The cop came into the house without knocking. Not because we were having a wild party, (though he thought we might be). No, he came in because our cars were parked all over the neighborhood, in the snow covered streets blocking residents from getting to their homes. Reasonable enough.
The second thing he saw when he walked in the door was me sitting in a chair, in the living room. There was almost no one in the living room with me. Almost.
The first thing he saw, and the thing most men would notice first was Amy. He commanded me to go find the owner of the house, or at least someone that lived there. I didn’t budge. I didn’t budge because Amy was planted firmly on my lap. Why she was there, I wasn’t sure, but my sole mission at the moment was keeping her there. I mean this kind of thing didn’t happen to me every day. Amy looked at me, not budging either, almost daring me to get up. It was a test if ever there was a test. Although, to be honest, girl vs cop wasn’t that much of a test.
He commanded again. Again I didn’t budge. And then, as if he suddenly registered what he was up against, laughed and said “okay, just tell me where they are?”
I pointed towards the kitchen. “They’re in there sir.”
No reason not to be polite.
We were all underage but there was no alcohol on the premises. That was fortunate, because in a town that size the police knew everyone and would have ratted our host out to his parents.
The cop walked out of the kitchen, satisfied that we would clear the cars. For good measure he tossed an admonition over his shoulder to clean the place up before the parents came home. As he passed us by on the the way out the door he paused and shook his head, giving Amy and I a wry smile.
Amy got up right after he left.
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