When I get home, I'm surprised to hear my parents' voices coming from the kitchen. My dad is never home from work this early.
"What do you mean, 'in police custody'?" my mom is asking.
"That's all they said. They called and told me that he's in police custody."
"He's practically eighty years old, for heaven's sake, on a trip with Sunshine Senior Living. What could he have done?"
"I don't know," Dad says. "You know he can get ornery sometimes."
"Are you talking about Grandpa?" I ask.
They both turn to stare at me. I guess I've got quiet feet, because they get this look like I've suddenly materialized in a puff of smoke. They look at each other, and my mom says, "Grandpa's in Atlantic City."
"He got arrested?"
"Well ..." stalls Dad.
"How did he get in trouble?" I ask. This is starting to sound really exciting.
"I don't know if he's in trouble, exactly ..." Dad says.
"You said he's in police custody, Matt," says my mom. "He has to be in some sort of trouble."
"All I know is that the police picked him up and took him to the station."
"Are they holding him for questioning?" I ask. That's what they do on TV—hold people for questioning.
"I highly doubt that," Mom says. "He didn't rob a bank."
"At least, we don't think so," Dad mutters, giving me a wink.
"Matt ..." Mom says in her warning tone.
"Are you going to spring him?" I ask. I've always wanted to spring someone from jail. I can see it now—the sleeping deputy, keychain dangling ...
"Nobody's going to spring anybody," says Mom. "It's not like they have him locked up down there."
"Well, you know," my dad says, " 'in police custody' pretty much means ..."
"You mean they have him behind bars?" My mom is looking pale.
"Of course not, sweetie. Can't you tell when I'm joking?"
I don't always know when someone's joking, but I thought my mom did.
"Matt, we've got to bring him home." Mom is going around the kitchen in fast motion, picking things up, stuffing them in drawers.
"I'll go down," Dad says. "I'll bring him back in the morning. You stay here with Joseph."
"Why can't I come?" I protest, even though I know the answer.
"Because it's the first week of school. Your father can handle it," Mom says, but she doesn't look all that confident, especially since my father is now scrolling down his cell phone calendar and loosening his tie, which is what he does when he's checking his sales appointments. My dad sells dental equipment. In fact, he's such a good dental equipment salesman, he's won an award called the Golden Crown three times.
"Matt!" Mom says. "My father is in prison!"
"Okay, okay," he says, putting down his cell. He picks up the car keys and dangles them in front of my mother. "I'm going, right now. I'll change and hit the road."
When Dad goes upstairs, Mom sits down at the table and rubs her forehead. "How was school?" she asks, in a halfhearted way.
I'm about to answer with my standard "Fine," but then I remember that there is actually something to tell her. "Charlie Kastner got knocked on his butt in gym."
"That's a good place for him," says my mother.
"By a girl," I add.
"Really!" she says. "Who?"
"I don't know her name," I say. "She's new. She's taller and faster than the boys."
"Wow. That can't be easy for her," she says. I'm not sure why.
"We were playing soccer," I tell her, "and Charlie would've crashed into me in about a second, but she caught him from behind and came to my—"
Mom cuts me off when my dad appears in jeans and a T-shirt. "Matt, you're going dressed like that?"
"You want me to wear a tuxedo?"
"Shouldn't you look more respectful?"
"I don't think they care, Sheila." He takes out his wallet and looks inside. "I don't have a lot of cash. If there's bail, do you think they take credit cards?"
"Bail?"
That sends my mom back into another nervous flurry and I head to my room. "Rescue," I say to myself, finishing the thought I started in the kitchen. "She came to my rescue."
After a few minutes, Dad comes to my door. "I'll see you tomorrow," he says. "Guess I'm off to save the day."
I get up and give him a hug. Rescue seems to be in the air. I sit on my bed and picture the scene from PE one more time—that girl coming down the field, her hair so wild, the way she sent Charlie flying and landing with a thud. It makes me smile.
