Snitch (25 page)

Now, I didn’t
need
to speak. Like I said, Liz could tell what I
was thinking.

Her eyes and her mouth matched
:
three
round
O’s staring up at me. It occurred to me the sound she made when she exhaled matched the rest of her face: another perfect O. I watched her mind race
;
I watched her put everything together
;
I watched her figure it out.

“If it isn’t you…
it’s
Johnny, isn’t it
? T
hat’s why he’s acting so weird!”

I told her everything. The words came like a storm, slow at first and then unstoppable. For the first time in the last four hours, I found some relief in being able to think logically.

Unfortunately, she spoiled it all by asking the question I had no answer to
.
“What are you going to do, Andy?”

“I DON’T KNOW!” I screamed. “What if I
don’t
know
what I’m talking about? What if I’m
wrong
?”

“What if you’re not?”

Tears bubbled up from my eyes and streaked down my face like rain on a window. Right in front of the girl I never thought I would ever want to see me weak like this, I started blubbering like my little sister.

“I don’t think I am. I’m not sure of all the details, but see what his wife says here?” I grabbed one of the oldest articles, tried to clear my eyes, and read it aloud. “
Mrs. Weston stated her husband was angry because some kids were tearing up one of the back fields they used for their goats to graze on. Police investigators found ruts and tire tracks to substantiate this.
Don’t you see? They were off-roading again. That’s why Wes had to fix the holes in POS.”

“What do you mean holes? Why would there be holes? How do you get holes from off-roading?”

Liz was right. I had no idea why there would be holes
—a
bent fender maybe, but not holes.

“He just said he put
Bondo
over the holes and he’s going to paint them.”

“Big holes?
Little holes?
What if all this,” she motioned to the scattered evidence, “has nothing to do with what they did?
I mean, sure
,
they did
something
, but what if they just got in some kind of accident and
didn’t want Wes’s parents to know? Have you even checked POS out yet to look at the
se
holes?”

“What about the waking up part? Brian Weston is waking up.”

“
That
is
weird, but people wake up every day, Andy. That could mean anything.” She stood up and grabbed my hand. “C’mon, let’s go check out POS.”

We found her in the furthest parking lot from the school next to a wall and an overflowing, odorous garbage can.

“It’s an appropriate spot for her,” I said wrinkling my nose.

Liz was already examining the
Bondo
. “Little holes, I think.
Lots of them.
It’s hard to tell with this sloppy work, but this one here looks like…a bullet hole?”

That wasn’t what I wanted to hear. Hitting a mailbox or someone’s tree didn’t leave a bullet hole.

“Could it be a BB hole? Wes said he and Nick played BB tag.”

“Seriously?
That’s sick,” Liz said dead faced. “I don’t know. What’s a BB
hole
look like?”

I checked out the holes; even with the
Bondo
, I could tell they were too big.
“
They’re more like shotgun holes.”

“Did somebody have a shotgun?”

“The article didn’t mention one.”

“Then this isn’t what they were talking about. I’m sure the article would have mentioned the fact that people were shooting guns at each other.”

I felt my body loosen and lighten at the same time. “You’re right,” I said. “That would have made the news and the paper. This is probably from something totally different.
”

“You think?” Liz asked. “Look at this truck. It’s a mess. I’m surprised the fenders aren’t falling off. Besides, Wes lives on a farm. I’m sure they shoot shotguns all the time. You know, to scare off wild animals and stuff
.
Think about Wes.
Think about his brother.
Do
n’t
you think
those guys
might miss
what they’re shooting at
once in a while?”

I breathed a sigh of relief that expelled all the fears and worries that had terrorized me all morning. “Sorry. Sorry for overreacting and upsetting you.”

“You’re the one
who
was upset. Obviously the boys did something they shouldn’t have, but attempted murder isn’t it.” She paused. “And it’s a good thing it wasn’t. You would have
had
to tell.”

Attempted murder.
I hadn’t allowed myself to say those words,

because
the
“
had to tell
”
part had been screaming at me front and center all morning, but now that I knew Johnny was innocent I let the words play in
my mind. That would have been a really, really bad thing.

I waited for Johnny after school and caught him before he got on the bus he hated so much.

“Hey!” I called. He didn’t seem too happy to see me but called hey back, so I moved over to him staying out of any teachers’ vision since I was supposed to be home sick and all that.

“I just wanted to let you know I’m here for you,” I offered.

Johnny raised both eyebrows as if he didn’t understand, so I kept talking. “
I mean, I can tell something’s…
different…wrong. I mean, well, I just want you to know if you need a friend…I still have your back…you know.”

Johnny smiled.

“I’m good,” he said.
“Really.
Don’t worry. It’s all good.” He motioned over to his bus. “I better get on, or I’m
going to
miss it.”

“Okay.”

“Oh, and just so you don’t worry too much, I got my science project done. It’s not great, but I’ll pass.”

“Great,” I said waving. “Call me.”

“I will tonight,” Johnny said, waving back. “Later.”

Since I got home at my usual time, Mom didn’t suspect I had blown school off and wanted to know how my day was. Even though I hated doing it, I had no choice but to lie to her
,
which made me
feel even
guilt
ier,
so I escaped to my room on the pretense of having homework. The newspaper articles scattered across my bed greeted me like a slap across my face, so I wadded them up and threw them where they belonged: in the trash. Next, I sat at my desk and did something else I didn’t want to do: I wrote an excuse for my absence, forging Mom’s signature. Out of guilt for skipping and lying, I made myself work on a history review I normally wouldn’t have touched and assigned myself some extra credit homework to atone for my sins.

It had been a hell of a day.

***

Mom called supper a few hours later, and even though it was homemade mac and cheese
,
which I normally love, the stress of the day had totally trashed my appetite. Because nothing escapes Mom’s eyes when it comes to Sarah or me, I got caught pushing everything around my plate instead of eating it.

“Is everything okay?” Mom prodded.
“School?
Liz?”

“I’m good. I guess it’s just finals and stuff. I’ve been upstairs shoving Vietnam War facts into my brain for the last few hours.
Very cheery stuff.”

I forked some mac into my mouth to appease Mom. “Mr. Jones says if we watch the nightly news and compare it to something we’ve been
studying,
we get extra credit, so I’m taking him up on it.”

I headed for the den, glad to escape the Mom inquisition
,
and flicked on the television.

“Why do newscasters always look like mannequins?” I asked Dad who never missed the news. “Check out his hair. I think it’s plastic.”

The anchors smiled at the camera and took turns announcing all the interesting news bits they had in store for us:

New tensions in the Middle East might hit you where it hurts at the gas pump.

The First Lady is in Ohio promoting her education cause.

Hawaii ranks as the most beautiful, but can you afford to live there?

And in local news: The local man found in the middle of the road last week is talking.

And
finally:
t
he Little League team everyone said couldn’t,
did
, and is on its way to the
national
championships!

Stay tuned for this and much, much more.

Needless to say, I watched more of the newscast than I planned to
,
and I paid close attention to the report on Brian Weston.

“You’re sure you’re okay, son?” Dad asked, looking at me a little too
long
, his voice a little too concerned.

I had to get out of there. I had to call Liz.

“Yeah,” I said
,
hoping all those acting exercises I had practiced with M
s.
Miller would pay off. “I just better get to writing before everything empties out of my head.”

I smiled and held out a fist bump
,
which Dad returned, but not until after a second of confused surprise. Okay, a fist bump wasn’t really appropriate, but now that I knew the truth, I was lucky to make my feet move at all. There was no second guessing or finding other reasons for the frenzied talk I had heard earlier in the day
.
I knew the truth!

“Liz,” I breathed behind my closed bedroom door. “It
was
them
. There was a news report tonight, and Brian Weston remembers it all. Boys in a light
-
colored pickup truck were tearing up his fields again, so he waited for them in the bushes with a club. When the truck got stuck in the mud, he jumped in the back of it and started hitting it with a big stick. That’s as much as he remembers,
but
we
know
the rest. Somehow they
got rid of him, and they left him there, Liz. They left him in the road to die.”

“But the holes…that doesn’t explain the holes.”

“Brian Weston did. The reason the truck got stuck was because besides the stick, he had his shotgun. When he hit the bed of the truck, the driver stopped and the truck sunk in the mud. He remembers shooting the truck, Liz! He remembers all of it. And the police have put out a bulletin for a
light
-
colored
pickup.”

“This can’t be happening,” Liz said. “
If it’s true, you have to tell. But what if it’s not true? What if you’re wrong? Andy, w
hat are you going to do?”

That question again! That stupid, horrible, unanswerable question! “WOULD YOU STOP ASKING ME THAT?”

“Would you stop yelling at me?
None of this is my fault. Yelling at me isn’t fair!
This is the second time today, you know.”

“Well, let’s make it three times: I’M UNDER A LITTLE BIT OF STESS HERE!”

Liz responded by hanging up on me.

Fine.
It was better that way. I couldn’t deal with this and her too. She was right; she could be a bi-itch sometimes. I had to think. I had to be really sure.
Really, really sure.

I punched in Johnny’s speed dial. Since he didn’t answer, I punched in his land line.

“What’s going on?” Mrs. Palmer asked me. “Something’s going on and Johnny won’t talk to me. Do you know?”

I lied. I need more time, so I lied and said no.

“He’s not been himself at all lately, and then after supper he tore out of here almost in tears. Are you sure you don’t know what is going on?”
Mrs. Palmer hesitated
.
“Is it something with that girl he’s been seeing?”

I could only wish.

“I’ll try and find him,” I lied again. It was a lie
,
plain and simple. Mom and Dad had always taught me a
half-truth
was as good as a whole lie. I had lied so many times
today
,
I wasn’t sure what was real anymore.

That’s why sneaking out the window was so easy to do.
The actual act of sneaking was kind of hard because our roof is steep, but I didn’t feel any guilt
.
I just did it. Once I got both legs eased out the window, my body
followed
,
scooching
down the asphalt shingles that scraped away my skin and my sense of integrity. I caught a low
-
hanging oak tree branch and
swung down careful to bend my knees when I landed. It hurt, but this whole day hurt. After a few hundred yards my knees loosened up again
, my hand scrapes stopped burning so much,
and I was at a full run.