The Confession (10 page)

W
e ran to the door. We called to Sandy.

“Sandy! Sandy!” I leaned out into the darkness, shouting his name.

He didn't answer.

I saw him pull back into the deep shadows.

“Where is he?” Hillary whispered. “What is he doing?” Her voice cracked. I guess she was afraid.

Afraid of Sandy. I was too. Suddenly afraid of our old friend. Our old friend acting so strangely.
Trying
to frighten us.

“There he goes,” I whispered back.

We both saw him, ducking low, staying against the hedge, running away down the block.

Hillary and I watched him until he disappeared around the hedge. I shivered as I shut the door.

Why did he do that? Why did he follow us? What did he want?

“Weird,” I muttered. “Totally weird.”

I didn't know that this was only the beginning. Two days later, Sandy frightened us again.

♦ ♦ ♦

I was passing the gym after school. The double doors were open. I heard someone call my name.

I saw a bunch of guys messing around on the gym floor, passing around a basketball, dribbling and taking wild shots. “Hey, Julie—how's it going?” Vincent called.

Behind him, Sandy leaped up, tried for a slam dunk—and missed. Laughter rang out. I saw Sandy scowl. Another guy went after the ball. But Sandy cut him off and angrily grabbed it away.

“We're just goofing around,” Vincent called. “Wait up and I'll walk home with you.”

I felt my heart jump. Vincent wanted to walk home with me? Was he suddenly starting to catch my vibes?

He probably wants to borrow my history notes, I thought with a sigh. But I tossed down my backpack and leaned against the tile gym wall, watching them play.

The guys all seemed to be having fun. They were just dribbling and shooting, taking crazy shots, mostly missing. No one seemed to be taking it seriously—except for Sandy.

A few minutes later, Sandy and Vincent grabbed for the ball together. Vincent said something to Sandy. I couldn't hear what he said.

Sandy stopped dribbling. He gave Vincent a hard shove with both hands.

Vincent's mouth opened in shock. “Hey—I was only kidding!” he protested to Sandy.

Sandy scowled at him and returned to his dribble. Vincent took off after Sandy. He bumped Sandy from behind. Still joking around, I think.

Sandy shouted a curse as Vincent stole the ball from him.

Some of the other guys laughed. “What a klutz!” one of them shouted to Sandy.

“Butterfingers!” another boy yelled.

Sandy didn't laugh. His face turned bright red. I sucked in my breath. He suddenly looked scary.

I don't think Vincent realized how angry Sandy was. Vincent spun around and gleefully twirled the ball in Sandy's face. He held the ball out to Sandy, then pulled it away.

I gasped as Sandy let out a scream. He went into a rage. Totally lost it.

With another loud curse, he grabbed the ball from Vincent's hand. I saw Vincent's mouth drop open in surprise. Vincent started to back away.

And Sandy heaved the ball at him with all his strength.

“Noooo!” I let out a frightened wail and ran onto the court.

Vincent let out a groan and sank to his knees. I saw him struggle to breathe. His face was bright purple.

He toppled facedown on the floor. I bent over him, shook him, repeated his name.

The other players all gathered around. Everyone
but Sandy. I glimpsed him stomping away, still red-faced, muttering under his breath. He never turned back.

Vincent groaned. He blinked his eyes.

The ball had knocked his breath out. But he was okay.

He blinked some more, gazed around. Searching for Sandy, I think. “Some friend,” Vincent muttered, shaking his head. “Some friend.”

Sandy
isn't
our friend anymore, I thought bitterly, helping Vincent up.

Sandy is our enemy.

Saturday night, Hillary and I planned
to go see the new Jude Law film at the mall. I called Vincent to see if he wanted to join us. “I'm meeting Hillary at the mall. We're going to an eight o'clock show. Can you come?”

Please come
, I thought.

I need someone to cheer me up.

I need
you
to cheer me up.

“I can't,” he said. “My parents are still being jerks. I'm still semi-grounded.”

“Semi?” I asked.

“Yeah. It all depends on their mood.” He groaned. “I wouldn't even bother asking them tonight. It's bad news around here. I can hear them downstairs yelling at each other right now.”

“Oh.” I couldn't hide the disappointment from my voice. “Well, I'd better run. I'm already late. Maybe I'll call you later?”

“Yeah. Okay. Later.” He sounded really depressed.

I thought about him as I sped to the movie theater. I thought about him and Sandy and Taylor and what good times we had at the beginning of the school year. Now we were graduating, and everything seemed to be falling apart.

Normally on a Saturday night, Hillary and I would have called Sandy and Taylor. We would have made plans to meet them at the movie. Or do something else. Or go hang out with them somewhere.

But now we didn't want to see either of them.

It wasn't Taylor's fault. We didn't really have anything against her. It's just that she was always with Sandy.

And Sandy was a murderer.

Murderer. Murderer. Murderer.

As I drove, I repeated the word in my mind until it became a nonsense word. It had no meaning at all.

Murderer.

It wasn't a word I ever thought I'd use in real life. It was a word for the newspapers, for TV shows. Not for
my life
.

I shook my head hard, forcing the word from my head. The traffic on Division Street was terrible. It's usually pretty bad on Saturday night. But tonight a van had stalled in the center lane, backing up traffic for blocks and blocks.

I made it to the mall at about a minute to eight. Circled twice before I found a parking spot near the movie theater. Then I went running full speed through the lot to meet Hillary.

I found her standing beside the ticket window.
She was wearing a T-shirt and an open red-leather vest over baggy black denims. “Sorry,” I called breathlessly, running up to her. The lobby was nearly deserted. Everyone had gone in.

“I bought the tickets,” she said, starting to the theater door. She handed me mine. “The coming attractions started. We haven't missed anything.”

“Get a seat up front,” I told her. “I'll be there. I'm just going to the ladies' room.”

She started to the door. I turned and jogged across the thick red carpet to the ladies' room against the far wall. Tucking the ticket into my jeans pocket, I pulled open the door. Stepped inside.

And bumped right into Taylor.

Chapter

18

“O
h!”

We both cried out in surprise.

Then we both started talking at once:

“I didn't know you were coming!”

“I was just
thinking
about you!”

“Where are you sitting?”

“In back. On the side.”

“Hillary is here too.”

Taylor looked really beautiful. Her white-blond hair was pulled straight back, tied with a bright blue hair band that matched her top. She wore dark red lipstick on her full lips. Very hot and sexy.

I felt glad to see her. But the feeling lasted for only a moment. My unpleasant thoughts about Sandy washed away all of my good feelings toward her.

I could see her expression change too. Her green
eyes turned cold. “Sandy and I don't see you guys very much these days,” she said flatly.

I shoved my hands into my jeans pockets. “Well, you know,” I stammered. “Graduation and everything.”

Lame. Really lame.

“We're graduating too,” she replied sharply.

“Uh … we'd better get inside,” I said, motioning to the door. “The movie … I
hate
missing the beginning. I can never catch up.”

Her eyes locked on mine. She didn't move. “I thought you and Sandy were such close friends,” she said.

“We were,” I told her. “I mean—we
are!”
I could feel my cheeks burning. I knew I was blushing. “It's just that I've been so busy … and everything.”

“Sandy isn't a killer!” she cried with sudden vehemence. Her eyes flashed angrily, out of control for a moment.

I gasped.

“You're supposed to be his friend,” she continued, a little less heatedly. “He's kind of hurt. I mean, he thought you'd stand by him.”

“I—I really have to find Hillary,” I stammered. I turned to the door, desperate to get away from her.

But then I stopped. And the words burst out of me: “Did you tell Sandy what Hillary and I were saying about him?”

Her jaw had been tightly clenched. Now her mouth dropped open. I could see red lipstick stains on her front teeth. “Excuse me?” she asked, knitting her pale eyebrows.

“You were listening to us. On the stage after
graduation rehearsal. Did you tell Sandy what Hillary and I were saying?”

She shook her head, her mouth still open. “I don't know what you're talking about, Julie. I didn't hear you and Hillary. I usually don't go around
eavesdropping
on my friends!”

That made me feel a little better, a little relieved.

But then I realized that Taylor was lying.

I could see it in those cold, green eyes.

Of course she was eavesdropping on Hillary and me. Of course she heard what we were saying about Sandy.

And of course she told him.

“Uh … we're missing the start,” I said. “Hillary and I—we'll look for you after the movie.” Another lie.

One good lie deserves another.

I turned, pushed out through the door, and hurried into the darkened theater.

♦ ♦ ♦

On Monday night, we had another rehearsal for graduation. This was a dress rehearsal, with caps and gowns and everything.

The rehearsal went late. There was a mixup with the caps and gowns, and several kids were handed gowns way too big for them.

Then the pianist kept messing up “Pomp and Circumstance,” which sent us all into giddy hysterics. For some reason,
everything
struck us funny tonight. So we had to keep starting over.

And starting over. And starting over.

Until we were all pretty tired—tired of laughing, tired of marching around in the auditorium. Hot
and sweaty in the blue gowns, which felt heavier and heavier as the night dragged on.

It was nearly eleven when I dropped Hillary off at her house. And even later when I pulled the car up my driveway.

The house was dark. Mom and Dad were visiting our cousins who lived in the Old Village. They usually leave the porch light on, but tonight they must have forgotten.

The car headlights rolled up over the garage door. I slid the gear shift into park and climbed out of the car. I found the garage door clicker under the bush where we always keep it. I clicked it, and the door slowly began to rumble up.

I set the clicker down in its hiding place under the bush. Climbed back into the car. And pulled carefully into the garage—a tight squeeze. It's only a one-and-a-half-car garage, and it's filled with lawn mowers, bikes, and other junk on both sides.

Thinking about a cold drink and a shower, I cut the engine and the headlights and climbed out of the car. The sharp aroma of paint greeted me. Dad had been painting the fence at the back of the yard.

I fumbled in my bag for the house keys as I made my way around the car to the door that led from the garage into the kitchen. It was so dark. I struggled to find the keys.

I was still grabbing around in my bag when I heard a loud rumbling sound. Then a metallic squeak. Heavy grinding.

I turned with a gasp to see the garage door closing.

“Hey—!” I cried out in surprise.

A stab of fear cut through my chest. I sucked in my breath. Stared out toward the dark driveway.

“Hey—who's there?” I cried shrilly over the heavy rumble of the sliding garage door.

I froze. Panic held me in place. I couldn't decide whether to duck under the door and escape to the driveway. Or find my keys and try to get into the house.

The door was halfway to the ground when I heard the thud of footsteps. Someone ducked into the garage.

“Who is it?” I shrieked. “What do you want?”

No reply.

I fumbled again for the keys—but the bag fell from my trembling hand. It hit the concrete garage floor. I heard the clatter of things spilling out.

But I didn't lower my gaze. I kept my eyes on the dark figure moving slowly along the side of the car.

“Hey—!” Another choked cry escaped my throat.

The heavy door thudded shut.