sketch of the suspect. I stare at it and really relax for the first time since it happened. If you ask me, the guy in the sketch doesnât look anything like me. Grinning, I glance at JD.
âYou were right,â I say. âWhoever they have as a witness didnât see two guys, just one. For sure he didnât see meâor you. Either that or they have a police artist who flunked out of art school.â
JD stares at me. He has a funny expression on his face.
âAre you okay?â I say.
He nods. âCan I use your bathroom?â
While heâs in there, I pour myself a big bowl of cereal and eat the whole thing. I make myself a peanut butter and honeysandwich and eat that, washing it down with a glass of milk. I feel great. The face on that drawing doesnât look like me at all. I feel like dancing. If Leah was here, Iâd grab her and swing her around. Who knows, maybe Iâd even kiss her.
JD comes into the kitchen and says, âWe better get a move on.â
âNo problem,â I say.
Iâm practically walking on air all the way to school. Sure, Iâm sorry about the guy who got killed. But I wasnât the one carrying the gun. I didnât do anything. Only now I donât have to try to explain that to the police. I donât have to explain anything to anybody. I donât have to rat out JD, which I have the feeling he wouldnât take very well, if you know what I mean. All I have to do is try to forget about the whole thing.
The morning goes like normalâattendance, announcements, math, computers, French. In other words, boring, boring, boring, computer games, boring. Except that Leahis in my French class. On her way to her desk, she hands me an envelope.
âWhat is it?â I say.
âOpen it,â she says.
I do and find a picture of JD and me with our bikes. Itâs the picture Leah took Sunday morning. Itâs the last thing I want to be reminded of. But sheâs standing there waiting for my reaction, so I tell her, Itâs great, thanks, Leah.
She frowns. âWhatâs the matter? Donât you like it?â
âSure, I do,â I say. Then I tell her the truth. âI was hoping it would be the picture JD took. The one of you and me.â
Her cheeks turn pink. âReally?â
âYeah, really.â
She looks at me in a way sheâs never done before, and all of a sudden I wish we werenât in French class. I wish we were somewhere alone together.
After she takes her place, I fold the picture of JD and me and tuck it into my wallet.
Just before French class ends, thereâsan announcement to the whole school over the PA systemâspecial assembly after lunch. Students whose last names start with the letters A to L report to the auditorium at one oâclock. Students whose last names start with M to Z report at one thirty. The vice-principal who makes the announcement doesnât say what the special assembly is all about.
JD and I are both M-Z, so we report to the auditorium from English class (the only class weâre in together) at one thirty. Kids from the one oâclock assembly are making their way back to class. JD snags one of them, a kid he knows, and asks him what the assembly is about.
âSome guy who got shot,â the kid says. âThe cops think maybe it was a kid from this school that did it.â
There it is againâthat freezing hot feeling. Plus I feel like I want to throw up.
JD gives me a little push to get me moving down the hall toward the auditorium. We take a seat in the back. The vice-principal is on the stage telling everyone, Settledown, come on, people, we donât have all day. When itâs finally quiet, he introduces a man in a sharp-looking suit. I recognize him. Heâs the homicide cop that was on the breakfast television show. He tells us his nameâDetective Brian Tanner. He says he is working on the murder of Richard Braithwaite, who