The Confession Read Online Free PDF Page B

the driveway.
    Vincent gasped. His mouth dropped nearly to the ground.
    â€œOh noooo!” he wailed. “I don’t believe it!”

Chapter
    7

    â€œH ey, it wasn’t my fault, man!” Al cried, sticking his head out the driver’s window.
    He pulled the car to a stop in front of Vincent and me.
    The front of the car was just about totaled. The left front fender was crushed in. The hood was mangled. One end of the bumper dragged on the ground.
    Vincent didn’t say a word. I think he was in shock. His mouth hung wide open and he kept swallowing noisily.
    I put a hand on his shoulder. I wanted to say something comforting, something hopeful. But I couldn’t think of anything.
    Vincent moved slowly from one side of the car to the other, his eyes locked on the smashed-in hood and fender, the sagging bumper. He was so upset, Idon’t think he even knew that I was standing beside him.
    â€œReally. It wasn’t my fault,” Al repeated out the open window. He climbed out of the car, wearing black as usual. A black baseball cap covered his blond hair.
    The driver’s door made a loud squawk as he pushed it open. I saw that the door was banged in too.
    â€œN-not your fault?” Vincent stammered in a choked voice.
    â€œI couldn’t see the stop sign,” Al explained. “There were tree leaves in front of it. Really, man. How could I know it was there? It wasn’t my fault.”
    Vincent let out a long moan. He stared at the mangled car, shaking his head.
    A grin spread across Al’s face. “At least I got it back on time!”
    And that’s when Vincent lost it.
    He leaped onto Al like some kind of wild jungle animal. Growling and scratching and screaming and cursing and tearing at him.
    I froze for a second. Startled. Frightened.
    Then I shot across the driveway. Grabbed Vincent from behind. Swept my arms around his waist. And pulled.
    â€œStop it, Vincent! Stop it!” I shrieked.
    I pulled him off Al. But he was still swearing and swinging his fists, bellowing like a furious lion.
    â€œLet go of me, Julie! Let me go!” Vincent struggled to free himself.
    â€œVincent—please! Please!” I pleaded.
    Al had fallen back against the car. I saw himpulling himself up. He straightened his black T-shirt. Picked up his cap from the driveway. I saw his little blue eyes narrow menacingly. Saw his face tighten in anger.
    â€œLet me go!” Vincent screamed.
    I held on tight. “No, Vincent. No way! He’ll only pound you,” I insisted. “You know I’m right. You can’t fight him. He’ll pound you!”
    â€œBut he can’t keep getting away with this stuff!” Vincent cried. “He can’t!”
    I glanced up.
    To my surprise, Al had turned away and was jogging down the driveway. Without calling to us, without uttering a word, he turned at the sidewalk and disappeared, jogging, behind a tall hedge.
    Al never looked back.
    That was on Thursday.
    The next night—Friday night—I killed him.

Chapter
    8

    W ell … some people thought I killed Al.
    But of course I didn’t.
    After dinner on Friday, I called Vincent. He greeted me with a glum hello. Even over the phone, I could tell that he was upset and very depressed.
    I tried to cheer him up. “We’re all going blading at the Shadyside Rink,” I told him. “Want to come?”
    Vincent is a terror on Rollerblades! He whirls around wildly and waves his arms like a crazy person. He always skates about five times faster than everyone else. Which is bad news because he’s a terrible skater!
    I can’t tell you how many times we’ve had to scrape him off the wall or pull him up off the floor, mangled and dazed. He just can’t ever do anythingseriously. He always has to be funny—even when he risks trashing himself for good!
    â€œI can’t go,” Vincent moaned. “I can’t go anywhere, Julie. I’m