The Confession (3 page)

“I know he's a lot more serious than she is,” I agreed. “But aren't you being a little hard on Taylor?”

Hillary's mouth dropped open. “Excuse me? Hard on Taylor? What are you talking about?”

A strong wind greeted us as we turned onto Canyon Road. Sandy's red brick house came into view on the next corner.

I had a feeling that Hillary might be a little jealous of Taylor. Before Taylor started going with Sandy, Hillary was the only other girl in our group. And now Taylor had arrived, with her trendy clothes, her perfect hair and perfect face—and perfect body. And Taylor quickly seemed to focus all of the group's attention on her.

So maybe Hillary was just the tiniest bit jealous.

But as I walked beside her on the sidewalk to Sandy's house, I decided not to mention this theory of mine. It would only hurt her feelings. And she'd spend the rest of the week denying it.

“Taylor is okay,” I said instead. “She's not a bad girl. She likes to have fun, that's all. And she's not shy.”

Hillary snickered. “That's for sure.”

I turned onto the gravel driveway that led up to Sandy's house. But Hillary held me back. “Wait,” she murmured, gazing up at the house.

“What's wrong?” I asked, turning and studying her face.

“Al has been pestering me again,” Hillary said, rolling her eyes. “Do you believe it?”

“What does he want this time?” I asked. “More money?”

Hillary shook her head. “He made me lend him my car.”

“Oh, wow,” I murmured.

“I—I've been so upset and angry about Al, I just had to tell someone,” Hillary stammered.

“Well, of course you can tell me,” I replied. “I'm your best friend.”

“He's always after me for money, or for my history notes, or for my car,” Hillary continued, talking rapidly as always, her voice tight with anger. “He pesters me all the time. And if I try to say no to him—”

“He threatens to tell your parents about the chemistry exam.” I finished the sentence for her. “I'm in the same boat, Hillary.” I sighed. “He threatens me all the time too.”

“I
hate
myself for letting this happen to me!” Hillary wailed. She balled her hands into tight fists. “Al has such power over me and it's all my fault. I never should have taken that old test from him. Never, never,
never!
It's the biggest mistake of my life!”

I stared at my friend in shock. In all the years we'd been friends, I never saw her totally lose it like that.

I placed a hand on her shoulder. She was shaking! “It'll be okay,” I said softly, soothingly. “He's doing the same thing to me. But he'll get bored. Really.”

Her dark eyes locked on mine. “Bored? Do you think so?”

I nodded. “Al has a very short attention span. He'll get tired of bullying us. He'll move on to some new victims. You'll see.”

She didn't reply. I could see she was thinking hard, maybe about what I'd just said.

We made our way up the driveway, our shoes crunching noisily over the gravel. I raised my finger
to the doorbell, but the front door swung open before I could press it.

Sandy pushed open the glass storm door. I could see instantly from the troubled expression on his face that something was wrong.

“Sandy—what is it?” I demanded.

“Did you hear about Al?” Sandy asked.

Chapter

4

“H
uh?” I uttered. A hard shudder ran down my body. I could feel the back of my neck tighten.

“Come in. Hurry,” Sandy urged. He held open the door, and Hillary and I slid past him into the living room. Taylor and Vincent were sitting at opposite ends of the green leather couch. Despite the blustery weather, Taylor wore khaki shorts and a pink midriff top that left most of her stomach bare.

I nodded to them both. “What about Al?” I demanded, turning to Sandy.

“He got suspended from school.” Taylor answered the question for Sandy.

“Yeah, he did.” Sandy nodded, shaking his head. He nibbled his bottom lip. He looks a lot younger when he does that.

Sandy is short and a little chubby. He has a nice face—nothing special, but nice. But he always reminds me of a shy, fretful twelve-year-old.

“Why?” Hillary demanded. “Why'd they suspend him?”

Vincent grinned at us. “Al rolled up his English term paper and smoked it in front of Mrs. Hirsch.”

Hillary and I both gasped.

“You're kidding!” I cried.

Vincent's grin grew wider. “Yeah. I'm kidding. He got into a fight.”

“Can't you ever be serious?” Sandy asked Vincent sharply.

Vincent shook his head no.

Taylor reached across the couch and slapped Vincent's shoulder. “You're terrible!” she declared.

“Thanks,” Vincent replied.

I think Vincent has an adorable grin. His whole face crinkles up. He has awesome gray-green eyes that always seem to be laughing. He has rust-colored hair that he parts in the middle. It nearly comes down to his collar and looks kind of cute.

The rest of him is tall and gangly and gawky, and doesn't go with his face at all. He has big hands and big feet, and he's totally klutzy.

He's sort of a big, clumsy clown. Only cute. I'm basically nuts about him. But I've mentioned that.

And I sometimes wish, along with Sandy and the others, that Vincent wouldn't clown around
all
the time. After all, if Al really did get suspended from school, it could mess up his entire life.

“Al got into a fight with David Arnold,” Sandy
explained excitedly. “After school. In the hallway outside the gym.”

“But isn't David on the wrestling team?” I asked.

“Yeah. That's who Al decides to pick on. One of the biggest guys in school. Smart, huh?” Sandy said.

“He should've picked on some shrimp—like you!” Vincent teased Sandy.

Sandy growled at him.

“Stop kidding around. What happened?” I demanded impatiently.

Vincent laughed. “Al punched David several times with his face!”

“That's not funny,” Sandy snapped at Vincent.

“It's kind of funny,” Hillary chimed in. I was surprised to see a grin on her face. After all, Al used to be a good friend of ours. But I guess I shouldn't have been surprised. Not the way Al had been bullying Hillary.

“They wrestled around, that's all,” Sandy continued. “Al got hurt a lot worse than David. And then when Al finally threw a punch, guess who came around the corner just in time to see it?”

“Mr. Hernandez?” I guessed.

Sandy nodded. “Yeah. The principal. So Al got suspended and David didn't. Permanent suspension. That's what Hernandez told Al. Al's parents are probably on their way to school right now.”

“Are they going to be steamed, or what?” Vincent demanded.

“Wow,” I murmured. I dropped into the green leather armchair opposite the couch. “Wow.”

“You can repeat that for me,” Hillary said. She
had been standing with her backpack on. Now she tossed it against the side of the couch.

Taylor stood up and stretched. She rubbed her stomach under the short pink midriff top.

When did she have time to go home and change from her school clothes? I wondered. And why is she dressed for summertime? Just showing off?

“I can't believe Al used to be part of your group,” Taylor said, her eyes on Sandy. “I mean, he's such a loser. He's so messed up.”

“Yeah. He's messing up his whole life,” Sandy agreed.

“Hey,” Vincent said, grinning as usual, “if you've only got one life to mess up, it might as well be your own!”

Taylor rubbed her stomach again. “I'm starving,” she complained. “Is there anything to eat?”

“Sure! No problem!” Sandy cried.

Hillary and I exchanged glances. Hillary was right. Sandy jumped at Taylor's every command.

“I think I saw a bag of those black tortilla chips,” Sandy told her. “And there might be a jar of salsa in the refrigerator.”

“Did you know that people in the United States buy more salsa than ketchup?” Vincent announced.

We all ignored him. Vincent is always spouting these bizarre facts. They're usually true—but who cares?

We followed Sandy into the kitchen. Taylor spotted the bag of tortilla chips on the counter. She tore it open, grabbed a handful, and began downing them eagerly.

Hillary watched Taylor grab a second handful of chips and devour them hungrily. “How do you stay so skinny if you eat all those tortilla chips?” Hillary demanded.

Taylor didn't miss a beat. “I try to throw up every night,” she replied.

We all laughed. Sometimes Taylor really cracks us up.

Sandy, meanwhile, was struggling with the glass jar of salsa. He strained and groaned, trying to twist the lid off. He turned the jar upside down and pounded it on the countertop.

No go.

He kept glancing at Taylor. I think he was embarrassed that he wasn't strong enough to pull off the lid. Guys are weird that way.

“Let me try it,” Hillary offered. Sandy started to protest. But she pulled the jar from his hands.

She twisted the top off without any effort at all. She grinned triumphantly at Sandy. “Super-woman!”

Sandy blushed. He shouldn't have been embarrassed by a dumb thing like that. But I saw that he really felt humiliated.

“I loosened it up for you,” he grumbled.

Hillary crooked her arm and made her bicep bulge. “I'm in great shape. I work out every morning,” she bragged.

“She does tongue push-ups!” Vincent joked.

“Ha-ha,” Hillary replied sarcastically. She dipped a chip into the jar, then passed the jar to Taylor.

“You guys should come down to my basement,”
Hillary said. “My dad bought all kinds of workout equipment. I do about half an hour every morning before school. I'll bet I'm in better shape than any guy at Shadyside High.”

That's so typical of Hillary, I thought. She always has to be the best at everything.

Sandy started to say something. But he was interrupted by a loud pounding at the kitchen door.

We all turned to the window at the same time.

When I saw Al on the back stoop, I felt cold dread tighten my stomach.

What does he want? I wondered.

And why does he look so weird?

Chapter

5

S
andy started to the door.

“I—I don't think you should let him in,” Hillary warned Sandy.

Al pounded on the glass with his big fist, so hard I gritted my teeth, waiting for the window to shatter. “Hey, guys!” he shouted. “Hey, guys—it's me!”

Sandy hesitated with his hand on the doorknob. “Why is he yelling like that?”

“I think he's drunk or something,” Taylor said, stepping up behind Sandy.

“Well, we
have
to let him in,” Vincent chimed in. “He's staring right at us. He'll pound on the door all day. We can't just pretend he's invisible.”

“Hey, guys! Open up! Hey, you ugly creeps! Yo—it's me!” Al drove his shoulder into the door.

“Oh!” Hillary uttered a frightened cry.

“I've got to let him in,” Sandy groaned. “The big moron is going to break down the door.”

Sandy turned the lock and pulled open the kitchen door.

Al stumbled into the kitchen, his eyes wild. “Why didn't you open up?” He spoke slowly, his eyes rolling from one of us to the next.

“We didn't hear you,” Sandy told him.

Pretty lame.

“Huh?” Al rocked unsteadily, as if he was having trouble keeping his balance. He squinted at Sandy.

“He's totaled,” I whispered to Hillary. “He's really drunk.”

“As a skunk,” Hillary whispered back.

Al pushed past Sandy and lurched toward the refrigerator on rubbery legs. “Got any beer in there?” He pulled open the door.