I sit on one of those hard plastic chairs, probably purchased for ten dollars, as I switch off chewing on a fingernail and twirling a loose piece of hair that has fallen from my braid.  My leg begins to shake, I barely ever leave campus let alone come to New York City and now here I am in the police department!  I put in my earbuds and play some classic rock to calm my nerves.  I move my head in little circles and allow my eyes to wander the room.  I have never been in a police department before, the walls, sparse and uninviting, are accompanied by frigid air.  No wonder no one likes it here.  I spy a secretary getting frustrated with a crazy picked up off the street who has started to dance for everyone in the waiting room.  A grin gently crosses my face and I feel my leg begin to still.  I look down at the yellow folder that sits on my lap, the color now looks obnoxious in comparison to the color scheme of the rest of the room, I pick at one of the edges and feel fibers come loose.  When I look up everyone’s eyes are on me!  Heat rises to my face as if a it were a sky full of red hot air balloons.  I hate when attention is on me.  Embarrassed, I slowly take out an earbud and hear and see the secretary pointing and saying, “Ms. Briar Scott?  Ms. Scott please gather your things Detective Holtz will see you now, gather your things quickly please.”  I nod my head, too shy and too sheepish to form words.  I swing my bag over my shoulder and pick up my folder as I stumble down a narrow hallway with doors on each side.  I jump at the sound of an inmate wrestling with a guard, unfazed, the secretary says, “This way Ms. Scott.”  She opens the door to a small, rectangular room.  A large wooden desk takes up most of the space and harsh fluorescent lights beam down on a man wearing a white button up shirt with the top three buttons undone.  He looks tired and frustrated and far from patient to talk to me.  “You have ten minutes.”  He says very monotone.  “Hello sir and thank you for meeting with me”  My voice shakes and I nervously tuck a piece of my hair behind my ear as I clear my throat, “My Name is Briar Scott, I’m a senior journalism student at Syracuse University.”  He blinks. “For my senior assessment I am to investigate and make a report on a real crime that has taken place.  I have chosen to look into the robbery that took place on 3rd and Washington at the Bank of America last weekend.”  I can tell I’m talking too fast because I have to pause to catch my breath.  Detective Holtz raises his eyebrows as if to say, “Why are you here?” 
“I came here because I was wondering if you possess any information that wasn’t released to the press?”
“You're an overachiever aren't you Briar?” he says with a chuckle. 
“Yes sir.”  His chuckle stops. 
“It was a rhetorical question.”
“Oh.”
I can tell he’s not taking me seriously and I remove my glasses and roll my shoulders back with the attempt to look older.  When he says, “Ms. Scott I don’t have time for child’s play, I have a job to do and there’s no information I can release to you until it’s proven to be substantial evidence. Even if I did have information, I wouldn’t give it to a little girl who wears glasses bigger than the whole circumference of her head.”
Detective Holtz pushes himself up from his rotating chair and briskly moves past me as he excuses himself from his office.  I sit bewildered and offended.  As I contemplate whether or not to leave I spot a mirror on the wall.  I inspect my face, pushing and pulling my features, why have I been cursed with this baby face and why can’t anyone take me seriously!  I let out a breath of frustrated air.  I need to ace this report, but how?  I don’t have any leads that no one already knows about.   My eyes trace the room in search of answers and they land on a tall, sleek, black file cabinet labeled “Confidential”.  I bite my lip.  Tempted to search for answers within it, my hands get clammy at the thought.  I keep darting my eyes to the door, already feeling guilt at the thought of doing such a thing.  I can hear my heart pounding as blood rushes to my head and my stomach doing flip flops that land in knots.  Something inside of me pushes me to my feet and I run to the file cabinet.  The metal feels frozen against my hot and sweaty fingers.  I begin to look frantically through the drawer labeled “A-B”  for “Bank Robbery”  I have never had so much adrenaline running through my body before.  I can only imagine how illegal this is.  I find the file!   I open it up, scanning the pages that reiterate what I already know until I get to a bright pink sticky note with a video number and password on it.  My eyes dart to the computer that rests on Detective Holtz’s desk and then to the door.  I wonder how much time has passed since he’s been gone.  I rush to the computer and enter the video number in the “Help” downbar.  A password login pops up and I enter the numbers scribbled on the sticky note.  With success a video opens.  I click play with my eyes darting to the door and then to the clock.  He must be coming back soon.  The video is footage from the bank, I skip to the end knowing I don’t have much time.  The security camera used in the footage is focused on the bank lobby, the subject is not in sight.  All I see are flowers sitting on a large, marble counter top with a mirror above it.  I rewind hoping to gather any clues that would make my report stand out, but there is nothing. I return to my feet, a bit shaky, and catch my face in the mirror again. You can see the embarrassment embedded in my round, green eyes, thinking I could find something the police didn’t.  I allow my index finger to trace the frame the mirror lies in.  The mirror!  I log back into the computer and I know I’m pushing my luck with time, but I have to trust my conscious.  I skip to the end of the footage again with my eyes glued to the mirror that sits above the counter top in the lobby.  This time I see a figure.  I zoom into the footage to get a better look and I can see someone getting into a taxi.  That somebody is wearing a grey hoodie just like the suspect!  A smile creeps across my face, devious, but also proud, I snap a picture of the taxi number with my iphone, shut down the computer, and walk swiftly out of the police department, beads of sweat gathered all around my body, on the contrary, my mouth is as dry as a desert.
The cool New York breeze greets my face with kisses as I run to the taxi station located across the street.  I cannot believe what I have done, but I know I can’t stop now.  I run to the man at the front desk who seems distracted by the TV.  I introduce myself as “Briar Scott, reporter for the New York times.”  He automatically takes me seriously and I am proud of my white lie.  I tell him I’m looking for the credit card history of taxi, “8765920 from March 21st at approximately 3:25 PM” I hope he doesn’t hear the fear in my voice and apparently he doesn’t because he enters the number on his computer and says, “Here you go.”  I am shocked, but thankful for his lack of suspicion as he returns to watching Gilmore Girls and eating his cheesy puffs snacks.  I look at the screen and nearly faint at the sight of a name on the screen, “Gerald Smalls”  The name sits on a chart next to his credit card information used to pay for the taxi ride and where he was picked up and dropped off.  He was picked up at 3rd and Washington, where the robbery took place, and dropped off at an address in Brooklyn.  I take out my iphone and open the facebook app to search the name.  A Gerald Smalls from Brooklyn New York pops up and his picture matches the subject description perfectly.  I run out of the Taxi Station and lean against a cold brick wall outside.  I have solved the robbery.  I know who did it.  I am going to get an A on my senior assessment!  I know who robbed the Bank of America and the police don’t!  I have to tell the police.
Palms sweaty, heart racing, I run back across the street to the front steps of the police department I was at five minutes prior to this moment.  I begin to climb the stairs as I break into tears and sink down to meet my own feet.  Memories of what I did in Detective Holtz’s office flood my mind.  Turning in one criminal could make me become a criminal myself.  I feel like I am going to pass out from the weight of the decision I now have to make and then I remember what Detective Holtz said to me, “I don’t have time for child’s play.”  Well guess what Holtzy, this “child” just solved the Bank of America robbery!  Regardless of my offense taken from Detective Holtz, if I don’t tell the police, Gerald Smalls may never have to pay for what he did.  But yet again, if I leave now and ignore the guilt of looking through confidential files and I can still turn in my report without the details of actually solving the crime.  I sit weighing my options.  I have worked too hard the past four years to not graduate. 
I stand up, roll my shoulders back and take my hair out of its braid.  I walk confidently away from the Police Department and hail a taxi.  Sitting in the cab, looking at all of the people passing by in a blur, I think to myself, “No one has to know.”