Every Day. David Levithan
For a second, I’m tempted. But then I imagine her giving Corey the blow-by-blow account of what goes down, and even if that’s not a fair assumption to make, it’s enough to make me realize I don’t want her there.
“It’s okay,” I say. “If anything, this is really going to make me look like the good daughter.”
Carrie laughs, but more out of support than humor.
“Tell Corey I say hi,” I say playfully as I close my locker.
She laughs again. This time, out of happiness.
“Where is he?”
I haven’t even stepped through the kitchen door and the interrogation begins.
Leslie’s mother, father and grandmother are all there, and I don’t need to access her mind to know this is an unusual occurrence at three in the afternoon.
“I have no idea,” I say. I’m glad he didn’t tell me; this way, I don’t have to lie.
“What do you mean, you have no idea?” my father asks. He’s the lead inquisitor in this family.
“I mean, I have no idea. He gave me the keys to the car, but he wouldn’t tell me what was going on.”
“And you let him walk away?”
“I didn’t see any police chasing after him,” I say. Then I wonder if there are, in fact, police chasing after him.
My grandmother snorts in disgust.
“You always take his side,” my father intones. “But not this time. This time you are going to tell us everything.”
He doesn’t realize he’s just helped me. Now I know that Leslie always takes Owen’s side. So my instinct is correct.
“You probably know more than I do,” I say.
“Why would your brother and Josh Wolf have a fight?” my mother asks, genuinely bewildered. “They’re such good friends!”
My mental image of Josh Wolf is of a ten-year-old, leading me to believe that at one point, my brother probably was good friends with Josh Wolf. But not anymore.
“Sit down,” my father commands, pointing to a kitchen chair.
I sit down.
“Now . . . where is he?”
“I genuinely don’t know.”
“She’s telling the truth,” my mother says. “I can tell when she’s lying.”
Even though I have way too many control issues to do drugs myself, I am starting to get a sense why Owen likes to get stoned.
“Well, let me ask this, then,” my father continues. “Is your brother a drug dealer?”
This is a very good question. My instinct is no. But a lot depends on what happened on the field with Josh Wolf.
So I don’t answer. I just stare.
“Josh Wolf says the drugs in his jacket were sold to him by your brother,” my father prods. “Are you saying they weren’t?”
“Did they find any drugs on Owen?” I ask.
“No,” my mother answers.
“And in his locker? Didn’t they search his locker?” My mother shakes her head.
“And in his room? Did you find any in his room?”
My mother actually looks surprised.
“I know you looked in his room,” I say.
“We haven’t found anything,” my father answers. “Yet. And we also need to take a look in that car. So if you will please give me the keys . . .”
I am hoping that Owen was smart enough to clear out the car. Either way, it’s not up to me. I hand over the keys.
Unbelievably, they’ve searched my room too.
“I’m sorry,” my mother says from the hallway, tears in her eyes now. “He thought your brother might have hidden the drugs in here. Without you knowing.”
“It’s fine,” I say, more to get her out of the room than anything else. “I’m just going to clean up now.”
But I’m not quick enough. My phone rings. I hold it so my mom can’t see Owen’s name on the display.
“Hi, Carrie,” I say.
Owen is at least smart enough to keep his voice down so it won’t be overheard.
“Are they mad?” he whispers.
I want to laugh. “What do you think?”
“That bad?”
“They’ve ransacked his room, but they haven’t found anything. They’re looking in his car now!”
“Don’t tell her that!” my mother says. “Get off the phone.”
“Sorry – Mom’s here, and not happy about me talking to you about this. Where are you? Are you at home? Can I call you back?”
“I don’t know what to do.”
“Yeah, he really does have to come home eventually, doesn’t he?”
“Look . . . meet me in a half-hour at the playground, okay?”
“I really have to go. But, yes, I’ll do that.”
I hang up. My mother is still looking at me.
“I’m not the one you’re mad at!” I remind her.
Poor Leslie will have to clean up the mess in her room tomorrow morning – I can’t be bothered to figure out where everything goes. That would take too much accessing, and the priority is finding which playground Owen means. There’s one at an elementary school about four blocks from the house. I assume that’s the place.
It’s not easy to sneak out of the house. I wait until the three of them return to Owen’s room to tear it apart again, then skulk out the back door. I know this is a risky maneuver – the minute they realize I’m gone, there will be hell to pay. But if Owen comes back with me, that’ll all be forgotten.
I know I should be focusing on the matter at hand, but I can’t help but think of Rhiannon. School’s now over for her too. Is she hanging out with Justin? If so, is he treating her well? Did anything about yesterday rub off on him?
I hope, but never expect.
Owen’s nowhere to be found, so I head to the swings and hang in the air for a while. Eventually he appears on the sidewalk and heads over to me.
“You always pick that swing,” he says, sitting down on the swing next to mine.
“I do?” I say.
“Yeah.”
I wait for him to say something else. He doesn’t.
“Owen,” I finally say. “What happened?”
He shakes his head. He’s not going to tell me.
I stop swinging and plant my feet on the ground.
“This is stupid, Owen. You have five seconds to tell me what happened, or I’m going to head right back home, and you’ll be on your own for whatever happens next.”
Owen is surprised. But I figure the circumstances can justify Leslie’s anger.
“What do you want me to say? Josh Wolf gets me my pot. Today we got into a fight over it – he was saying I owed him, when I didn’t. He started pushing me around, so I pushed him back. And we got caught. He had the drugs, so he said I’d just dealt them to him. Real smooth. I said that was totally wrong, but he’s in all AP classes and everything,