Over the End Line (21 page)

"I know what you did."

"What are you talking about?" he said.

"I know what you did last Saturday night."

"At the circle?" he said. "I drank too much, sure. Got a little loud, definitely. But I didn't
do
anything."

"Don't bullshit me," I said.

"I'm not."

"We've been friends a long time, Kyle."

"Yeah, and friends don't accuse each other, out of nowhere."

I shook my head. "But you're lying."

"For the sake of playing this little game of yours, let's just say I am lying. How would you know?"

"I saw," I said. "I was there."

"Where?"

"In the woods."

The color in Kyle's face disappeared and his shoulders sank. He picked up a pebble and threw it at the gutter. Then he picked up another. And another. Rapid fire. And each time he seemed to be venting more and more frustration, until, finally, he stopped.

"I didn't touch her, Jonny," he said. "I stopped before anything happened."

I stood up. "This was
Annalisa.
You knew how much I liked her."

"We had that bet," he said. "She was off-limits anyway."

"Fuck you, Kyle. You knew. And you still did that."

"It was Maako, not me."

"Stop lying!"

"You were drunk out of your mind, right?" Kyle said. "You must've been. Everyone at the circle was. And it was dark as hell in the woods, right? You could barely see a few yards ahead. With all that, you're gonna trust that you saw something happen, when I'm telling you it didn't?"

"You
hurt
her," I said.

"It was a mistake."

"It was more than a mistake."

Kyle shook his head. "Don't you think I realize that? You have no idea how it's killing me inside. I throw up everything I eat. I can't sleep at night. School's a complete waste."

"You seem fine during games," I said.

Kyle ignored me. "I can't keep a thought in my head. I feel like I'm going outta my mind." He glanced back at his house. "A few nights ago, I wake up suddenly. I thought I saw someone in the corner of my room. I look at the clock and it's like two thirty-one. I look back and whoever was there is gone."

"I have no pity for you."

"If I could do it over, Jonny, I would. But I can't."

"So, what're you gonna do now, Kyle?"

He looked at me. "What're
you
gonna do?"

"I don't know," I said.

"My life hangs in the balance, Jonny. The rest of senior year. Getting into college. Playing soccer ever again ... This is my life we're talking about. My
life.
"

We sat there, not saying a word, not looking at each other. Some time passed. Then Kyle said, "Remember in sixth grade when we were gonna see who could bat a golf ball over Ol' Man Leonard's house?"

I looked at him. "Why're you bringing this up?"

"You remember, right?"

"I guess."

Kyle had gone into his garage to find more golf balls. In a rush to be first, I hit a line drive right that shattered Mr. Leonard's dining room window. Before Kyle came back out, I ran across the street and hid behind some bushes. Within moments, Mr. Leonard burst out of his house, his face beet red. He yelled at Kyle, "Who did this?

Did you do this?"

"I never said a word, Jonny," Kyle said. "Maybe you should've."

"There was no reason to tell him—or anyone—you did it. Can't unbreak a broken window, right?"

"What's your point?"

"I took a beating for that, you know," Kyle said. "Later, Ol' Man Leonard banged on our front door. Told my dad I was the one who broke his six-hundred-dollar window and that I'd lied about it. Ol' Man Leonard wouldn't leave until my dad assured him I'd be punished. And punished I was, Jonny. Dad knocked me around a bit. Made me quit Little League. Asked what the hell was I hitting golf balls at houses for? Why didn't I tell the truth about breaking the window?"

I don't remember any of that," I said.

"Memories are tricky," Kyle said. "But no matter how you see it, Jonny, just like the time we busted up those mailboxes and dumped them in the pond, I took one for you."

"You didn't have to."

"I didn't think about whether I had to or not," he said. "We're best friends."

"But you didn't have to."

"Saved us from spending all our snow-shoveling money on some stupid window, right? Best friends protect each other, Jonny. Don't turn on me now."

"So I should just forget what I saw?"

"You said it before; we've been best friends a long time."

"Maybe too long."

Kyle's face turned hard. "You mean that? Do you?"

I didn't answer.

"Fine," Kyle said. He stood up. "We're done, Jonny. We'll go our separate ways. Do what you want. I'll deal with all this shit on my own. But don't come crawling back to me when you find yourself back in the same place at school. You know what I'm talking about. Go back to being an Abigail Blonski. You had a view from the top. I guess you couldn't handle it."

It was after midnight. I lay in bed for hours, thinking about whether Kyle had been right. Was I bailing on him? He had brought up an obscure incident in the past, but I remembered others well enough. Times when Kyle protected me, or I protected him, or when we both lied to avoid getting caught. Considering our years of friendship, how much of my loyalty did Kyle deserve?

Maybe it was best to let life move on. In a way, that's what Short Hills was about. Immense houses, buffered by huge lawns, hidden behind walls of trees and shrubs—the stiff upper lip revealing little to the outside world. Let time pass. Let memories fade. Let reputation mask any sordid occurrences that might be hiding just under the surface.

But that didn't feel right.

In truth, it seemed entirely wrong to lie comfortably under flannel sheets and a wool blanket, sheltered in this bedroom, in this house. Maybe I needed to spend time on my back sprawled out in the woods, half clothed, the late-fall wind blowing through me, with what was left of my senses scrambling to comprehend what was happening. Maybe—

I ripped the sheets and blanket off and sat up. Of all the hundreds of towns in New Jersey, why the hell did the Giannis move to Short Hills? Why not Summit? Or Springfield? Or Maplewood? Then maybe I could've somehow met her at a store in a mall. And I could have known her away from Trinity and Stephanie. Away from the circle. Away from Maako and Kyle.

And then none of this would have happened.

***

I stood in the attic.

The storm had arrived. Heavy raindrops drummed the slanted roof above me. The air reeked of pine. I hated the smell. I could taste it in my mouth when I breathed in. It made me gag. With each quickening heartbeat, I felt a rush of blood spread throughout my naked body, down my arms and legs to the ends of my fingers and toes.

It was cold.

I
wanted
it cold.

Had the lightbulb above me been on, my breath would've been visible and my immersion in darkness would've been broken, and I would've shivered. But I kept my eyes shut and the light stayed off and I did not recognize the chill, so I did not feel it.

Time passed, until I could finally let my mind go...

I was at a playground.

A child, alone.

Out of a light mist, I walked up to a small carousel. It had once been cherry red, but after years of sun and rain and snow, the paint had faded to a dull crimson. I put my hand on the rail and pushed hard, running in a tight circle until I couldn't possibly go any faster. Then I leaped forward onto the spinning platform, feeling its invisible force try to throw me off. But I held on, until it eventually came to a stop.

Then I ran to a nearby slide. As I climbed the ladder, I heard a voice, sweet and reassuring.

"Jonathan..."

I peeked over the top.

There was a little girl standing in a halo of light. I climbed down the ladder and stepped toward her. Slowly, at first. Then I ran, but she wasn't any closer.

She called out to me, again. "Jonathan..."

I kept going until my heart hammered the inside of my chest and my legs stiffened and it felt as if my lungs would explode. Finally, I gave up and dropped to the ground.

When I raised my head, the girl was standing beside me. She held out her hand and I took it. We started walking—it felt more like we were floating—until we were standing at the edge of a creek. The girl pointed and giggled. What was it? I stepped closer, eager to see.

"No!"

My eyes begged to be closed, yet I couldn't look away. There was a lifeless body, half submerged in the shallow water. Blood leaked from the mouth, leaving a trail of pinkish red to dissolve downstream. I screamed so hard, my body shook. But no one heard me.

When I turned back to the girl, she was gone.

I was, again, alone.

Standing above the body.

Please, take me—

"Jonny?"

I opened my eyes.

"Jonny!" my mom said, panicked. Through the small attic doorway, she reached her hand in. "My God, what're you doing?"

The air was freezing. I immediately shivered. I tried to speak, but my teeth chattered uncontrollably.

"It's so cold in here," my mom said.

I wrapped my arms across my chest. My legs could hardly move. My mom pulled me through the attic doorway, then out of the closet. She yanked the wool blanket off my bed and draped it over me. I collapsed to the floor. She held me tight, like she would never let go.

"My God," she said, her eyes filled with something close to bewilderment. "What's happening to you?"

I'll need a ride to school tomorrow," I said.

My mom nodded but didn't say a word.

She closed the door to the garage and left me alone. We hadn't talked all day about her finding me in the attic. If we ever did, I had no idea what I was going to tell her. I don't know why I was in there, naked, at midnight. I don't know why I had the visions that I'd had. It felt like I was going a little crazy, but even that sounded strange.

I taped the bottom seam of a large cardboard box. I found the three soccer balls I'd had in the basement and lying around the lawn. With a needle, I let the air out of each. In the box, I placed my cleats, the flattened soccer balls, a couple of copies of the
Star-Ledger
and the
Item
that had articles mentioning the county championship game, the notebook page on which I had kept track of all of my game stats, and our team photo taken at the beginning of the year.

The only thing missing was the copy of the ladder. Sometimes I was sure it existed. Other times, I figured it was just a hoax. It didn't matter either way. I wouldn't be going to the stacks to look ever again. Who knows, maybe I'd never visit the library again. I could make it through the rest of the year—whichever rung I hung on. Others could obsess about their place at Millburn. I wouldn't.

I closed the top and sealed it with strips of tape. On the side, I wrote with a felt pen,
PERSONAL
. I carried the box down to the basement, then into the storage closet under the stairs. I placed the box along the wall, then stacked a half-dozen crates on top. I moved an antique nightstand, picture frames, and boxes of my grandparents' dishes to either side and, finally, piled Lord & Taylor shopping bags filled with linens in front.

"Jonny, are you awake?"

My mom was knocking on my bedroom door. Her voice sounded odd. I opened my eyes. In the morning sun, red and blue lights flashed on the ceiling and walls through my window.

She opened the door and walked in.

"What's wrong?" I said.

My mom hesitated, then sat on the bed beside me. "I've got some awful news. This may be the worst thing you ever hear in your life ... Something happened to Kyle. Something horrible."

She told me Kyle was dead.

My head shimmered and my lips quivered. I could feel my eyes welling up. All I could muster was, "Ma?"

They found him in the creek," my mom said. "Under the bridge."

"Redemption Bridge?" I said. She nodded.

"What happened?"

"They don't know exactly."

"When?"

"Earlier."

"This morning?"

My mom reached out and hugged me. "I'm so sorry..." She wouldn't let go. I didn't want her to. I asked her if I could stay in bed awhile. She wiped her eyes and said that was fine. She told me I shouldn't go to school and that she'd take the day off to stay home with me. I said,

"Okay," I think.

After she left my room and closed the door, I got out of bed and moved toward the window. It had been raining. Two Millburn police cars were parked on Lake Road, and an officer, his hat tucked under his arm, was leaving the Saint-Claires' front door.

***

A few hours later, the same officer rang our doorbell. My mom called me downstairs. I didn't know why. My mind was drained. I had nothing to tell him. The officer introduced himself and offered his condolences. He looked vaguely familiar—maybe I'd been in the car once when he pulled Kyle over for speeding. My mom offered the officer a chair in the living room, while I sat on the couch. He withdrew a pen and small notepad from his pocket.

"I realize it's been a difficult morning, so I won't take up too much of your time," he said. "I just have a few questions."

I nodded.

"I was told you and Kyle were buddies," he said.

"Sure," I said.

"How close?"

Before I could answer, my mom interrupted. "The Saint-Claires have lived across the street from us for years. Jonny and Kyle have been friends since the day they met. Sometimes they have disagreements—what friends don't? But they've been like brothers. This is just so sad, so hard to understand." She bent down and kissed me on the top of my head.

"Thank you, Mrs. Fehey," the officer said. "But..."

"I'm sorry," my mom said. "I'll let Jonny answer."

The officer turned back to me. "So, you guys had a problem recently?"

"No, we're friends," I said.

"So Kyle wasn't upset recently?"

"Upset?"

"Was he acting unusual at all?"

"No," I said.