100 Proof Stud (The Darcy Walker Series) by A. J. Lape

strike.
    Can we just say, Ba-da-bing, ba-da-boom , problem solved?
    As soon as Coach’s folder was in my possession, I wondered how I’d get the time to pore over it before school ended. Now the sub had given me carte blanche to do as I pleased. My plan was to look at it, memorize the details, and return it while it still fell under the auspices that I’d “borrowed” it.
    When I clued-in her mind was elsewhere, I opened the file and grouped students by grade, offense, and time they’d actually spent at the county jail. Believe it or not, his file had an asterisk by those that’d been in the Mack County Juvenile System.
    God love the organized people. Made my job easier.
    I narrowed the list down to two, possibly three. All three had theft on their list of offenses as well as credit card offenses. Number one was Slapstick Wilson. Wilson reminded me of Hercules, so huge it’s like his momma fed him steroids in his baby bottle. He stood around six and a half feet tall, and for a boy who was still a teenager, that height was on a plane of bizarre you didn’t see often. His black hair was thick and fell at his shoulders, pushing the limit of what the school deemed acceptable. His hazel eyes were deep-set with a crooked line on a nose that’d been broken, but it didn’t detract from an otherwise appealing face. Slapstick was hiding one fine-looking body by not having the outer package society said made your marketable.
    I’d heard the same thing about me (via Ivy) , I laughed to myself.
    According to the file, one felony offense was stealing his neighbor’s wallet two years ago and going on a spending spree at the grocery store. The judge let him off easy with community service because the neighbor ultimately didn’t want him to see time. Other offenses were misdemeanors like vandalism and disorderly conduct on the Fourth of July. Misdemeanors normally didn’t carry jail time, but there was another felony offense listed of carrying a knife in public. My guess was the judge wanted to send him a message because the charge involved a deadly weapon. As a result, Slapstick did a short stint in juvie this past summer.
    Potential number two was Damon Whitehead. Once again, a felony offense of burglary and check forgery (he stole his uncle’s check card and bought a bicycle). Listed as a senior, Damon’s file said he’d endured several broken bones in foster homes, but they weren’t attributed to abuse. Not at least to what had been proven or what he’d admit. Whitehead was like a circus carnie, literally running along rooftops and performing death-defying feats for the heck of it. Sometimes he made it; sometimes he didn’t. He’d been in Juvenile Detention for vandalism and smoking marijuana…in Target, I might add.
    Sort of impressive.
    Now came prospect number three. Coach had spilled coffee on the lower half of the paper that listed his name. As a result, I had to peel it from the sheet in front of it, which unfortunately left his jawline murky. Because of the obscured photograph, my memory meter registered zero; he didn’t look familiar. His right eye was swollen shut, but darkness still resided in his gaze. Something was gone inside. Snuffed out too soon, perhaps. Like the others, he had the common thread of theft. He didn’t look exactly the same as the photo Tito faxed Rookie—this guy had dirty blond hair—but the beating he took made it impossible to tell for sure. I blew out a sigh. This made Where’s Waldo? look easy.
    I closed the file and thanked the Milky Way Murphy was a clean-living man who came home each night. All of us had problems, but this file told me these three lived with a different set of circumstances than I did. Perhaps it was who they were, no matter their surroundings. Or perhaps they gave up and simply walked in the world they’d been born into. I’d learned the fine art of selective blindness when I was a child too. It was easy to shield your eyes from the painful if it was a