A Work of Art Read Online Free PDF Page B

alone.
    That day after my dad’s arrest, the bathroom seemed colder, lonelier. I flipped open my phone and punched in the number for the jail. If Mr. Stewart wouldn’t go to the bail bondsman, I’d have to find someone else.
    I gave the woman on the phone my dad’s booking number. “He was supposed to see the judge this morning.” My voice echoed in the stillness of the bathroom. “I need to find out how much his bond is.”
    â€œGive me one minute.”
    I waited. This was a different woman from yesterday. This woman already sounded impatient.
    â€œOkay, here it is. He was arraigned this morning.” Computer keys clacked. “No bond.”
    A chill crawled up my arms. “What did you say?”
    â€œTimothy H. Waters. It says right here, bond was denied.”
    â€œSo I can’t bail him out? That can’t be right. Why would the judge do that?”
    â€œLots of reasons. He could be a flight risk. He could be a threat to civilians. But I don’t know. If I knew, I’d have a bigger paycheck.”
    â€œBut . . .” I tried to focus through a spreading haze. “I don’t even know where he is, how to talk to him.”
    Her voice softened. “As of this morning, he’s been moved to county. To the Samuel L. Mast facility. Here’s the address.”
    I wrote it down. As long as I wrote, I didn’t have to think.
    â€œAnd here’s the website.” She rattled it off. “You can check it for visiting hours.”
    Easier said than done, since the police had my laptop. “What about a lawyer?” I asked. “Won’t he get a lawyer?”
    â€œThe court appointed him counsel. You want the name? The counsel probably won’t talk to you.”
    â€œWhy wouldn’t he talk to me?” But she didn’t answer, just gave me the lawyer’s name and number. She told me to have a nice day and hung up, and I leaned against the wall and stared at what I’d written.
    For a few seconds, I couldn’t move, couldn’t think. Then the lawyer’s number came into focus and I remembered Mom saying something about letting Dad’s lawyer handle it. The lawyer would know what to do. I dialed the number, but an automated system kicked me over to his voice mail.
    â€œYou’ve reached Chase Hardy. Leave a brief message and a number where you can be reached.”
    â€œUm.” I stumbled over my words. I should have planned what to say. “My name’s Tera Waters. I’m the daughter of Timothy Waters. Who I guess you’re helping? It’s really important that you call me back because I think I know why he got arrested. I’m pretty sure it’s my fault, so if you could call me back and tell me what’s going on, I’d really appreciate it. I think I can help him.” And then I left my number.
    The bell rang. Lunch was over.
    At the locker beside mine, Ian Walker cursed and pulled on his combination lock. It didn’t open.
    â€œIt’s fifteen, twenty-five, three,” I reminded him. Our lockers had been beside each other’s since freshman year, and he was always forgetting his combination.
    â€œThanks.”
    I felt his eyes on me as I dialed my own combination. I glanced over. Did he know?
    He tried to smile, but it came out looking sad. “There’s something you should see,” he said.
    â€œWhat is it?”
    â€œSomeone posted about you on the school forum. I don’t even know who did it.”
    At first, I let myself hope that it had nothing to do with my dad. Maybe Mr. Stewart had made some announcement about my scholarship to the Paris Art Institute. I’d beat out hundreds of other applicants, so it was a pretty big deal.
    But that had happened months ago. He wouldn’t be posting about it now. This had to be about Dad.
    â€œCan you show me?” I asked, already dreading what I’d see.
    Ian pulled up the forum on his phone and