I had to assume that Justin was avoiding me. Even though he was a junior and I was just a freshman, our hours were the same. We didn't talk, but we usually dodged each other racing for the bathroom in the morning, or bumped shoulders going for the last Lunchable in the fridge, or passed each other in the hall at school. But after that day, it was almost a week before I saw him again. I even contemplated asking Mom to insist on a family dinner for a change, just to get us in the same room at the same time. But the thought of ripping Dad away from his tray in front of the tube, and having Mom flipping through her calendar to find a date when she didn't have a business meeting... Well, that would always be a last resort.
I finally decided on the second-to-last resort, which was to sneak into his room while he was out and wait for him. I sat on his bed and looked around the room. It felt like eons since I'd been in there, but really nothing had changed. Still tidy, full of books, with the framed picture of some guys on mountain bikes racing down a hillside hung above the desk. For a moment I wondered hopefully if maybe that was what Justin had been doing to get so beat up, but I knew he didn't have a bike.
It was late before the door opened. I set aside the book I'd been reading. Justin froze for an instant, looking at me, but then he came on in and closed the door behind him.
“I didn't look at your private stuff.”
“I know. You wouldn't do that.”
“I was tempted,” I admitted.
His lips twisted in a wry grin. “I can imagine. There's not much to find though.”
“Justin...” I stalled out. How do you ask your older-brother-the-god if someone is beating him?
Justin let me hang for a minute and then said, “I figured you'd wonder about the bruises.”
“Yeah.”
“I'm into sports. I play hard.”
“That hard? What sports?”
“Um, stuff like mountain climbing.”
“Bullshit. The nearest thing we have to a mountain around here is the landfill.” I surprised myself. While I still had the nerve I hurried on. “Really, Justin, if it's... Is there something you want to talk about, something I can do?”
He shook his head at me. “I'm fine. Believe me. It's nice that you care, but there's nothing sinister going on. I run, I climb, sometimes I fall. End of story.”
I wanted to yell at him. I wanted to say that if he got those kind of bruises from running he was the clumsiest damned marathoner the world had ever seen. But the flat line of his mouth said the subject was closed. I nodded jerkily, once, clamping my jaw shut and squinting around sudden tears. Damn him, anyway.
I went to my room and phoned Haley. “You still want to practice your shadowing skills?”
She put on an accent of some kind, in fun. “Sure t'ing, boss. We'll get da goods on da guy.”
“Bring your camera to school. We'll start from there.”