The Confession

  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.

  And I knew someone was behind us. Someone was watching us.

  As we passed a flat, empty lot, dark weeds rustling in the heavy blackness, I grabbed Hillary’s arm. Signaled for her to stop.

  “There’s someone back there,” I whispered. “Someone following us.”

  “I know,” she whispered back.

  I heard the hedge rustle again. Heard the soft thud of a shoe against the ground.

  I could feel Hillary’s arm muscles tense. I saw her jaw clench.

  We both spun around quickly.

  And gasped in surprise.

  Chapter

  15

  No one there.

  The wind rattled the tall hedge at the corner. Something—a tiny creature—scampered silently across the street. A chipmunk? A mouse?

  Hillary and I froze in place, staring toward the corner. I held my breath. And listened.

  Listened for another soft thud. Listened for a breath, a cough, a sigh.

  And heard only the whisper of the new leaves. And the high wail of an ambulance siren somewhere far in the distance.

  For some reason, Hillary and I both burst out laughing.

  Loud, relieved laughter.

  “Are we both going totally paranoid?” I cried.

  “We’re losing it,” Hillary agreed. “We are definitely losing it.”

  “I mean, why would anyone follow us?” I added. “What on earth were we thinking of?”

  I took a final squint at the hedge. It hovered over the grass, silent and still. Then I turned and led the way down the block.

  “Come study at my house,” I urged Hillary. “We can do all the French verbs together. It will be easier with two people.”

  I still felt tense. Kind of messed up and frightened. I really didn’t feel like being alone.

  Hillary hesitated, then said yes. “I can’t stay too late, Julie. And you’ve got to promise one thing.”

  “What’s that?” I asked.

  “We won’t talk any more about Sandy and Al.”

  “That’s a promise,” I quickly agreed.

  It was a promise I couldn’t keep.

  As we turned the corner onto Fear Street, my house came into view. First I saw the black-and-white police cruiser in the driveway. Then I saw the policeman making his way slowly to the front door of my house.

  “What does he want?” I cried, feeling a wave of heavy dread sweep over me. “Why don’t they leave me alone?”

  “I guess we’ll soon find out,” Hillary replied softly.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  I had a strong urge to turn around, to run the other way before the policeman saw me. But Hillary and I didn’t run. We made our way up the front lawn and caught up to him as he raised his hand to ring the doorbell.

  I recognized Officer Reed.

  “My parents aren’t home!” I cried. A lie. It just burst out of me.

  I wanted him to go away. I didn’t want to answer any more questions.

  Officer Reed turned to face us. His bald head reflected the glow from the porch light. He wore a blue police uniform, the pants wrinkled, the jacket rumpled and stained at one
elbow. He was bigger than I remembered. The uniform jacket stretched tight across his stomach. His dark tie slanted crookedly. He carried his uniform hat in one hand.

  I glanced at the pistol in a short brown holster at his waist. I wondered if he had ever shot anyone.

  “I was hoping to see you,” he said to me, after nodding at Hillary. “A few more questions.”

  “Well, my parents aren’t home,” I lied. “So I don’t think it would be a good idea.”

  Please, please go away.

  “I really shouldn’t talk to you if they aren’t here,” I continued.

  He blinked. Pursed his dry lips.

  And the front door swung open. My mom poked her head out. “I thought I heard voices,” she said, peering into the yellow porch light. When she spotted Officer Reed, her expression turned to alarm. “Is everything okay? Julie and Hillary—?”

  “I just came to ask a few more questions, Mrs. Carlson,” Officer Reed said, narrowing his eyes at me. “A couple of things to ask Julie, if it’s okay. I promise I’ll only stay a minute.”

  She stepped back to allow us to enter. She had a book in her hand. A Stephen King novel.

  How can she be reading horror for fun when my life is a horror novel? I thought.

  We settled in the living room. Mom took the chair in front of the window. She kept the book in her lap but folded her hands over it.

  Hillary and I sat down on opposite sides of the couch. Officer Reed pulled a pencil and small notepad from his shirt pocket. Then, with a grunt, he lowered his big body onto the ottoman in front of us.

  “Have you made any progress?” Mom asked the police officer from the window. “I mean, with the case.”

  He had his back to her. He turned his head. “A little. I think.”

  The words sent a cold stab of fear to my chest. Did he suspect Sandy? Were the police getting close to solving Al’s murder?

  He turned back to me. My hands were suddenly cold and clammy. I slid them under the couch cushion to warm them.

  “Julie, I had the feeling outside that you didn’t want to talk to me,” he said.

  “Huh?”

  I wasn’t expecting him to say that.

  He kept his eyes locked on me, waiting for me to give a better answer. “Is there any reason why you might want to avoid me?”

  “No,” I replied, my heart pounding. “It’s just … well … it’s hard to keep being reminded of what happened.”

  He nodded. His eyes didn’t move from my face. “You’ve been back at school for a while. Your friends have probably been talking about the murder. You’ve probably heard some rumors, right?”

  He waited for me to reply, but I couldn’t think of anything to say.

  “Have you heard any rumors, Julie? Anything at all that you should share with me?”

  “Listen, Officer Reed, forget about rumors. I can save you a lot of time and trouble. Al’s murderer was a boy in my class named Sandy Miller. He confessed to us all last week.”

  Chapter

  16

  That’s what I wanted to say.

  That’s what I was dying to say!

  The words were ready to pour out of my mouth in a long stream, a cleansing stream.

  I’ll feel so much better if I tell him, I realized. If I tell him, it will be over. All the fear. All the worry. All the bad dreams.

  But could I do that to Sandy?

  No.

  Sandy had trusted us. Sandy had trusted me—with the deepest, darkest secret of his life.

  And as bad as I felt, as frightened, as upset—I couldn’t betray Sandy. As much as the words wanted to explode from my lips, I couldn’t say them. I had to swallow them, to hold them in.

  I let my gaze slide over to Hillary on the other end of the couch. I could see by her expression that she was reading my thoughts.

  Hillary wanted to tell, even more than me.

  Hillary was so angry at Sandy, I knew she was bursting to tell.

  Hillary was more upset than any of us that Sandy had confessed to us. Right from the beginning, she was furious that Sandy had involved us.

  She slid a hand up and down her long braid. The other hand silently drummed the couch arm.

  Hillary wouldn’t tell, I knew.

  And neither would I.

  Officer Reed leaned forward on the ottoman. “You must have heard some rumors,” he insisted. “Your classmates—they must have some thoughts about who murdered Al Freed.”

  I shook my head. “Everyone is terribly upset,” I told him. “I mean, no one can believe it. It’s all so unreal.”

  “Kids don’t talk about it that much,” Hillary broke in. Her voice sounded tense and tight. “It’s too frightening. We all talk about graduation and stuff. I think we all want to forget, want to shove the whole thing to the back of our minds.”

  “She’s right,” I quickly agreed. Hillary was so smart. She could always put things into words better than me. “It’s supposed to be a happy time. For us seniors, I mean. People don’t want to be reminded that something so horrible happened. That’s why I acted a little unhappy to see you at the front door.”

  Officer Reed nodded grimly. He rubbed his broad forehead. Then he lowered his eyes to the little notepad. “Let me run a few names by you. See if they mean anything to you.”

  He slowly read off a list of six or seven boys’ names. None of the boys were from Shadyside High. Hillary and I had never heard of any of them.

  “Are those Al’s friends from Waynesbridge?” I asked.

  Officer Reed tucked the notebook into his shirt pocket. “Yeah. Some of them.”

  “He never brought them around,” I told him. “He mostly hung out with them in Waynesbridge.”

  “I see.” The police officer pulled himself to his feet. “That’s all for now,” he said. “Sorry to take up your time.” He nodded to my mother, who remained by the window.

  “Sorry we weren’t any help,” I said, showing him to the front door. “If I hear anything … ”

  “Please call,” he said. “Good night, everyone.” He stepped out the door.

  I watched from the doorway until he climbed into his cruiser. I felt so relieved. Relieved that he was leaving. Relieved that I had fought down my urge to tell him the truth, to tell him everything I knew.

  His car door slammed. The headlights flashed on. A few seconds later, he pulled silently away.

  When he was out of sight, I closed the front door. As I returned to the living room, my heartbeat slowed to a normal pace, my hands felt warm again.

  “I hope he finds the murderer soon,” Mom said, biting her bottom lip.

  “I hope so,” I echoed.

  Mom stood up. She raised her book. “I’m going upstairs to read. I can’t put this book down, even though it’s scaring me to death.” She said good night to Hillary and headed up to her room.

  I waited till she was upstairs. Then I whispered to Hillary, “Were you thinking what I was thinking?”

  “You mean about telling the policeman what we know?”

  I nodded. “It was on the tip of my—”

  I stopped when I saw a flash of movement through the living room window. Just the flicker of a shadow. A darting move. Out in the front yard.

  I cut the lights. Then, in total darkness, stepped up to the window—and saw him. Saw him clearly.

  Sandy.

  “Ohhh.” I uttered a low cry and motioned for Hillary to join me. We both cupped our hands around our eyes to see better.

  “It’s Sandy,” I whispered. “Hiding behind the tree.”

  “Someone was following us!” Hillary exclaimed in a whisper. “It was Sandy.”

  “What is he doing out there?” I demanded. “Does he think we told Officer Reed about him? Does he think we turned him in?”

  Hillary didn’t reply.

  We both stared out at him. Lurking behind the fat tree trunk, moonlight trickling along the ground in front of him, his face nearly hidden in blue shadows.

&
nbsp; “He … he’s so creepy,” Hillary whispered.

  “Why is he just standing there?” I wondered. “Is he trying to scare us? What is he doing out there? What?”

  Chapter

  17

  We ran to the door. We called to Sandy.

  “Sandy! Sandy!” I leaned out into the darkness, shouting his name.

  He didn’t answer.

  I saw him pull back into the deep shadows.

  “Where is he?” Hillary whispered. “What is he doing?” Her voice cracked. I guess she was afraid.

  Afraid of Sandy. I was too. Suddenly afraid of our old friend. Our old friend acting so strangely. Trying to frighten us.

  “There he goes,” I whispered back.

  We both saw him, ducking low, staying against the hedge, running away down the block.

  Hillary and I watched him until he disappeared around the hedge. I shivered as I shut the door.

  Why did he do that? Why did he follow us? What did he want?

  “Weird,” I muttered. “Totally weird.”

  I didn’t know that this was only the beginning. Two days later, Sandy frightened us again.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  I was passing the gym after school. The double doors were open. I heard someone call my name.

  I saw a bunch of guys messing around on the gym floor, passing around a basketball, dribbling and taking wild shots. “Hey, Julie—how’s it going?” Vincent called.

  Behind him, Sandy leaped up, tried for a slam dunk—and missed. Laughter rang out. I saw Sandy scowl. Another guy went after the ball. But Sandy cut him off and angrily grabbed it away.

  “We’re just goofing around,” Vincent called. “Wait up and I’ll walk home with you.”

  I felt my heart jump. Vincent wanted to walk home with me? Was he suddenly starting to catch my vibes?

  He probably wants to borrow my history notes, I thought with a sigh. But I tossed down my backpack and leaned against the tile gym wall, watching them play.

  The guys all seemed to be having fun. They were just dribbling and shooting, taking crazy shots, mostly missing. No one seemed to be taking it seriously—except for Sandy.