the “bad element.” Just what I was looking for.

We went out a few times, and I got to be friends with Jamie and Grego. At least, I thought we were friends, until they ditched me after the car chase. I mean, I know they’ve all been in a lot worse trouble then me, so I can understand that they couldn’t let themselves get caught. But they still left me there.

Boozer kept his distance for the two weeks before my court date. After that day at school he really didn’t talk to me at all, and I guess I couldn’t complain, because it wasn’t like we were a serious couple or anything. I thought I had made it clear that I wouldn’t turn him in and I guess he was grateful, but he sure had a funny way of showing it. Jamie and Grego stayed away too, like I had the stink of trouble on me and they weren’t going to get close enough for it to rub off on them.

So I had a lot of time to think about what I was
going to do when I got to court. I went on the Internet to look up stuff about juvenile delinquents and joyriding. One of the things I read was an
L.A. Times
article about the Juvenile Detention Center in Los Angeles. The reporter interviewed a fifteen-year-old girl who had been sent there for drug possession. It was not a pretty picture: gangs, fights, knives, and bad stuff going down. Great. Just the place for a Beverly Hills Princess.

According to the Juvenile Code on the California Legal Aid website, joyriding was a Class D felony. But Marvin said that I was going to be charged with Grand Theft Auto, and that was a lot more serious. That meant jail time. I had to think of a way out of this. I watched a lot of reruns of
The Practice
on Court TV to look for tips or loopholes in the law.

Two weeks to the day after we “borrowed” the car, I was off to the Juvenile Court Building for my hearing. Charles had to go to San Diego for a meeting on some big condo deal, and Cynthia “couldn’t handle the stress.” So it was just old Marv and me. Great. Marvin was older than my dad. He was bald and chubby with a really awful comb-over that he thought made him look younger but only made him look balder.

The judge was a woman about my mom’s age, which is late thirties. Her nameplate said “Judge Kerrigan.” She had dark hair, done up in a bun so she looked really severe, and she wore these huge geeky glasses that she perched on the end of her nose. She was looking at a file folder that I guessed must have been my life story. Snore.

Marvin did a lot of talking. And I think that this is where things started to go wrong. See, Marvin has this
really
monotone voice that just drones on and on. He comes to dinner at our house a lot, and whenever he starts talking in that voice, it’s all I can do to keep from slamming my eyelids shut and falling into a coma. And now the same thing was happening here.

I felt pretty sure that Marvin would keep me out of jail. Despite all the stuff on the Internet about the law, Marvin is a big-time lawyer and I felt pretty safe. I mean, people like me don’t go to jail. And since he was so boring and his voice made me sleepy, I didn’t really think I had to pay much attention to what was going on. So instead I watched the judge and silently made fun of her hairstyle.
Sure, judge, that style is all the rage…if it was 1957!
Hah. That was a good one.
“Our next model is Judge Kerrigan, and famed stylist Bobby Brown has given her a
look she calls ‘Jail Matron.’”
That was pretty funny too. I was actually starting to enjoy myself a little.

But I didn’t count on Judge “Soon to be the bane of my existence” Kerrigan. I guess I missed her asking me a question, because the next thing I know she’s speaking to me in a really loud voice.

“Are we
boring
you, Ms. Buchanan?” She peered down from the bench.

“No,” I said, snapping back from my daydream.

“No, Your Honor. That is how you address the bench.”

“No, Your Honor.” Then I muttered “whatever” under my breath.

“You think you’re being clever?” she said. Oops. I didn’t think she’d hear me. Now she was really boring into me with those eyes. It was starting to make me nervous, and I had a little tingling feeling in my stomach that maybe this wasn’t going to work out the way I hoped. Stuff from that article about the Detention Center started rolling through my brain. Like about the food being really bad there.

“Let’s see,” the judge said. “Grand Theft Auto, Evading a Police Officer, Resisting Arrest, Malicious
Destruction of Property, and Failure to Cooperate with a Police Investigation. That’s quite a list. Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

Marvin started to talk, but the judge shushed him without taking her eyes off me.

“Well, for one thing, I wasn’t really resisting arrest,” I pointed out. “I was just laughing.”

The judge chose to ignore that.

“I see from your file that you’ve been a regular high-achiever lately. You’ve already been given probation for shoplifting and suspended from school for cheating on an exam—”

“They couldn’t prove that,” I interrupted her.

“I am talking now. You listen. Got that?”

“Yes,” I said. I was starting to feel worse. The article had also said that in the last six months, five different guards had been injured during fights among the inmates. Fights? I don’t fight with anyone. Except Charles and Cynthia.

She looked at me again. “Yes?” she said.

“Yes, Your Honor.”

“Aha. So you can learn. Perhaps you’re not as stupid as you’ve been acting lately.”

I thought it best not to thank her for the compliment. Was that a compliment?

Marvin took this opportunity to open his pie hole.

“Your Honor—” he started to say.

“Not interested, Counselor.”

Marvin got a really weird look on his face, like he’d been slapped, and then sat back down and started fussing with some papers on the table in front of us.

The judge closed the file and looked at me.

“Where are your parents?” she asked.

“Busy, I guess,” I said. “As usual.” She stared at me for ages before speaking again.

“I do not like what I’m seeing here. I’ve seen a thousand kids like you, Ms. Buchanan. You’re unhappy and you don’t know why. Maybe it’s because you come from a rich family and you feel guilty about it. Maybe your parents ignore you. All I know for sure is you’re on a fast track to Juvenile Detention. In fact, I don’t think you’re giving me a whole lot of choice here.”

“Your Honor, my client—”

“Still not interested in your opinion, Counselor. I believe I have an obligation to the people to remove a problem from the community.”

Now I was really feeling sick to my stomach.
Remove
. She’d said “remove.” One of the kids at school knew someone who’d gone to Juvie. He said that you only got one phone call a week and if you broke any rules you’d get no visitors. I’d never survive that! I’m a people person! I need my visitors!

No one was saying anything, so Marvin started in again.

“Your Honor, Rachel’s parents are sorry they couldn’t be here today, but circumstances prevented it. They would like me to assure the court that they believe Rachel is basically a good kid. You know how teenagers can be, a little high-strung, and maybe things have gotten a little out of hand. But—”

Judge Interrupter struck again.

“Counselor, I’ve heard every excuse you can imagine. Rachel has been on a downward spiral toward serious trouble for months, and obviously her parents haven’t done anything about it.” I would have enjoyed this if the judge hadn’t been talking about me. I wished Charles and Cynthia had been there to hear it.

The judge turned back to me.

“I think a stint in Juvenile Detention might be the
wake-up call you need.”

She raised her gavel. “Thirty days—”

Marvin started to stand up and say something, but I beat him to it. I hadn’t spent all that time in my room watching
Law & Order
reruns for nothing.

“I object!” I shouted.

Everyone went quiet and stared at me.

The judge peered down from the bench with one eyebrow cocked.

“
You
object?” she said.

I had also read that you only got to take showers every other day in Juvie. I’m a stickler for good personal hygiene.

“Yes, I object,” I said.
Uh-oh. Better think of something quick.
In my head I ran through every courtroom and lawyer movie and TV show I could think of. What would that cute guy on
The Practice
do now?

“On what grounds?” the judge asked. The courtroom was completely quiet. The judge looked like she was waiting for my next move.

“I object because…because…you can’t handle the truth!” Yeah, Tom Cruise and Jack Nicholson in
A Few Good Men
. That should work. I had just seen it on
cable the week before.

The judge sort of smirked again.

“I’ve seen that movie too, Ms. Buchanan, but I’ll humor you. What exactly is the truth that I can’t handle?”

Dang it. Now I had to do more thinking. This was not a good day.

“The truth is this is a gross injustice. The punishment you’re suggesting is way out of proportion to the alleged crime. Not to mention the fact that I’m clearly not receiving competent representation here. I mean, have you listened to his voice? It’s a wonder the entire courtroom isn’t asleep. Besides that, Marvin doesn’t know anything about Juvenile law—not that he needs to know anything, because I didn’t break any laws. Furthermore, as I’m sure you’re aware, there is a constitutional amendment against cruel and unusual punishment, and sending me to the Juvenile Center would certainly qualify as such.” And that was definitely the truth, because I’d read in the article that you were also denied Internet access, and if that isn’t “cruel and unusual,” I don’t know what is. Might as well just shoot me in the head.

I held my breath. Marvin was giving me dirty looks, obviously upset with my crack about his lull-you-to-sleep voice.

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