An English Boy in New York by T. S. Easton Page B

nothing else. They even took my shoes and belt. They’ll send me to Gitmo, I know it.
    Here’s how it happened. After the plane landed, we all shuffled out into the terminal and queued up for Immigration Control. I was a little worried about Gex. He doesn’t actually have a criminal record thankfully, as the moped incident in Holland and Barrett happened when he was only fifteen. Then he got off with a caution after the Martini Rosso thing. But US immigration is notoriously thorough, and Gex, who was well ahead of me in the queue, has a tendency to lie just for the hell of it.
    I stood on my tiptoes and tried to see him. I could see Dad, but not Gex. Had they already taken him off to a quiet room? A man in a dark suit and an earpiece stood to one side and watched me carefully. I realised I was probably acting suspiciously and made myself look casual and stop peering ahead.
    Dermot O’Leary’s voice-over started again. ‘Tension is high at JFK Airport. If Gex is considered to be an Undesirable Element and refused entry to the country, Ben might face a difficult choice.’
    Mum was beside me, making her passport disappear and re-appear. Then she started making my passport disappear. One minute it was in my hand, then it was gone and I was holding a red silk handkerchief.
    â€˜Stop!’ I hissed. ‘You’ll probably get arrested.’
    â€˜Sorry,’ she said. She reached behind my ear, pulled out a ten-dollar bill and gave it to me.
    The man in the dark suit had now transferred his attention to my mother. He was frowning, his hand hovering over his walkie-talkie thing.
    Mum gave him her winning innocent smile, though, and he nodded amiably.
    I rolled my eyes.
    â€˜How are you feeling?’ she asked me.
    â€˜Anxious,’ I replied, looking for Gex again.
    â€˜Just relax, Ben,’ she said. ‘Enjoy yourself, OK?’
    Then I saw him, he was at the booth showing the man his passport. The officer asked him a question. Gex replied and the officer stared at him, disbelieving.
    But then the man gave Gex his passport back and waved him through.
    â€˜Now I can relax,’ I said as I was called up.
    I smiled as I gave the officer my passport and immigration card. He looked like a proper New Yorker, stocky and slightly grizzled. He had a great hat with shiny silver badges. Behind and to one side were cops wearing holsters with guns.
    The man scanned my passport and stopped, looking at the screen.
    â€˜You have a criminal record,’ he said.
    Suddenly I felt nervous. I saw Mum walk through the booth next to me, the lady officer there basically just waved her through.
    â€˜I’m on probation,’ I said. ‘Ms Gunter sorted it all out.’
    He looked at me, unsmiling. ‘Ms Gunter?’
    â€˜She’s my probation officer. She said she was going to sort it out with the Home Office.’
    â€˜Listen, kid,’ he said. ‘Criminals are not allowed in this country.’
    I laughed (first mistake). ‘I’m not really a criminal,’ I said. ‘I mean, technically I stole something, but –’ (second mistake). I stopped abruptly at his stern expression.
    â€˜You think this is funny, kid?’ he asked, getting to his feet.
    â€˜That came out all wrong,’ I said, flustered. ‘It was really just a big misunderstanding. I like knitting now.’
    (Third mistake.)
    What a mess. I’d been so busy worrying about Gex I’d forgotten to worry about my own situation. How am I supposed to keep up with all the things I have to worry about?
    â€˜I think we need to ask you a few questions, young man,’ the officer said. He stepped out of his booth, and gestured to me to stand aside. ‘If you don’t mind?’
    And then another officer arrived and asked me to come with him and everything went blurry and they took my shoes and my belt and gave me a Styrofoam cup of water and left me here in this cell. If I was