Chapter Twenty
“THAT’S MY DAD’S ROOM,” HE said, pointing down the hall to the right. “That’s the bathroom and laundry room,” he said, pointing to the door in front of us. “And that’s my bedroom.” He walked down the hall to the left a little and stopped in an open doorway.
My feet made whispering sounds as I made my way down the carpeted hall. I stopped opposite Jason and leaned into his room with just my head. I wondered how many other girls from school had gotten this far into Jason’s life. Probably a few.
“Definitely a guy’s room,” I said, my nose scrunching up as I took in all the dust and trophies. It was the best I could come up with as far as a response. Not very witty, but functional. That’s me.
“Does it smell?” he asked.
I looked up to find him serious. “Smell?”
His expression changed, and I could have sworn I saw embarrassment before his cool mask went on again. “I just thought … you said it was a guy’s … never mind.”
I walked inside it, not sure he wanted me there, but going anyway. Lifting my nose, I gave the air a good whiff. “It does smell, now that you mention it.”
“Shut up,” he said, coming in behind me. His dissipating embarrassment was still present in his voice. It gave me courage.
“It smells like … cologne …,” I turned slowly, keeping my nose in the air, “… an Airwick apple-scented candle and … shoes.” I finished sniffing and smiled at him. “Smelly ones.”
“You’re ridiculous,” he said, jumping up and landing on his back on the bed.
I walked over to his desk and ran my hand over some of his things. There was a blue spiral notebook that looked hardly used, a keyboard to a computer that wasn’t there anymore — the cords where hanging out of a hole in his desk — and a pen. The rest of the surface was empty and dusty. I slowly drew my name in it. K-A-T-Y. I put a heart after my name without thinking and then quickly rubbed it away before he could see it.
Hearts? Are you serious?
“What happened to the ‘puter?” I asked, running my hand over the notebook and away from the evidence of my serious lack of maturity. I really wanted to look inside the book but felt like it would be pushing the boundaries of privacy to turn the cover over.
“Confiscated. Evidence, I guess.”
The truth of why I was there — nerd girl from down the street running her fingers over his stuff like she belonged there, drawing hearts in the dust — came right to the forefront.
I turned to look at him and lowered myself into his desk chair. I hugged the back of it and rested my chin on the top rung of the seat’s ladder back. “What else did they take?” When I realized that with every word my head was bouncing up like some kind of freaky puppet, I moved my arms to rest there instead.
He laced his hands behind his head and kind of shrugged, his arms flopping up like chicken wings, as he acted like it was an easy question. “Shit that doesn’t matter. None of it matters.”
He shifted his gaze to the ceiling.
“Are you glad to be back home?” I asked, my voice annoyingly soft.
“Yes and no.” He sighed loudly.
I tried not to take it as a sign that I was irritating the hell out of him with my questions.
“Why no? I’d think you’d be much happier to be here than in … you know.” I couldn’t say the word. It was so harsh. So awful. So real for him and not for me.
“You can say it,” he said, looking at me now. “Prison. I was in prison. I belong in prison.”
“I wish you’d quit saying that.” I was kind of mad at him at that point, being so harsh and so blatantly in-my-face about the whole thing. Couldn’t he pretend for a few minutes even for himself that it wasn’t as bad as it really was? It made me glare when I really didn’t mean to.
“Why?” he asked. “It’s the truth.”
“Yeah, let’s talk about the truth.” My tone was taunting. “Like why you’re telling everyone that you’re guilty.”
Boom! Yes, I did that. I dropped that truth-bomb right there in the middle of his bedroom, right in his face. No more beating around the bush. It was time to get ugly, apparently. I had no idea what I was thinking except that I probably wasn’t … thinking, that is.
He sat up and turned sideways on the bed, staring into the palms of his hands. “I’m telling the truth.” He looked over at me, and all I could see was anguish there. “If you’re living in some kind of fantasy world where I admit secretly to you that I didn’t do it, you need to wake the hell up. Go home and go on with your life without me in it.”
I swallowed with difficulty. Not because I was scared, exactly, but because he was being so intense. And we were talking about murder, after all.
“I’m not,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper.
“Then why do you keep talking about it? Do you think I’m not torturing myself enough that you need to add to it?”
“I’m not trying to torture you, Jason.” A mixture of embarrassment, anger, and sadness was just about overwhelming me. I was completely out of my league here. Tears threatened. Why did I think I could manage this? I must have been high on permanent marker.
“Then why?” he asked, sounding almost as tortured as I felt.
“Because!” I shouted, before I could get control of my volume.
We both looked at the door, but nothing happened. I was hoping Mr. Bradley’s television was too loud for him to hear me freaking out.
“Because,” I said more normally. “I know you.”
He stared at me for a long time after that. His jaw muscles got really tense and then they relaxed. Then they tensed up again. His eyes became very bloodshot and filled with tears that didn’t fall.
“I have spent the better part of ten years ignoring you,” he said finally, his voice very hoarse.
My heart kind of broke there. For both of us. There was no use denying the truth.
“On purpose?” I asked, waiting for him to confirm my worst fears … that I’m so lame and so dorky, a person would purposely go out of his way to not interact with me. A murderer, no less.
He shook his head. “No. Not on purpose.”
I shrugged, relief washing over me. I hate it when my insecurities get the better of me like they did in that moment. I knew I shouldn’t care what other people thought of me, but I couldn’t help being human, being a person who wanted to be liked.
“But I did that,” Jason continued. “I ignored you. We’ve lived right down the street from each other since we were kids.”
“So?” I shrugged again, trying to make him feel better for being kind of a stuck-up jerk. “Lots of people live in the ‘hood and don’t hang out with me. I’m cool with that.”
“Not right here on our street. I could have given you a lift to school.”
“I already had a lift to school.” Usually. I left that part out. My car wasn’t the most reliable and Bobby’s mom didn’t always give him hers.
“Stop trying to make me feel better,” he said, sounding pissed.
I took a deep breath in and let it out slowly. I couldn’t have a normal conversation with him because I was constantly thinking that I had to watch what I said. I’d already stuck my foot in my mouth enough for one night. For one lifetime, really. But I felt like he needed to know where I was coming from. That’s why I kept talking when I probably should have just shut up and nodded.
“I’m not trying to make you feel better. Maybe you should feel like a dick because you didn’t talk to me or give me a ride or whatever … but that’s how it’s done, right? I mean, everyone does that. You’re not any more of a jerk than anyone else in your situation is.”
“In my situation?”
I stared at him blinking several times in rapid succession, waiting for him to stop playing idiot with me. But he just kept staring back, like he expected me to fill him in on the details.
“You know what I’m talking about. Don’t make me say it.” Now I was embarrassed, like it
was my fault, like I was the one doing the judging all along.
“No, I really don’t.” He looked kind of confused and really charming.
How does a girl tell a guy all about himself without sounding like a bitch? I wasn’t sure then and I’m still not sure now. But I gave it a shot anyway because I was the queen of saying shit I shouldn’t.
“Jason, you have it all.”
“Excuse me?”
“You know what I mean. You have it all. Just like all your friends. You guys are in all your glory.”
“My friends? Glory? What?”
I was getting more mad at him, each time he parroted something back at me.
“Yes. Your friends. Your girlfriend. Her friends. You guys have it all. All the glory.”
“What is this all of which you speak?” A tiny smile quirked up the edge of his mouth.
I wasn’t going to be placated by his charm, though. He was mocking me and it pissed me off. “You have popularity, looks, athletic talent, a great family …”
“Hold up, hold up …” He held his hand out in between us. “Back up … I have what? Say that stuff again … I think I missed something.”
He was totally luring me in and I was the one dumb enough to dig the hole to fall into.
“Popularity?” I said, my neck starting to get hot.
“No, not that one…”
“Athletic talent?” My voice started squeaking.
“Nooope. Not that one either.”
“A good family?” My face was so red at this point I was sweating.
He shook his head, a barely concealed and very satisfied smile taunting me. “No, there was something else you said…”
“Nope, that’s all I said. You must be mistaken.”
“You said looks.”
I frowned, like he was nuts. “No, I didn’t.”
“Yes, you did. You said I have looks.”
I shook my head, channeling pity into my eyes as best I could. “See, that’s your conceit coming out again. You thought I said that, but I didn’t. I said books. You have books.” I gestured to his shelves that actually only had trophies on them.
“Ah,” he said, nodding, “I see. So I don’t have looks.”
“No.”
“I’m just butt-ugly, is that it?”
Finally the heat in my face started to calm down. He wasn’t mocking me anymore. It was more like he was mocking himself, which I was much more comfortable with.
“No, you’re not butt-ugly. I mean … I wouldn’t use the word butt necessarily.”
Both of us sat there trying not to be the one to laugh first. For a few seconds I thought we were just going to be best buds now, smiling and laughing and joking around.
But then his face fell, and the happiness I thought I’d seen was replaced with anger.
“Why are you here?” he asked.
I wrestled with myself for a second or two trying to find the right answer. Maybe it was ten seconds. I struggled mainly because I wasn’t even really sure of the answer myself, but also because I could tell he was in a very vulnerable place. I didn’t want to be the one to injure him more than he was already injured.
“I just thought you could use a friend.”
“And you’re my friend.” He was staring at me, like he was testing me. Maybe like he wasn’t sure he believed it himself.
“Yes. I’m your friend.”
“Even though I’ve been a dick to you for most of our lives.”
I sighed. It seemed like I was doing a lot of that, but it couldn’t be helped. This was a very frustrating situation.
“Jason, I think we’ve already determined that you’ve been acting like most guys in your situation would and that I’m okay with that. Stop beating yourself up about it, okay? It’s getting annoying if you want the truth.”
He laughed kind of bitterly as he stared at his hands in his lap. “I do want the truth.”
I leaned over in my chair, trying to get his attention.
He finally rewarded me by twisting his head to the side a little. We stared at each other.
“I’ll make you a deal,” I said, my heartbeat quickening for some reason.
“Okay.”
“From now on and forever, we swear to always tell each other the truth.”
His eyes searched mine. He looked desperate, like he had something more to lose in this bargain than I did. I couldn’t figure out why he’d feel that way when the deal was mutual and he’d already sworn up and down he’d told me the truth about the coach. At least not then.
“What if we can’t tell each other the truth?” he asked. “What if you don’t want to tell me something because it’s better for me not to know it?”
“That’s fine. Then I won’t say it at all. But I won’t blow sunshine up your ass, either.”
“So this is the no-sunshine-up-the-ass deal?”
“Yes. That’s exactly what it is.” I held out my hand for him to shake. “Are you in?” My fingers weren’t trembling, thank all that is holy, even though my insides were a mess.
He turned more fully around so he was facing me, his hand coming out to envelop mine.
I remember very clearly how warm his skin was, his hand so large it swallowed mine whole. I could see bruises and scabs from a fight on his knuckles, and I realized I was striking a bargain with the hand that had killed our high school football coach. I held on anyway, even though it felt like my heart was going to explode with all the craziness.
“I swear I will not blow sunshine up your ass,” Jason said.
“And I swear I will not blow sunshine up your ass either,” I said, feeling like one of the most momentous things I’ve ever done was happening in that moment.
“I didn’t want to mention it before, but you have some salad in your teeth.” Jason kept holding onto my hand, staring me in the eye, not even blinking as he delivered that line.
I pulled my hand away and leaned back. “You are such a dick.”
He started laughing so hard, he rolled backwards and then fell off the end of his bed at my feet.
I stood and left the room in a fake-huff, looking for the bathroom he had gestured to earlier. Embarrassment doesn’t even begin to cover what I was feeling as I pictured myself smiling over and over with a green tooth.
“I’m just kidding!” he yelled.
I found the bathroom and locked myself in. Leaning with my back against the door, I realized that Jason and I really were on the road to being friends.
At first I was smiling so hard my face was hurting, but then I realized that my new friend was being put on trial for murder and facing the death penalty. My smile disappeared and I felt like crying instead.
Chapter Twenty-One
WHEN I FINALLY GOT UP the nerve to go back to Jason’s room, his dad was there standing outside the doorway. I was really glad that green stuff in the teeth thing was total b.s., otherwise I would have had a hard time smiling at him ever again.
“I think it’s time we call it a night,” he said. He gestured towards the stairs. “Can I walk you home?”
Jason’s expression turned into something resembling a storm cloud. “She came in over the back fence to avoid the press. Maybe she should go back out the same way.”
I shook my head, looking at Jason’s dad. “No, don’t be silly. I’ll go out the front door.”
Truth.
Jason and I had dedicated ourselves to the truth. That meant I had to stop hiding who I was and what I was doing from everyone, not just him.
I walked towards the stairs before I could second-guess myself.
As I went down to the front door, I thought of all the ways I could break the news to my parents about what I was doing. In my mind, the best-case scenario was engaging them in this casual conversation where I explained everything, after asking them to sit with me in the living room. We’d be mature adults, just discussing me hanging out with a murderer like we were talking about the weather.
“I’m going to be spe
nding some time with Jason,” I’d say.
“Do you mean the boy who killed your high school football coach?” my mother would ask, smiling with her hands folded in her lap.
“Yes, that’s the one.”
“Be careful, sweetie. And make sure you do your homework too,” my father would say, before shifting his attention back to the television.
Yeaaahhhh, right. And then monkeys flew out of butts everywhere.
It took only two seconds after walking out of Jason’s front door for me to realize I was living in a seriously naive fantasy world. Monkeys do not fly out of butts, and my parents were not going to be one bit happy about what I’d been up to.
Microphones were shoved in my face, and the front porch was lit up like a theater stage with all the lights.
“Are you Jason’s sister? Are you Jason’s girlfriend? Are you a friend of the family? What did Jason say to you? Did he confess to you? Did you talk about the murder?”
The ridiculously harsh and way-too-personal questions went on and on. I blocked out the rest of them to maintain my sanity. It was way too tempting to shout something back at them, even though I knew people like this would feel no shame at anything I said.
“Excuse us! Please move!” Mr. Bradley yelled, holding up one arm to shield my face while putting the other around my back and urging me on.
I held my arms up in front of me, trying to see past the bright lights. I couldn’t see any faces, I could only hear voices. They were getting more demanding with every passing second. Panic welled up in my chest and made me feel like I was going to suffocate from it. People pushed against me and crowded me. The air was getting too thin.
“Sorry about this,” Mr. Bradley said under his breath, just before a microphone hit me in the face.
“Ow!” I yelled, tasting blood on my lip. I was in shock that someone had been so desperate they’d do something like that, even if it was an accident.
“Oh, for crying out loud!” Mr. Bradley yelled, stopping us in our tracks. He turned me around to look at my face. “You’re bleeding,” he said, his face contorting into one of extreme anger. He looked out into the crowd of reporters. Tons of pictures were taken, flashes going off and shutters whining. Chick-eh, chick-eh, chick-eh…