On My Honor Read Online Free PDF

His dad would be good at explaining things. His dad would ... what would he do? "You're on your honor, Joel." That's what he had said. "You'll be careful the whole way? You won't go anywhere except the park?" And now Joel had proved what his honor was worth, what he was worth.
    "Come on, kid," the boy said, and though his voice was still rough, it wasn't unkind. He knew. He knew what sort of questions the police would ask, what Joel's father would say, and Joel could tell the boy was feeling sorry for him.
    "No," Joel said, shaking his head vigorously and pulling on his shirt. "You go on. I've got my bike here. I'll go report it to the police. No sense you getting involved."
    "He's right," the girl said. She held her chin up and spoke with authority, though there were tears running down her cheeks. "There's no sense. Besides, if we go back into town, I might get into trouble. I called in sick to work today, remember? To go with you." She placed an extended index finger in the middle of the boy's chest.
    "But it's gotta be reported," the boy said, stubbornly. "And the kid's parents have to be told, too."
    At first Joel thought the boy was talking about his parents, about telling his father and mother, but then he realized the boy meant the Zabrinskys. Joel hadn't thought about Tony's parents up until now. For an instant he imagined ringing the Zabrinskys' doorbell, and he saw Mrs. Zabrinsky, her face tired, her eyes already sad, coming to the door. When the door opened, though, it was Mr. Zabrinsky standing there, a heavy, leather belt in his hand. Joel could feel the cold sweat breaking out along his sides. If the police didn't get him, Tony's father would for sure.
    "I'll go to the police," he said. "I promise."

Chapter Seven
     
    J OEL LEANED INTO HIS BIKE, PUSHING AS hard as he could, almost running up the hill. His heart drummed in his ears. The boy and his girl friend were still sitting in their car, probably arguing about whether or not to go to the police. Their presence behind him in the road made the skin between Joel's shoulder blades and up the back of his neck feel tight and bunchy.
    When the car finally pulled away, rumbled across the bridge and up the opposite hill, Joel quit pushing and dropped across the handlebars, gasping for breath. After a few moments he looked back. The car was gone. Heat wavered off the empty road.
    He began to push his bike again, more slowly now. When he was three fourths of the way to the top, a small red car crested the hill and started toward him. Joel straightened up, freezing his features into what he hoped was an image of innocence, of nonchalance. Still, when the car passed, he had to turn away. If the people in the car got a good look at his face, they would know.
    His mother had always told him that he was the worst keeper of guilty secrets in the world. When he was a little kid, if he walked past her with a snitched cookie in his pocket, she would take one look at his face and say, "Joel, what do you have in your pocket?"
    Now everybody was going to look at him and say, "Joel, why did you go swimming in the river? Joel, what did you do to your best friend?"
    And what kind of questions would the police ask? What would they guess without even asking?
    Joel stopped in his tracks, his heart beginning to hammer again. He couldn't go back. He just couldn't!
    He jerked his bike around, facing it down the hill and away from town, away from the police, the Zabrinskys, his parents. He climbed on, standing with all his weight on one pedal so that his rear wheel fishtailed as he moved out. This time he would build up enough speed to make it to the top of the other side of the valley without having to get off once to push.
    His father had given him permission to ride his bike all the way to Starved Rock State Park. He was going to ride to the park.
     
    A line of fire measured the tops of Joel's thighs. He pedaled steadily, glancing neither to the right nor to the left, images flashing