The Confession (5 page)

“H
ey, it wasn't my fault, man!” Al cried, sticking his head out the driver's window.

He pulled the car to a stop in front of Vincent and me.

The front of the car was just about totaled. The left front fender was crushed in. The hood was mangled. One end of the bumper dragged on the ground.

Vincent didn't say a word. I think he was in shock. His mouth hung wide open and he kept swallowing noisily.

I put a hand on his shoulder. I wanted to say something comforting, something hopeful. But I couldn't think of anything.

Vincent moved slowly from one side of the car to the other, his eyes locked on the smashed-in hood and fender, the sagging bumper. He was so upset, I
don't think he even knew that I was standing beside him.

“Really. It wasn't my fault,” Al repeated out the open window. He climbed out of the car, wearing black as usual. A black baseball cap covered his blond hair.

The driver's door made a loud
squawk
as he pushed it open. I saw that the door was banged in too.

“N-not your fault?” Vincent stammered in a choked voice.

“I couldn't see the stop sign,” Al explained. “There were tree leaves in front of it. Really, man. How could I know it was there? It wasn't my fault.”

Vincent let out a long moan. He stared at the mangled car, shaking his head.

A grin spread across Al's face. “At least I got it back on time!”

And that's when Vincent lost it.

He leaped onto Al like some kind of wild jungle animal. Growling and scratching and screaming and cursing and tearing at him.

I froze for a second. Startled. Frightened.

Then I shot across the driveway. Grabbed Vincent from behind. Swept my arms around his waist. And pulled.

“Stop it, Vincent! Stop it!” I shrieked.

I pulled him off Al. But he was still swearing and swinging his fists, bellowing like a furious lion.

“Let go of me, Julie! Let me go!” Vincent struggled to free himself.

“Vincent—please!
Please!”
I pleaded.

Al had fallen back against the car. I saw him
pulling himself up. He straightened his black T-shirt. Picked up his cap from the driveway. I saw his little blue eyes narrow menacingly. Saw his face tighten in anger.

“Let me go!” Vincent screamed.

I held on tight. “No, Vincent. No way! He'll only pound you,” I insisted. “You know I'm right. You can't fight him. He'll pound you!”

“But he can't keep getting away with this stuff!” Vincent cried. “He can't!”

I glanced up.

To my surprise, Al had turned away and was jogging down the driveway. Without calling to us, without uttering a word, he turned at the sidewalk and disappeared, jogging, behind a tall hedge.

Al never looked back.

That was on Thursday.

The next night—Friday night—I killed him.

part

2

Chapter

8

W
ell … some people thought I killed Al.

But of course I didn't.

After dinner on Friday, I called Vincent. He greeted me with a glum hello. Even over the phone, I could tell that he was upset and very depressed.

I tried to cheer him up. “We're all going blading at the Shadyside Rink,” I told him. “Want to come?”

Vincent is a terror on Rollerblades! He whirls around wildly and waves his arms like a crazy person. He always skates about five times faster than everyone else. Which is bad news because he's a
terrible
skater!

I can't tell you how many times we've had to scrape him off the wall or pull him up off the floor, mangled and dazed. He just can't ever do anything
seriously. He always has to be funny—even when he risks trashing himself for good!

“I can't go,” Vincent moaned. “I can't go anywhere, Julie. I'm grounded. I think, forever.”

“Oh no,” I murmured. “Because of the car?”

“Yeah. Because of the car,” Vincent repeated unhappily. “I'm grounded forever. I'll never see you guys again.” He sighed. “And that's not the worst part.”

I took a deep breath. “What's the worst part?”

“I can't take that job as a camp counselor this summer,” Vincent replied. His voice cracked. I knew he really wanted the camp job.

“I have to stay in Shadyside all summer and work in my dad's shop,” Vincent groaned. “It's to help pay for the car damage.”

“You mean you don't get to keep the money you earn?” I asked.

“No, I don't.” His voice was so low, I had to press the phone against my ear to hear him. “No. It all goes to my dad to pay for what that creep Al did to the car.”

“Oh, wow,” I murmured.

I felt so bad for Vincent. He didn't total the car. Al did. Vincent didn't even want to lend Al the car.

“Al should pay for the car,” I said.

Vincent let out a dry, bitter laugh.
“You
go tell that to Al.”

A long silence. I could hear Vincent breathing on the other end. I tried to think of something cheerful to say.

I was worried about him. I really was. This was the first time I'd ever talked with him when he
didn't crack a single joke. I felt as if his whole personality had changed. He sounded so totally down, so totally depressed.

All because of that big jerk Al.

“Can I come over to your house?” I suggested. “I'll forget about going blading. We could just hang out.”

“Not allowed,” he answered glumly. “I can't go anywhere, and I'm not allowed to have visitors. I'm a prisoner. A total prisoner.”

“Well, maybe—” I started. But I could hear his father yelling at him in the background.

“Okay, okay! Give me a break! I'm getting off!” Vincent shouted angrily to his dad. He returned to me. “Got to go. Tell everyone hi.” And he hung up.

I replaced the receiver and paced back and forth in my room for a short while. Vincent's parents will get over it, I decided. They'll calm down. They're let Vincent go back to his normal life.

A long blast from a car horn snapped me from my thoughts. I peered out the window to the driveway and saw Hillary's blue Bonneville.

I gave my hair a quick brush, grabbed my Rollerblades, and hurried down to the car. “Hey, guys.” I slid into the front passenger seat. Taylor and Sandy were in the backseat, pressed together, her white-blond hair falling onto his shoulder. I glimpsed her sleeveless top and the short blue skirt she wore over dark tights.

“Is Vincent coming?” Hillary asked, backing down the drive.

“Vincent isn't going anywhere,” I reported. I told them the whole story.

When I finished, Hillary and Taylor both burst out in angry attacks on Al, both protested how unfair Vincent's parents were being. Sandy remained strangely quiet.

The rink was really crowded, even for a Friday night. I saw a lot of kids from our high school and a lot of younger kids. There aren't that many places to go in Shadyside. The skating rink is one of the few places to hang out with your friends.

During the winter, the floor is covered with ice, and we all come here to ice skate and sit around drinking cups and cups of coffee and hot chocolate. The ice had been removed only two weeks ago. So a lot of kids were eager to try out their new Rollerblades.

The four of us sat on the long bench outside the skating area. We took our time lacing up our skates. Taylor had trouble getting her laces tight enough. So Sandy got down on his knees and fixed them for her.

It struck me funny. Sandy was so desperate to please. He didn't mind being Taylor's slave.

I knew Vincent would have made a joke about it. He would have given Sandy a really hard time and made us all laugh.

So far, we weren't laughing very much. I think the others felt as bad about Vincent as I did. Al was messing up
all
of our lives. And there wasn't much we could do about it.

I brushed my hair back over my shoulders and rolled onto the rink. I decided to try to forget about Al and Vincent and everything, and just have a good time.

I'm a pretty good skater. I've got strong ankles. And I love blading, even around in circles in a rink.

But I was a little rusty. I mean, I hadn't bladed since last fall. And the rink was so jammed with kids.

I made a few circles, gliding unsteadily. I guess I picked up a little more speed than I was ready for.

“Whooa!” I cried out as I spun too hard in a turn—and bumped hard into a skinny, red-haired boy. His hands shot up. He cried out angrily.

And we both fell. I landed on top of him. Heard his grunt of surprise and pain.

“Sorry,” I uttered breathlessly. Did I
crush
the little guy?

I scrambled to my feet. Bent to help him up. And recognized him.

Artie Matthews. One of the twins I used to babysit for.

Sure enough, Chucky, his brother, came rolling over. He slid to a stop, his blue eyes narrowed first at his twin, then at me.

In an instant, I remembered how much I
hated
these two boys. They must be about twelve now, I realized. I used to baby-sit them when they were nine.

They looked like angels, but they weren't.

As soon as their parents were out the door, they went wild. Fighting each other. Torturing the dog. Trashing the house. Refusing to go to bed.

“Are you okay?” I asked Artie.

“Why don't you watch where you're going?” he snarled at me, rubbing his elbow.

“Julie—what are
you
doing here?” Chucky demanded.
“Aren't you too old to be on Roller-blades?”

They both burst into high-pitched giggles at that.

Ha-ha.

I made sure that Artie wasn't injured. Then I skated over to join Hillary.

“Take some lessons!” I heard Artie call after me. And I heard their obnoxious giggles again.

“Didn't you used to baby-sit for those twins?” Hillary asked as I skated up beside her.

I nodded. “I just fell on one of them,” I told her. “But not hard enough!”

I waved to some girls from school, keeping in a steady rhythm with Hillary. “Where are Sandy and Taylor?” I asked, my eyes making a circle, searching the crowd.

Hillary pointed.

They hadn't left the bench. They were wrapped around each other like two octopuses. Taylor was practically on his lap. Her blond hair fell over his face as she kissed him.

I stared at them for a long moment, and nearly skated into the wall!

“Maybe she really
does
like him,” Hillary said wistfully.

“Maybe,” I replied.

A short while later, Taylor and Sandy disappeared together. I'm not sure why they bothered to bring their skates.

Hillary and I bladed for about twenty minutes. Then we ran into some kids we knew, and we hung out with them at the food stand for a while.

Then Hillary saw a guy from Waynesbridge she
knew. Waving and shouting his name, she hurried over to talk to him.

I tightened my skate laces, preparing to skate some more. My legs tingled. The muscles throbbed. It felt good. I needed the exercise. I hadn't done anything athletic all winter.

“Hey, listen.” I felt Hillary's hand on my shoulder. “John and I are going to a party he knows about.” She pointed to the kid from Waynesbridge, a tall, thin guy wearing a loose-fitting red shirt over huge, baggy jeans. “Want to come? You're welcome to come with us.”

I shook my head. “No. Go ahead. I want to skate some more.”

She brought her face close to mine and stared into my eyes. “You sure you don't mind me deserting you like this?”

“Hillary, it's no problem,” I assured her. “I really want to get some exercise. I'll get a ride home with someone. Or else I'll take the bus.”

I watched her hurry away with him. Then I rolled onto the rink, holding the rail. I wished Vincent had been able to come. I didn't mind everyone leaving. I just wished Vincent were there.