Truth (7 page)

“Ross and Nate. Ian saw you filming outside his house, and he told them. And he told them about your phone call,” he says, looking at Scott.

“Why would he tell them that?” Scott asks.

“Scared, I guess. But look, we've got to go. It really isn't safe for the three of us to be alone like this.”

“Too late,” I tell him. Ross has just walked in.

“Jerome,” he says, “get out of the way.”

“Don't be an asshole about this,” Jerome says.

“Back off.”

Jerome stays where he is. “Come on, Ross. Let's just get out of here. Someone's going to find us.”

“Good idea,” Ross says, looking only at Scott and me. “Let's get out of here together, and then I'll decide what to do about you two.”

“I'm not going anywhere,” I say again.

“And it's three of you against one of me,” Ross says. Very calmly, he takes a knife out of his jacket pocket. “I say we all leave together.”

“Holy shit,” Scott mutters.

“You could get expelled!” I gasp. Then I realize how stupid that is. Getting expelled is the least of Ross's worries.

Suddenly I see Ms. Chan in the doorway. Her mouth drops. Then she's gone. Did I imagine her? I look quickly at Ross and Jerome. They haven't noticed anything.

“Get up,” Ross says, motioning to Scott
and me. “Pick up that stuff and bring it with you.” We do exactly as he says. I grab the cassette, and Scott hoists the video camera.

“Let's calm down here,” Jerome says, stalling.

“This is not the time to switch sides,” Ross replies. Suddenly the knife is pointing at Jerome. It's a hunting knife, and so close to my face that I can see the light glinting on the edge.

Everything seems to slow, and there's time for a thousand miscellaneous thoughts to run through my head. I've never seen anyone pull a knife before. On TV, maybe. This is not the same. Definitely not the same. At least it's not a gun. This is exactly the type of thing that makes people wet their pants. That would be embarrassing. If I live long enough to be embarrassed. Where will Ross take us if we leave here?

For a second I think I must be imagining it, but then Ross turns his head slightly to listen. There's a siren in the distance. Have we been here for seconds or minutes? Did Ms.
Chan have time to call the police?

I'm shaking, and the cassette falls out of my hand and clatters to the floor.

Ross jumps, swinging the knife around.

“Sorry. Sorry,” I stammer, fumbling on the floor to find the tape without taking my eyes off Ross. I stand up too slowly — Ross grabs my wrist with his free hand and hauls me up. Jerome and Scott both step towards us.

“Back off,” Ross tells them from between clenched teeth. Jerome steps back immediately. Scott hesitates, but Ross takes a step towards him and he retreats.

“We're leaving,” Ross snarls. “Now. You two are going to walk in front, and Jen and I will follow. Now.”

“Police!” A deep voice booms from the classroom door.

Ross swings around. While he's looking away, Scott hoists the camera and chucks it at him. It's not very hard — Scott only has one good arm. But it's hard enough to make Ross stumble, and then Jerome's on top of him, toppling him to the floor.

Scott gives me a shove and I trip out the door and into the classroom. Where there are guns. Police and guns.

Big hands grab my shoulders and push me into the hallway.

“Get them out of here!”

Them. That must mean Scott's out, too.

Officer Wells is in the hallway. Ms. Chan is with him, looking panicked. She must have called the police. It was probably them she called the first time she left the room, too. I would be mad if I wasn't so glad to see them.

I turn back towards the door in time to see Jerome slowly lift himself off Ross. He stands completely still, hands half raised as if he's in an old Western movie. There is one cop in front of him, and the other has slowly moved to the office doorway.

Ross seems completely unfazed. He curls himself off the floor and stands half behind Jerome. Then he looks appraisingly at the officer in front of him and raises his knife arm. It looks like he's going to throw the knife at the cop and grab Jerome at the same time.

There's a gunshot. Immediately, Officer Wells grabs us, propelling us outside. He's almost running, and I stumble beside him. When we get onto the lawn and he lets go of us, I almost fall. Then I throw up. Right there outside the school. I have time to think that this is only mildly less embarrassing than wetting my pants. Then I realize that Jerome could be dead.

I am curled on our ugly couch with a blanket, a bowl of chips and the remote control. I should be in school, but Dad says he wants no stress in my life for the next few days. He says my body may be fine, but my brain needs rest.

Not that my brain has been getting much rest. The phone's been ringing off the hook. The last call was from Jerome.

“I'm sorry I got you involved in all this,” he said, almost before saying hello.

“You didn't get me involved. We were all part of it as soon as we showed up at the party that night.”

“Maybe.”

“I'm glad you didn't get shot.”

“You thought I got shot?”

“I didn't know what happened until we were all at the police station. I had to explain
everything
to Officer Wells before he would tell me what happened in the classroom.”

“Ross raised the knife. I don't know what he was thinking. He got shot in the shoulder.”

“Good aim. I guess you're not under arrest for murder, either,” I said, with a question in my voice.

“I still might be charged with conspiracy or something. But I'm fine with that. I'm just glad it's over. And Jen…” he paused.

“I don't want us to be fighting,” he said finally.

I didn't answer. Instead I asked, “Did you see them beat up Ted Granville?”

“Most of it.”

“Can you explain how it happened? Why no one stopped them?”

“At the beginning it seemed like no big deal. He wasn't the type of guy Ross would usually go around beating up, but he really pissed Ross off. Ian's parents must have asked Granville to keep an eye on the house while they were away. He came upstairs like he owned the place and found Ian, Ross, Nate and me hanging out. He told everyone to get out.

“Ross had been drinking. No more than anyone else, but you know how he gets when the drinks and the steroids kick in and someone gets in his way. He said there was no way he was leaving. Who was going to make him? It just escalated from there. Ross pushed the guy, the guy pushed back, then Ross slugged him. Nate got in on it. Ian took off, like he wanted to pretend he'd never been there in the first place.”

“And what did you do?” I asked.

“Well, at first I was cheering them on. I wasn't getting into it myself, but that guy had
been a jerk. I figured he was getting what he deserved. Then things got out of control. He was down on the ground, not fighting back anymore. Ross and Nate kept kicking him. I yelled at them to cool it, but they didn't listen. Finally I pulled Ross off, and then Nate stopped. He looked like he hadn't realized what he was doing to the guy.”

“Where did they go after? I didn't see Ross leave.”

“The first thing Ross said was that he had to get out of there. He knew he'd be the first suspect. He climbed out the window and took off. Nate and I decided we should leave and mingle in the rest of the party like nothing had happened.”

“What about calling the police? The ambulance? What if he'd still been alive?”

Jerome sighed. “I guess we just weren't thinking straight. Our only plan was to look shocked when someone found him. It didn't take more than a few minutes anyway — Candi saw the body as soon as she came upstairs.”

We were quiet for a minute, listening
only to the faint buzz of the phone line. Finally, Jerome whispered, “So we're okay? We're back to normal?”

I almost laughed. Did he really think things were going back to normal? “I don't think so, Jerome. But I'm glad you're okay.”

“It wasn't me, Jen. And I need you right now.”

“Good luck with things, okay?” It was a lame thing to say, I know. But I couldn't talk to him anymore. I hung up before he could say anything else. The phone rang again right after, but I yelled at Dad not to answer.

Dad's staying home from work, which is a first. I don't ever remember him canceling appointments before. He's sitting at the dining room table reading medical research articles with a highlighter in his hand. Every once in a while he glances over at me, like he wants to make sure I'm still there.

“Stop looking at me like that!” I say finally. “You're giving me the creeps.”

He sighs. “I'm glad you're okay.”

“I'm fine.”

“You should have talked to me about this, you know. You could have told me. What you did was dangerous.”

“What if you hadn't believed me?”

He gets up and walks over to the couch. “I would have. I promise you — I would have believed you.”

“Okay, okay,” I shrug, grinning up at him. “Next time.”

“There better not
be
a next time.”

Any more mushy father-daughter talk is interrupted by the doorbell. Without waiting for us to answer, Scott and Georgia come in, undoing jackets and scarves as they go.

“It's freezing out there!” Georgia says, extra-loudly as if to make everything seem normal. “It's supposed to snow tonight.”

Scott doesn't say anything at first. He looks tentative, like he's not sure whether to touch me or not.

My dad must see us looking at each other. In a sudden fit of diplomacy, he excuses himself.

“Why don't I pour some drinks?” he says. “Georgia, could you give me a hand?”

“Was Nate arrested?” I ask as soon as they're gone.

Scott nods. “They took Ross to the hospital yesterday, but there's a cop outside his door. They arrested Nate at his house.”

“Did you give Ross's boots to the police?”

He nods again. “I haven't heard if they were useful. The police aren't releasing any information. On the news they said they had two suspects in custody. They can't even release their names.”

I can hear Georgia and my dad talking in the kitchen. They seem to have gotten deep into conversation and forgotten about us. They're probably talking about me.

Scott sits on the arm of the couch and reaches for my hand. He plays with it for a minute, not looking at me. “Now that Jerome's not a murderer, are you back together?” he asks.

“
Technically
he's not a murderer,” I say
bitterly. “But he didn't exactly rush to call an ambulance, did he? He watched someone die. He stood there and let him bleed to death.”

Scott doesn't answer. I follow his eyes. Dad and Georgia are standing in the doorway, their faces matching pictures of shock and disgust. It's like we're all trying not to think about what happened. Then we remember, and we picture the floor, the body, the blood.

Scott drops my hand.

My head begins to feel heavy again and my dad clears his throat. “We all need some time,” he says in his best professional doctor voice. “Why don't you two stop by again some other time?”

“I'll call you?” Scott asks me at the doorway.

“That would be good. But give me a while, okay?” I say softly.

Georgia leans over to give me a hug.

“You did a good thing,” she says.

“You
did
do a good thing,” my dad nods
after the door has closed behind them. “Of course, you're grounded for the rest of your life.” At least he smiles as he says it.