"Vertical running! I'm vertical running!" Fat Amy shouted as she ran down the hallway, away from where Beca was currently standing with a piece of ICCA Regional Champions trophy in her hands.
The rest of the shiny candy apple red trophy was lying on the ground.
Outside. On the sidewalk. Beyond the shattered door.
The cop who was ticketing the double-parked Tonehangers "Scoobie Doo" Mystery Machine-wannabe van was easily torn from his task and started toward the foyer of the auditorium. Behind Beca, Tonehangers and Trebles scattered like cockroaches in the light in their haste to exit the premises.
Eight Bellas all stood in shock, staring at Beca as broken safety glass continued to fall from the door frame, hitting the concrete with tiny little crashing sounds. They jumped a little when the cop's boots crunched over the shards as he entered, unnecessarily opening the busted door to do so.
He stomped straight up to Beca and towered over her. "You want to explain what happened here, missy?" he demanded.
"Missy?!" she retorted, her eyes wide in amazement. "What is this, 1960?"
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The backseat of a police cruiser was not at ALL what Beca expected. Rather bare-bones in design, vinyl seats, a nice metal ring right in the middle to hook those attractive handcuffs to, plastic floor covering, evidently to keep urine and other bodily fluids from soaking into the carpet if the smell was any indication.
"Well," she muttered to herself, "Dear old Dad wanted me to get out there and have 'experiences'." Even handcuffed behind her back, her fingers still subconsciously made the snarky air-quotes. "I think this qualifies…"
The cop pulled away from the auditorium abruptly, knocking an unbalanced Beca onto her side, face first into the less-than-pleasant-smelling vinyl upholstery.
Slightly gratifying, however, was the fact that her last vision of the East Carolina University Performing Arts Center included all the Bellas, even Amy, standing on the sidewalk watching in various stages of concern as Beca was hauled off to slammer…
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Fresh air.
She shoved the door open, hurriedly stepped outside and took a deep, lung-bursting breath of fresh, clean, sweet air, trying hard to get the smell of disinfectant, weed and body odor out of her nostrils. Well, that and what was surely several gallons of Shalimar perfume hanging heavy in the holding cell she shared with a dozen other women of questionable repute. Not that she was of questionable repute but the other wome- she shook her head, this is what being in jail does to a person…
Just outside the door, in all her flight attendant uniform under a lightweight jacket glory, red hair released from its earlier twist and falling in waves over her shoulders, was Chloe; sweet, fun, bubbly, gorgeous Chloe, holding Beca's things in her arms as she waited for the DJ to be released.
Beca rubbed at her sore, bruised wrists as she moved to the redhead's side. "Thanks for bailing me out, Chloe," she muttered, more than a little embarrassed by what happened. "I'll pay you back as soon as I can."
Chloe waved a hand dismissively. "Don't worry about it, we took up a collection."
"You did? And people actually gave you money when you told them what it was for?"
"Actually, most of it came from the Tonehanger's CD sales."
"The Tonehangers? Really?"
"Well, to be honest, they took off so fast to avoid being arrested they left everything behind. Lily picked their lockbox pretty cleanly."
