The Confession (2 page)

“I don't have it,” I replied curtly. I crossed my arms over my chest. “Really.”

“You're the best, Julie,” Al insisted. He didn't lower his hand. He kept it in my face. “You're great. You're
awesome
. Twenty bucks. I wouldn't ask you unless I really needed it.”

I uttered a cry of disgust. “Al, I'm totally broke,” I told him. “And you already owe me twenty bucks.”

“Go away, Al,” Hillary chimed in. “Why don't you get a job?”

“Who would hire him?” Taylor asked sarcastically.

I was a little surprised that Taylor was joining in. She moved to Shadyside at Christmastime. She'd only been part of our group for a month. So she didn't really know Al well enough to be making cracks about him.

I guessed she just wanted to help me out.

Al pulled a cigarette from the pocket of his black flannel shirt. He lit it and tossed the match onto the floor.

“Hey—no way!” I shouted. I shoved him toward the door. “You know my parents don't allow smoking in this house!”

He danced away from me, grinning. He took a long drag and blew the smoke in my face.

“Give her a break, Al,” Hillary insisted, climbing to her feet and pushing her chair out of the way. She and I both closed in on him.

“Hey, whoa!” He raised both hands as if trying to shield himself.

“Get out!” I cried. “If my mom comes home and smells cigarette smoke—”

He flicked the ash onto the kitchen table. He sneered as he narrowed his eyes at me. “Julie, your parents don't allow you to smoke. But I know a little secret, don't I? You smoke anyway.”

“Shut up!” I insisted.

His sneer spread into a grin. “I saw you smoking at the mall last weekend. Puff puff puff.” He blew more smoke in my face. “Julie is bad. Julie is
baaaaad!
Maybe I should tell your mom… . ”

“No way!”
I shrieked.

Mom caught Hillary and me smoking in my room when we were in ninth grade, and she went ballistic. She's such a fanatic about smoking. She promised me a reward—a thousand dollars—if I never smoked again in high school.

I hate to think what my parents would do if they found out that sometimes I smoke a few cigarettes when I'm out with my friends. I know Mom would have a cow. It would get ugly. Real ugly.

And I knew Al wasn't kidding. He'd tell my mom about my smoking. Unless I stayed on his good side.

Which was why I loaned him the
first
twenty dollars.

“Al, I'm broke. I really am,” I insisted.

“Yeah. Right.” He flicked another clump of ash onto the table in front of Taylor.

“What do you need twenty dollars for, anyway?” Hillary demanded.

“So I can take Taylor out,” he replied, grinning again.

“Ha-ha. Remind me to laugh,” Taylor muttered. She stuck her tongue out at Al.

“I love it when you do that!” he told her.

She groaned and shook her head. “Grow up.”

Al turned back to me. I didn't like the cold expression on his face. I never used to see that kind of hardness in him.

“How about if I burn a little hole in the table, Julie? Do you think you could find the twenty bucks then?”

“Al, please—” I started.

But he turned the cigarette between his fingers and started to lower it to the tabletop.

“Al—
don't!”
I screamed. I dove for him. But he swung around and blocked me from the table with his broad back.

He held the cigarette flame close to the yellow Formica. “Come on, Julie. You can find twenty bucks. You don't want your mom to find a big burn, do you?”

“Stop it!
Stop!”

Hillary and I both pulled him away from the table. The cigarette dropped to the floor. Al started to laugh, an annoying, high-pitched giggle.

We pulled him toward the kitchen door. “Goodbye, Al,” I said.

But he yanked himself free and turned to Hillary. “Your daddy is a big-deal doctor. I'll bet
you
have twenty dollars.”

Hillary let go of him and sighed wearily. “Why would I give you a nickel?”

Al brought his face close to Hillary's ear. So close he could've bitten her dangling, orange glass earring. “Because of chemistry,” Al whispered, loud enough for Taylor and me to hear.

Hillary gasped.

“You wouldn't want Mr. Marcuso to know you cheated on the chemistry final,” Al told Hillary.

“You can't blackmail me!” Hillary insisted through clenched teeth.

Al laughed. “Of course I can! If I can't blackmail you, who can?”

“But you
gave
me last year's final exam!” Hillary protested. “I didn't ask you for it, Al. You
gave
it to me!”

“And you
used
it, didn't you?” Al asked, almost gleefully. “If some little birdie should tell Marcuso you cheated, Hillary, he'd flunk you. And then you wouldn't get into that fancy college that accepted you. Boo-hoo.”

“Al, you used to be a nice guy,” I said, shaking my head. “How did you get so obnoxious?”

He pulled my hair. “I studied you!” he shot back, laughing at his own cleverness.

“You really can't go around threatening people,” Taylor chimed in. She hadn't budged from the table. I thought maybe she was using the table as a shield against Al.

“Yeah. Get out of here!” I insisted, shoving him again. “Really. Take a walk.”

But Hillary was already digging into her bag. She pulled out a twenty-dollar bill and pushed it into Al's outstretched hand.

“When are you going to pay it back?” she demanded. She didn't look at him. She kept her eyes down on her bag.

“Good question,” Al replied, smirking. “Beats me.” He jammed the money into the pocket of his black denim jeans. Then he turned to the door. “Have a nice day, girls!”

He took three steps—then stopped as my mom pulled open the glass storm door. “Oh—hi, Mrs.
Carlson.” He couldn't hide his surprise. I saw his ears turn red again.

My mom stepped into the kitchen, carrying a brown grocery bag under each arm. “Hi, everyone. I'm home early.”

Al took one of the bags and carried it to the counter for her.

Mom set the other bag down. She pushed back her hair. She has dark brown hair, like I do. And the same big, brown eyes. Our best feature.

Mom says I look just like Demi Moore.

Whenever she says that, I tell her she needs glasses.

“We don't see you around here much anymore,” Mom said to Al.

“I've been kind of busy,” Al replied. His ears were still bright red. He said good-bye and hurried out the door.

Mom turned to us. “Why is he dressed all in black?” she demanded. “Did somebody die?”

She didn't give any of us a chance to answer. She let out a cry of surprise—and pointed furiously at the floor.

I saw instantly what she was pointing at. Al's cigarette.

“Mom—” I started.

She bent and picked it up, her face tightening in anger. “It's still lit.”

“It was Al's!” I cried. “We weren't smoking. It was Al's!”

“That's the truth, Mrs. Carlson,” Hillary said. She and Taylor both stood awkwardly at the table. I
knew they wanted to fade away, to disappear. They'd both seen my mother when she went into one of her flying rages.

“I don't care who was smoking, Julie,” Mom said, clenching her jaw and speaking each word slowly and distinctly. “You're in charge while I'm away and—”

She carried the cigarette to the sink. And let out a loud gasp.

“A beer can too?” she demanded shrilly.

“That's Al's!” Taylor and I cried in unison. I glimpsed Hillary shrink back against the wall, trying to blend in with the flowery wallpaper.

“You just threw it into the sink?” Mom demanded shrilly.

I started to reply, but what was the point? I mean, I knew I was in major trouble.

It didn't matter that Al left the can and the cigarette butt. Ever since she caught Hillary and me smoking in my bedroom three years ago, I don't think Mom has trusted me completely.

I'm sure she suspects that all kinds of things go on here while she's at work. And now, she came home and what did she find?

“Julie, I'm grounding you for the weekend,” Mom said in a low voice. I could see her jaw muscles twitch. She talked softly because she was trying to control her anger.

“No! You can't do that!” I screeched. I didn't mean to sound so desperate, but how could I help it?

“The party!” I cried. “Reva's party! Mom—if you ground me, I'll miss the party!”

Mom raised a finger to her lips. “Not another word.”

“You can't
do
this!” I wailed. “I'm seventeen years old and I won't—”

“I won't have your friends drinking beer and smoking while I'm not here,” Mom shouted, losing control. “I don't care if the party is at Buckingham Palace! You're grounded. You're missing it. One more word, and I'll ground you for two
weeks!”

I shook my fists in the air and let out a cry of rage. I could see Hillary and Taylor behind the table, both avoiding my eyes, both feeling embarrassed—and terribly sorry for me.

This is all Al's fault
, I told myself.
He has become such a total creep. This is all his fault
.

What a horrible afternoon.

I think all three of us—Hillary, Taylor, and me—felt the same way. I think all three of us wanted to kill Al that afternoon.

Of course we had no way of knowing that Al would be dead in two weeks.

Chapter

3

S
o I missed the party.

Will I ever forgive my mother? Maybe sometime in the next decade.

Hillary reported that it was the best party in the history of Shadyside High. She has a mean streak, that girl.

She could have told me that it was the most boring night of her life. Instead, she told me how awesome the two bands were. How she danced until two in the morning. And then had a late moonlight swim in the Dalbys' heated pool. How she never laughed so much in her life. And how everyone kept asking her where I was.

I told Hillary never to mention the party again. That was a week ago, and she kept her promise—until the two of us were walking to Sandy's house on Canyon Road after school on Friday.

We walked under low clouds, threatening rain. The air felt cold and wet, more like winter than spring.

“I just don't get it about Taylor and Sandy,” Hillary started.

I shifted my backpack on my shoulders. It was loaded with homework for the weekend. “What about Taylor and Sandy?” I asked, thinking about my history term paper.

“Well, you should have seen them at Reva's party,” Hillary continued.

I stopped walking and grabbed the sleeve of her blue sweater. “You promised. No talking about the party.”

She tugged her arm free. “I'm not talking about the party, Julie. I'm talking about Taylor and Sandy.”

“Well … what about them?” I asked grudgingly.

“I watched them at the party,” Hillary replied. “It was pitiful. Sandy followed Taylor around like a lovesick puppy dog. And Taylor hardly talked to him. I mean, she was busy coming on to every other guy there.”

“She likes to flirt,” I agreed, jogging to cross the street before the light changed.

“It was disgusting,” Hillary insisted. “You should have seen the way she danced with Bobby Newkirk. And I saw her making out behind the garage with some boy I'd never seen before.”

“Oh wow,” I murmured. “And what did Sandy do?”

“Ran around getting her Cokes,” Hillary reported.
“I mean, I don't get it. He
had
to know what Taylor was doing. She was so obvious! She practically pretended Sandy wasn't there. And he just grinned at her and followed her around.”

“That's true love,” I said dryly.

“It's not funny,” Hillary scolded me. “You know how serious Sandy can be.”

“I wish Vincent could get serious,” I muttered under my breath.

Hillary turned and squinted at me. “What did you say?”

“Oh, nothing.” I sighed. I pictured Taylor flirting with guys at the party. I had tried flirting with Vincent. But he thought I was kidding or something. He just made jokes.

“Sandy is a great guy,” Hillary continued. “But I think—”

“I actually think they're a great couple,” I interrupted. “I mean, maybe Taylor can get Sandy to lighten up. He's so shy and quiet all the time. He's never really had a girlfriend before. He's so excited about it, maybe it will change him. Maybe … ”

I waved to a station wagon full of kids from school. When they rumbled out of view, I caught the fretful expression on Hillary's face.

“I don't think Taylor is good for Sandy,” she argued. “I think Sandy is going to get hurt. I think Taylor may dump him the first chance she gets.”