be necessary?

   Too late, though. He’s already crossed the threshold into the cellblock common area.

   And they’re waiting for him.

   No one says a word as they stroll up the hall toward the line of little meeting rooms. Quan eyes everyone carefully, Bowling Ball and the superintendent included, trying to catch the vibe, but comes up empty because he’s too nervous. Sweat trickles down his side from his armpit, and he gulps.

       Then they’re in a room and he’s sitting. The guard is leaving and the door is closing.

   Quan is still breathing.

              Barely.

   Nobody’s saying anything.

   But then…

        Attorney Friedman is smiling.

    And looking at Tay.

    Who is smiling too.

   “So,” Attorney Friedman says. “We have some news.”

   “A lot of it,” says Tay. “And it’s likely to be overwhelming.”

   “Which is why Tay is here,” from Attorney Friedman. “If at any point you need me to repeat something, say so. And if you need me to stop so you can process, I will.”

   “Deal?” asks Tay.

        (Quan’s not really feelin’ this tag-team thing they got going on, but whatever.)

   “Deal,” he says.

* * *

   —

   Attorney Friedman: First off, good morning!

   Tay: Really, Adrienne?

   Attorney Friedman: What?

       Tay: Let’s not give the young man a heart attack.

   Quan: Please.

   Attorney Friedman: My apologies. Just seemed rude not to say it.

   Quan: [Takes a deep breath.] Good morning.

   Attorney Friedman: So, we heard back on our motion.

   Quan: […Stops breathing.]

   Attorney Friedman: Thrilled to report that the court ruled to suppress your confession on account of the flagrant Miranda violation as well as suspected coercion.

   Quan: [Breathing—and beaming—now.] You’re serious?

   Attorney Friedman: Oh, there’s more. Also heard back on my request for an expedited trial date.

   Quan: [Stops smiling.] Okay…

   Attorney Friedman: The trial is going to be…

   Quan: [Bated silence.]

   Tay: Rude, Adrienne.

   Attorney Friedman: Sorry, sorry. Never.

   Quan: Huh?

   Attorney Friedman: Got a call from the DA himself yesterday afternoon. State’s dropping all charges.

   Quan: [No longer breathing…again.]

   Attorney Friedman: DA said with a suppressed confession, no murder weapon, and no witnesses, they don’t have much of a case. You’re getting out of here, LaQuan.

   Quan: [Still not breathing.]

   Tay: Quan? You okay?

       Quan: [Turning to her.] Is she saying what I think she’s saying?

   Tay: [Smiling.] I do believe she is.

   Attorney Friedman: I definitely am.

   Quan: [Looking back at Attorney Friedman.] So…I’m done?

   Attorney Friedman: Yep.

   Tay: You’re done.

   Attorney Friedman: Totally done.

He’s done.

       The two BIG boys—if you can even call them that—chillin’ at the top of the climbing wall are wildly oblivious to the glares aimed at them from the actual children below.

   Who want to climb.

   “Justyce, you realize we look like grade-A creepers, right?”

   “Man, whatever. We’re chaperoning your brother’s party. What better lookout point is there than the highest spot in the park?”

   Quan shakes his head.

   And smiles.

   “I still can’t believe you’re here. It’s your spring break, man. You ’sposed to be on a beach somewhere, checkin’ out honey bunnies from behind the darkest sunglasses you can find.”

   “Now that is some creeper shit, dawg.”

   Quan laughs.

   “Real talk, though, that whole broke college student stereotype is legit,” Justyce continues.

   “Whoa now, man. You can’t be calling yourself broke around me if we’re gonna be friends. That shit’s a mind-set. And it’s contagious.”

   Justyce snorts. “You sound like Martel.”

   Which makes Quan’s heart pinch. And he bets Justyce can tell because his boy doesn’t say anything else.

       “You seen him recently?” Quan asks even though he shouldn’t.

   Justyce nods. “Yeah. Went over there to help DeMarcus with an essay Doc assigned him as soon as I got in. Even took Jared’s wack ass with me. You’d think he and Brad were long-lost brothers the way them fools be actin’.” He shakes his head.

   Quan sighs and looks off into the distance. Not too long after he got out, Justyce—aka Earth’s Worst Secret Keeper Ever—broke down and told him the bizarre-ass story behind the Exactum notice he got from Martel. Including the part where he volunteered Doc’s instructional services to the members of Martel’s organization.

   Doc, Justyce told him, took the whole thing in stride considering the stakes. But Doc made it clear to Justyce that Jus would be working for the tutoring service Doc founded and planned to expand. Without pay.

   Quan, though, does get paid. And paid well. Way better than he feels he deserves, but that’s another thing he’s learning. From Doc, not Martel: Don’t undervalue yourself by undervaluing your skill set.

   Doc also made Quan open up a checking account on his eighteenth birthday and taught him how to use checks even though the practice is basically obsolete. (Doc isn’t hip to instant money-transfer apps.) And Quan is still mailing a check to Martel’s home address every couple weeks to cover his debt—though oddly enough, not a single one has been cashed.

       “So they’re all doing well?” Quan asks without looking at Justyce.

   “Yeah, man. They are. Still…doing business. The way they were before. But learning and growing too. Your boy Trey recently found out he’s gonna be a dad.”