Ridiculous, I chastise myself. You are being ridiculous.
When you live as I do, you cannot indulge in jealousy. If you do, it will rip you apart.
Third period is band class. I tell the teacher that I left my clarinet at home, even though it’s in my locker. Leslie gets marked down and has to take the class as a study hall, but I don’t care.
I don’t know how to play the clarinet.
Word about Carrie and Corey travels fast. All of our friends are talking about it, and mostly they’re pleased. I can’t tell, though, whether they’re pleased because it’s a perfect match or because now Carrie will shut up about it.
When I see Corey at lunchtime, I am unsurprised by how unremarkable he is. People are rarely as attractive in reality as they are in the eyes of the people who are in love with them. Which is, I suppose, as it should be. It’s almost heartening to think that the attachment you have can define your perception as much as any other influence.
Corey comes over at lunch to say hi, but he doesn’t stay to eat with us, even though we make room for him at our table. Carrie doesn’t seem to notice this; she’s just giddy that he’s come by, that she didn’t dream the whole IM exchange, that chatting has escalated into speaking … and who knows what will happen next? As I suspected, Leslie does not move in a fast crowd. These girls are thinking of kissing, not sex. The lips are the gates of their desire.
I want to run away again, to skip the second half of the day.
But it wouldn’t be right, without her.
It feels like I am wasting time. I mean, that’s always the case. My life doesn’t add up to anything.
Except, for an afternoon, it did.
Yesterday is another world. I want to go back there.
Early sixth period, right after lunch, my brother is called down to the principal’s office.
At first I think I may have heard it wrong. But then I see other people in class looking at me, including Carrie, who has pity in her eyes. So I must have heard it right.
I am not alarmed. I figure if it was something really bad, they would have called us both. Nobody in my family has died. Our house hasn’t burned down. It’s Owen’s business, not mine.
Carrie sends me a note. What happened?
I send a shrug in her direction. How am I supposed to know?
I just hope I haven’t lost my ride home.
Sixth period ends. I gather my books and head to English class. The book is Beowulf, so I’m completely prepared. I’ve done this unit plenty of times.
I’m about ten steps away from the classroom when someone grabs me.
I turn, and there’s Owen.
Owen, bleeding.
“Shh,” he says. “Just come with me.”
“What happened?” I ask.
“Just shh, okay?”
He’s looking around like he’s being chased. I decide to go along. After all, this is more exciting than Beowulf.
We get to a supply closet. He motions me in.
“Are you kidding me?” I say.
“Leslie.”
There’s no arguing. I follow him in. I find the light switch easily.
He’s breathing hard. For a moment, he doesn’t say anything.
“Tell me what happened,” I say.
“I think I might be in trouble.”
“Duh. I heard you called to the principal’s office. Why aren’t you down there?”
“I was down there. I mean, before the announcement. But then I … left.”
“You bolted from the principal’s office?”
“Yeah. Well, the waiting room. They went to check my locker. I’m sure of it.”
The blood is coming from a cut above his eye.
“Who hit you?” I ask.
“It doesn’t matter. Just shut up and listen to me, okay?”
“I’m listening, but you’re not saying anything!”
I don’t think Leslie usually talks back to her older brother. But I don’t care. He isn’t really paying attention to me, anyway.
“They’re going to call home, okay? I need you to back me up.” He hands me his keys. “Just go home after school and see what the situation is. I’ll call you.”
Luckily, I know how to drive.
When I don’t argue, he takes it as acquiescence.
“Thanks,” he tells me.
“Are you going to the principal’s office now?” I ask him.
He leaves without an answer.
Carrie has the news by the end of the day. Whether it’s the truth doesn’t really matter. It’s the news that’s going around, and she’s eager to report it to me.
“Your brother and Josh Wolf got into a fight out by the field, during lunch. They’re saying it had to do with drugs, and that your brother is a dealer or something. I mean, I knew he was into pot and everything, but I had no idea he dealt. He and Josh were dragged down to the principal’s office, but Owen decided to run. Can you believe it? They were paging him to come back. But I don’t think he did.”
“Who’d you hear it from?” I ask. She’s giddy with excitement.
“From Corey! He wasn’t out there, but some of the guys he hangs out with saw the fight and everything.”
I see now that the fact that Corey told her is the bigger news here. She’s not so selfish that she wants me to congratulate her, not with my brother in trouble. But it’s clear what her priority is.
“I’ve got to drive home,” I say.
“Do you want me to come with you?” Carrie asks. “I don’t want you to have to walk in there alone.”
For a second, I’m tempted. But then I imagine her giving Corey the blow-by-blow account of what went down, and even if that’s not a fair assumption to make, it’s enough to make me realize I don’t want her there.
“It’s okay,” I say. “If anything, this is really going to make me look like the good daughter.”
Carrie laughs, but more out of support than humor.
“Tell Corey I say hi,” I say playfully as I close my locker.
She laughs again. This time, out of happiness.
“Where is he?”
I haven’t even stepped through the kitchen door and the interrogation begins.
Leslie’s mother, father, and grandmother are all there, and I don’t need to access her mind to know this is an unusual occurrence at three in the afternoon.
“I have no idea,” I say. I’m glad he didn’t tell me; this way, I don’t have to lie.
“What do you mean, you have no idea?” my father asks. He’s the lead inquisitor in this family.
“I mean, I have no idea. He gave me the keys to the car, but he wouldn’t tell me what was going on.”
“And you let him walk away?”
“I didn’t see any police chasing after him,” I say. Then I wonder if there are, in fact, police chasing after him.
My grandmother snorts in disgust.
“You always take his side,” my father intones. “But not this time. This time you are going to tell us everything.”
He doesn’t realize he’s just helped me. Now I know that Leslie always takes Owen’s side. So my instinct is correct.
“You probably know more than I do,” I say.
“Why would your brother and Josh Wolf have a fight?” my mother asks, genuinely bewildered. “They’re such good friends!”
My mental image of Josh Wolf is of a ten-year-old, leading me to believe that at one point, my brother probably was good friends with Josh Wolf. But not anymore.
“Sit down,” my father commands, pointing to a kitchen chair.
I sit down.
“Now … where is he?”
“I genuinely don’t know.”
“She’s telling the truth,” my mother says. “I can tell when she’s lying.”
Even though I have way too many control issues to do drugs myself, I am starting to get a sense of why Owen likes to get stoned.
“Well, let me ask this, then,” my father continues. “Is your brother a drug dealer?”
This is a very good question. My instinct is no. But a lot depends on what happened on the field with Josh Wolf.
So I don’t answer. I just stare.
“Josh Wolf says the drugs in his jacket were sold to him by your brother,” my father prods. “Are you saying they weren’t?”
“Did they find any drugs on Owen?” I ask.
“No,” my mother answers.
“And in his locker? Didn’t they search his locker?”
My mother shakes her head.
“And in his room? Did you find any in his room?”
My mother actually looks surprised.
“I know you looked in his room,” I say.
“We haven’t found anything,” my father answers. “Yet. And we also need to take a look in that car. So if you will please give me the keys …”
I am hoping that Owen was smart enough to clear out the car. Either way, it’s not up to me. I hand over the keys.
Unbelievably, they’ve searched my room, too.
“I’m sorry,” my mother says from the hallway, tears in her eyes now. “He thought your brother might have hidden the drugs in here. Without you knowing.”
“It’s fine,” I say, more to get her out of the room than anything else. “I’m just going to clean up now.”
But I’m not quick enough. My phone rings. I hold it so my mom can’t see Owen’s name on the display.
“Hi, Carrie,” I say.
Owen is at least smart enough to keep his voice down so it won’t be overheard.
“Are they mad?” he whispers.
I want to laugh. “What do you think?”
“That bad?”
“They’ve ransacked his room, but they haven’t found anything. They’re looking in his car now!”
“Don’t tell her that!” my mother says. “Get off the phone.”
“Sorry—Mom’s here, and not happy about me talking to you about this. Where are you? Are you at home? Can I call you back?”
“I don’t know what to do.”
“Yeah, he really does have to come home eventually, doesn’t he?”
“Look … meet me in a half hour at the playground, okay?”
“I really have to go. But, yes, I’ll do that.”
I hang up. My mother is still looking at me.
“I’m not the one you’re mad at!” I remind her.
Poor Leslie will have to clean up the mess in her room tomorrow morning—I can’t be bothered to figure out where everything goes. That would take too much accessing, and the priority is finding out which playground Owen means. There’s one at an elementary school about four blocks from the house. I assume that’s the place.
It’s not easy to sneak out of the house. I wait until the three of them return to Owen’s room to tear it apart again, then skulk out the back door. I know this is a risky maneuver—the minute they realize I’m gone, there will be hell to pay. But if Owen comes back with me, that’ll all be forgotten.
I know I should be focusing on the matter at hand, but I can’t help but think of Rhiannon. School’s now over for her, too. Is she hanging out with Justin? If so, is he treating her well? Did anything about yesterday rub off on him?
I hope, but never expect.
Owen’s nowhere to be found, so I head to the swings and hang in the air for a while. Eventually he appears on the sidewalk and heads over to me.
“You always pick that swing,” he says, sitting down on the swing next to mine.
“I do?” I say.
“Yeah.”
I wait for him to say something else. He doesn’t.
“Owen,” I finally say. “What happened?”
He shakes his head. He’s not going to tell me.