The Confession (8 page)

Hillary shook her head, frowning at Sandy.

“You should thank me!” Sandy protested. “You really should, Hillary. Instead of staring at me like that, you should be thanking me!”

“But you
killed
him, Sandy!” Hillary cried in a trembling, emotional voice I'd never heard from her before. “You
killed
him! He was ruining my life, true. He was pestering me all the time. Demanding things. Annoying me. But—”

Hillary took a deep breath. “But I would never
kill
him! Don't you get it, Sandy? Don't you see what you've done? You killed a human being. You killed
Al!”

Sandy opened his mouth to reply. But Hillary cut him off with a sharp wave of her hand.

“You don't kill someone just because he's annoying you,” Hillary said, speaking slowly, saying each word clearly and distinctly. “And then you don't confess. You don't tell what you did to a roomful of people.”

“You're not
people
—” Sandy insisted. “You're my
friends
. I told you because you're my friends.”

“And what are friends for?” Vincent broke in. He may have meant it as a joke, but it fell flat.

Even Vincent couldn't make us smile now. I studied him, wondering what he was really thinking. It was so hard to know with Vincent. His jokes always covered up his true feelings.

“You put us in a horrible position, Sandy.” Hillary sighed, finally lowering her arms to her
sides. “Now we have no choice. We have to tell your parents. Or call the police.”

“No!” Taylor shrieked. She turned on Hillary. “What are you
saying?
We've got to protect Sandy. We've got to keep his secret.”

“I trusted you guys,” Sandy murmured, lowering his eyes to the carpet.

“I think Taylor is right,” I said thoughtfully. “We can't turn Sandy in. It—it's just too horrible to think about!” For a second, I could feel myself about to burst into tears.

It was all too much. Too much sadness. Too much horror. Too much tension.

“He's made us part of a murder,” Hillary argued.

“But he did it for us,” Vincent chimed in. “Believe me, when Al totaled my parents' car, I wanted to kill him. I really wanted to. But I didn't have the nerve.”

“You didn't want to take a human life,” Hillary told Vincent. “You weren't being a wimp. You knew you don't just kill someone because they're trouble.”

Taylor stepped up beside Sandy and slid her arm around his waist. “We have to go on with our lives,” she said, leaning her head against Sandy's shoulder. “We have to try to forget this happened and go on with our lives. If we turn Sandy over to the police, how can we do that? How can we ever get back to normal?”

“She's right,” I argued. “If we turn Sandy in, one more life will be ruined.”

“Thanks, Julie,” Sandy said softly. He turned to
the others. “You all know me. You know I'm a good guy. You know I'm not a killer. I'm just a normal guy. And I'm your friend. We're all good friends.”

He swallowed hard. I could see he was choked with feeling.

Taylor squeezed his waist. She raised her head and kissed his cheek.

“You know I'm not a killer,” Sandy repeated, his eyes moving around the room. “You know I'll never ever kill again. Right?
Right?”

A week later, Sandy killed again.

Chapter

13

S
andy killed again. But this time it was in a dream I had.

In the dream, Hillary and I were running through an endless green field. And then suddenly, we were skating. Gliding over the field, faster and faster, our bodies leaning into a strong breeze that fluttered our hair and our sweaters.

I remember thinking how strange it was that we could skate so well on grass. And then in the dream, the sky darkened. The grass turned blue, then black as deep shadows swept over us.

We were running again. Running in fear now. I didn't know what we were afraid of—until I saw Sandy step out from the trees.

He raised his hands. He held two Rollerblades, laced together. He pulled the skates apart and snapped the laces tight.

I'll never forget the terrifying sound of that
snap
.

I knew he was waiting to strangle Hillary and me. Strangle us both.

But we kept running toward him anyway. As if cooperating with him. As if helping him murder us.

We ran toward Sandy. He snapped the laces tight again.

And I woke up. Drenched in sweat. My nightshirt stuck against my skin.

Blinking myself alert, I heard the
snap snap snap
of the laces.

And slowly realized I was hearing the snap of the venetian blinds as the wind tossed them against the frame of my bedroom window.

I shivered. Picturing Sandy. Chubby little Sandy with his round, baby face.

Now he was evil. Now he was an evil figure, come to scare me in my dreams.

I squinted at the clock radio on my bed table. Only six-fifteen. The sky outside the window was still gray.

I lowered my feet to the floor and started to climb out of bed. I knew I couldn't get back to sleep. I didn't
want
to go back to sleep.

I didn't want to dream again.

♦ ♦ ♦

I told Hillary about the dream after graduation rehearsal the next evening.

Graduation rehearsal! Do you believe it?

There are nearly three hundred seniors at Shadyside High. And I don't think any of us actually believed we were graduating in a few weeks.

We all acted as if it were a big joke at rehearsal. So much joking and goofing on each other, it was more like a free-for-all!

Mr. Hernandez shouted his head off, but he couldn't get us to quiet down or line up or anything. Finally, Ricky Shore stepped up to the auditorium mike and boomed at the top of his voice: “Let's get ready to rummmmmmmble!”

We all laughed. But for some reason, we also got quiet. The principal thanked Ricky for his help, ordered him off the stage, and started telling us what we had to do.

Of course, we all sang the Shadyside High alma mater off-key, howling like dogs and laughing our heads off. And then some of the guys on the football team started blocking each other when it was time to line up. And that started more laughing and shouting.

I guess we acted more like the kindergarten class than the senior class. But I think part of the reason was that most of us don't really want to graduate.

We don't want to leave Shadyside High. It's been our home for four years. We've had so many good times here. And we know that after we graduate, we won't be together like this with all of our friends—ever again.

The rehearsal ended a little after eight o'clock. All over the auditorium, kids were picking up their backpacks, preparing to go home and do their homework. Even though we're almost out of here, we still have term papers to write and final exams.

Across the room near the stage, I glimpsed Vincent. He was performing for a group of girls.
Some kind of wild dance, flinging his arms up in the air, shaking his whole body.

They were laughing and shaking their heads. One of them tried dancing with him but couldn't keep up. Everyone thinks Vincent is so cute—because he is.

How come he never wants to dance with
me?

I hoisted up my backpack and caught up to Hillary in front of the stage. “Wait up! What's your hurry?” I called.

She untangled her long braid from her backpack strap. “It's so hot in here,” she complained. “And I didn't think rehearsal would go this long. I've got a ton of French to do.”

Hillary narrowed her eyes at me. She picked a white ball of lint off the front of my tank top. “How come you look so tired, Julie?”

“I didn't sleep very well last night,” I told her, surprised that it showed. That's when I told her about my Sandy dream and the
snap snap
of the blinds.

She shuddered. “I can't stop thinking about it, either,” she confessed. “I mean, every time I run into Sandy now, I feel kind of sick. I get this heavy feeling in my stomach.”

“I know,” I agreed, pressing my back against the front of the stage to let some kids squeeze past. “When I see him, I think, ‘You're not Sandy anymore. You're a murderer. You're not the guy I used to know, the guy I used to like.'”

“I—I guess I feel especially bad,” Hillary stammered, “because he thinks he did it for me. He thinks I
wanted
someone to kill Al.” She sighed. “I
thought we knew Sandy. How could someone we know so well be a …
killer?”

I didn't have an answer to that question. “I agree with you now,” I told Hillary. “I mean, about him confessing to us. At first, I thought it was okay. But now I'm sorry he decided to tell us.”

“It's like the secret is inside me,” Hillary said. “It's growing … growing. It's bursting to get out. It was so unfair of Sandy. So totally unfair.”

“And now he comes to graduation rehearsal, and goofs with everyone, and kids around, and acts as if everything is fine,” I continued. “If he can get over it, why can't we?”

Hillary started to reply—but stopped with her mouth open.

A shadow fell over us.

Someone was standing above us on the stage. I realized it at the same time as Hillary.

I turned. Raised my eyes.

And saw Taylor.

Half-hidden by the heavy, maroon curtain. She ducked quickly out of sight as I turned.

Taylor.

Hillary and I exchanged glances. I knew the same questions were in our minds:

How long had she been standing there? What had she heard?

Had she heard everything we said about Sandy?

Would she tell him?

I felt a cold shiver roll slowly down my back.

If she did tell him, what would Sandy do?

Chapter

14

“I
'm actually afraid of Sandy now,” I told Hillary. “I'm afraid of what he's thinking. Of what he might do.”

We were walking down Park Drive, heading toward our houses. I didn't feel like waiting for the bus. It came only once every half hour this time of night. And I suddenly felt eager to get away from the school.

“How can he sleep at night?” I asked her. “How can he say good morning to his mom and dad, knowing what he did? How can he come to school and kid around? How can he concentrate on his work? If I—if I killed someone, I wouldn't be able to do anything. My life would be over.”

“I know what you mean,” Hillary said, adjusting her backpack on her shoulders. “It's hard to trust him now. It's hard to think of him as a friend.
Because there's some secret part of him we didn't know about. A hard, cold part of him that's … that's really frightening.”

We walked on in silence for a while. Our shoes thudded softly on the sidewalk. A car with only one headlight rolled past. The newly unfurled leaves on the trees trembled in a soft, warm breeze. A beautiful crescent moon tilted low over the houses up ahead.

I noticed all these things. I seemed to be super alert. As if all my senses were working overtime.

“We can't be his friends anymore,” Hillary uttered, so quietly I thought she might be talking to herself. “I mean, it can never be like it was before. For any of us.”

I shook my head. “If Taylor tells Sandy what she heard us saying about him,” I replied solemnly, “he won't
want
to be our friend.”

We crossed the street and stepped into a wide pool of darkness. Two of the streetlights were out, I saw. The front yards stood under a heavy blanket of blackness.

I'm not sure when I became aware that we were being followed.

I think when Hillary and I stopped at the corner, I heard the scrape of a shoe on the pavement behind us.

I didn't pay any attention to it then. But when we hesitated before stepping into the darkness of the next block, I heard the scrape again. And the rustling of a hedge.