“It’s okay,” I said.
I wanted him to believe me.
Harlan looked at the pavilion.
“You have amplified music, open food, and unauthorized gathering activity.”
My sister Maya held up her phone.
“The permit says we can have music until six.”
Harlan did not look at it.
Voss kicked a cooler with his boot.
Soda cans burst out, rolling across the concrete and spraying orange and grape across the floor.
A mother gasped.
“Why would you do that?”
Voss shrugged.
“Obstruction.”
“There was a cooler in the walkway.”
There was no walkway.
There was only a child’s birthday party.
Delgado grabbed a bunch of balloons and let them go.
The little kids watched them disappear into the sky.
Then he shoved the edge of the cake table while walking by.
Maybe he meant to bump it.
Maybe he meant to scare us.
Either way, the cake slid.
Tyrell reached for it.
“Don’t!” I shouted.
The cake tipped over and hit the ground frosting-first.
The sound was soft.
The silence afterward was not.
Tyrell stared at it.
His eyes filled before he made a sound.
Then his face crumpled.
Something inside me moved like a storm.
I wanted to shout.
I wanted to demand badge numbers.
I wanted to ask what kind of grown person destroys a child’s cake and still sleeps at night.
Instead, I breathed.
Eight months of swallowing anger had trained me for this moment.
“Lieutenant,” I said carefully.
“Why are you doing this in front of children?”
Harlan stepped close enough that I could smell mint gum.
“Because I can.”
Then she slapped the permit folder out of my hand.
Papers flew across the pavilion.
One sheet slid into spilled soda.
Another landed beside Tyrell’s ruined cake.
Phones came up.
Parents shouted.
My aunt Denise cried, “This is wrong!”
Harlan grabbed my wrist.
“You’re resisting.”
“I’m not resisting.”
“You’re making this difficult.”
“I’m standing still.”
