by Carl Deuker
Twenty minutes later I was in a small conference room outside the principal’s office telling my story to Detective McDowell from the police department. McDowell, a rumpled red-haired man with a belly that hung over his belt, took notes in a small flip notebook like the ones cops always have in movies.
While I’d been talking with Mr. Diaz, I could see the shock of my words reflected in his eyes. But McDowell’s watery blue eyes didn’t register at all; you’d have thought I was reading the school lunch menu. His face stayed blank even when I repeated Levi’s confession to me at the Good Shepherd Center.
“So that brings us to today. Correct?” McDowell said, when I’d finished telling him about Hartwell meeting Brandon in the library.
“Right. That was just an hour ago.”
McDowell raised his arms above his head, stretched a little, stuck out his lower lip, and slowly flipped back through his notes, mumbling to himself as he read. Finally he stood up. “I’ll be back in a little while. You sit tight, okay?”
Before I fully understood what was happening, he’d left, closing the door behind him. I felt deserted. Fortunately, the room had a small window that looked out to the office area. Through it, I saw McDowell talk briefly to Mr. Diaz. Then both of them moved to a part of the office I couldn’t see. A few minutes after that, I saw DeShawn enter the office, and then Nick and Brandon. I expected to see Cash come through the main door as well, but if he did, I missed him.
There was another meeting room next to where I was waiting. I heard the door open and close, and then I heard voices. I tried to make out what they were saying, but the words were muffled. I knew what was happening, though. Detective McDowell was questioning them about Hartwell, about me, and about Levi. What could they say? They didn’t know anything. To them, Hartwell was a hero. Levi had told me, but he hadn’t told anyone else.
Ten minutes passed . . . twenty minutes . . . thirty. The door in the adjacent room opened and closed. There was nothing but silence for a few minutes, and then there was a new voice. An adult voice. Had McDowell moved on to Hartwell? I couldn’t be sure, but I thought so. The muffled voices talked on and on.
A full hour passed before the room next door at last went silent. My head ached, and I felt sick to my stomach. I had to wait five more minutes before the door to the room where I’d been confined opened. Detective McDowell came in, pulled out a chair, sat down across from me, took out that flip notebook of his, and silently read through the pages. Then he closed the notebook and leaned back in the chair and spoke. “Cash isn’t at school today, but I talked to Nick and DeShawn. And I talked to Brandon too. They say Hartwell is a great guy and a great coach. They say there was no party, no beer, no porno movies. Not on Labor Day or on any other day.”
“Brandon didn’t play at Green Lake in the summer,” I said, frustrated. “He wasn’t at the party. And the other guys are covering for Hartwell. I told you that he made us promise not to tell. It’s got to be in your notes. And they weren’t porno movies; they were R-rated. I told you that, too.”
Instead of answering, McDowell tapped his fingers together, sizing me up as he did. Finally he spoke. “I talked to Coach Hartwell. He also insists there was no party, no beer, no movies, nothing improper on Mount Rainier or during any of his tutoring sessions. He says you’re trying to get back at him because he caught you cheating.”
“He helped me cheat,” I said, trying not to get angry. “I explained that before. All of this has got to be in your notes. He led me to the teachers’ workroom in the back of the library. How would I have even known about that computer without his help?”
Detective McDowell leaned toward me. “If you need to change your story, now is the time to do it. You take this too far, and you could find yourself in serious trouble.”
“Every word I told you was the truth.”
He rubbed his chin for a while, then stood, walked over to the door, and opened it. “You can leave now, Jonas. But I’ll be talking to you again.”
It was half a threat, half a promise.
19
I KNEW THAT SOONER OR LATER I’d have to tell my parents everything—but that night I didn’t have the energy. My dad was at work, so it was just my mom and me at dinner. Even though I tried to be upbeat, she sensed something was wrong. Twice she asked if I felt all right, and twice I lied. I was glad to be able to escape to my room.
I opened my laptop, and for a few hours was clicking from one sports website to another. I even read articles on golf. When it was late enough, I flicked off the light and climbed into bed. I couldn’t sleep, so I lay on my back and looked at the ceiling.
Cash was my last chance. I tried to convince myself that he’d back me up, but inside I didn’t believe it. We’d meshed well on the court, but off the court we’d never even eaten lunch together. He was one of Hartwell’s guys. They were all Hartwell’s guys. Hartwell had taken us to the top of the mountain. They weren’t going to throw him over a cliff, not for me.
I turned my light back on. On the table next to my bed was the color brochure from Monitor College. I picked it up and flipped through it. The ivy-covered brick buildings, the snowy winters, the basketball court, the classes—gone. All of it gone.
I flicked the light off and managed to sleep some, but when I awoke the next morning, my mouth was dry, my throat was sore, and my eyelids felt as if there were sandpaper underneath them. I took a shower, ate a piece of toast, and headed out the door. “Have a good day,” my mom said as I left.
If ever I wanted a gray Seattle day, it was that morning. But instead of being cloudy, the sky overhead was an incredible baby blue. Big white clouds sat like cotton balls high in the sky, and a bright morning sun warmed my face. The universe seemed to be mocking me.
I looked over at Levi’s house as I walked past, and I remembered all those summer afternoons when I’d been so eager to get moving, off to play basketball. I thought about Levi’s sisters never again having Levi around to pick them up, twirl them about, and tell them they were princesses.
When I stepped inside Harding High that morning, I felt strangely out of place. I kept expecting to see Detective McDowell looking for me in the hallway or to hear my name called over the intercom system, but nothing happened.
I made it through English and algebra, though I’m not sure how. After those classes, it was time for chemistry with Butler. I didn’t know what I should do. Had he been told about me? It had seemed like a year, but it had been only one day. Who would have told him?
I milled around outside his door until just before the bell rang. Then, because Celia was the last friend I had, I slipped inside Butler’s classroom. It was a huge mistake. When he spotted me, Butler pointed his pudgy finger at me. “You. You have the nerve to come in here? Step out into the hall and wait for me there.”
I felt dizzy, but I did what he said. As I stood outside his door, he growled something to the class, and then he was in my face. “Needless to say, you have an F for last semester and for this one too. Also, you are not in my class anymore. Is what I’m saying clear?”
I nodded. “It’s clear. I just wanted to say that—”
“I don’t want to hear anything that you have to say. Save your phony apologies for somebody else.” He strode back into the classroom, pulling the door closed with a bang and leaving me alone in the empty hallway.
I looked around. Where was I supposed to go? I couldn’t stand around for an hour, not without catching the notice of somebody. The only safe place I could think of was the library, so that’s where I went.
I found an empty table in the back and tried to read a book about airplanes that was lying on the table, but that was hopeless. I dreaded the rest of the day: American government, lunch, Spanish, health. And if I got through today, what next? Another day, and another, and another—all the way until June. Beads of sweat formed on my forehead. How could I survive all those days?
I felt like a trapped animal, so I looked around for a way out. The main lib
rary door led back into the school, but a side door to my left opened out to the parking lot. A sudden thought came to me. What was to stop me from walking out that very minute and never returning? I had no real friends at Harding High. Nobody would miss me. I could take a couple of classes online or at a community college and get my diploma that way. I didn’t need Harding High.
Right then a girl who’d played on Celia’s volleyball team entered the library. She glanced around, spotted me, smiled, and started walking toward me. She was a junior, but she looked more like a seventh-grader—round face, freckles, eyes that were a little too wide open. I couldn’t remember her name, but I knew she was an office TA because I’d seen her the day before. “You’re Jonas Dolan, aren’t you?” she asked when she reached my table.
“Yeah, I’m Jonas.”
She laughed nervously. “I don’t know why I asked. I know who you are. Everybody knows who you are. I went to all the basketball games. Well, not all of them, but the ones at the end. You played great. It was so exciting.”
“Thanks.”
She stood still for an instant, and then she shoved a blue piece of paper toward me. “This is for you. When I didn’t find you in your chemistry class, I thought you might be here, and I guessed right.”
I took the pass from her, opened it, and read it. Her voice became serious. “That policeman is with Mr. Diaz again—the one who was here yesterday. He had Cash with him all of second period. You guys aren’t in trouble, are you?”
“No, we’re not in trouble.”
She smiled again. “Good.” She paused. “I think they want you there right now.”
I took a deep breath and then walked to the main office. I handed my pass to Mrs. Wiley, and within minutes I was back in the small conference room telling Detective McDowell the same exact things I’d told him the day before. As I spoke, he flipped through his notebook, checking my new words against my old ones. I could sense his irritation from the angry way he turned the small pages.
“I spoke with Cash this morning,” he said when I finished. “Do you know what he told me? That there was no party on Labor Day. Or beer. Or raunchy movies. He said there was no hint of anything inappropriate in Coach Hartwell’s behavior at any time during the entire season.”
“He’s lying.”
“So what you’re saying about Coach Hartwell has nothing to do with the fact that he caught you cheating?”
“No. Nothing.”
“Nothing to do with the fact that because of him you’re going to lose your basketball scholarship?”
“No.”
“Hartwell turns you in for cheating, and then five minutes later you just happen to walk into Mr. Diaz’s office with your accusations. It’s all a big coincidence.”
“I’ve explained everything. Over and over, I’ve explained it.”
McDowell put his fingertips on his forehead and closed his eyes for a few seconds. He sighed and then opened them. “So we’re right back where we were yesterday. You, Jonas Dolan, are telling the truth. Everyone else is lying.”
I didn’t bother to answer.
McDowell stared at me for a long time. Then, abruptly, he stood. “Come with me,” he said, and he was out the door so fast that I had to hurry to keep up.
I followed him to the conference room where he had spoken with me the day before. He opened the door and pointed. “In there.” I slid past him and then stopped quickly. In front of me was Cash. He was slouched in one of those uncomfortable plastic chairs, his arms folded across his chest, a scowl on his face.
Cash did a double take when he saw me, and then we both looked to Detective McDowell for an explanation. McDowell’s eyes were heated, and so was his voice. “I’ve got lots to do, gentlemen, and I have no more time for this nonsense. I tap-danced around yesterday with two contradictory stories, and I’ve tap-danced around today with two contradictory stories, but I’m not tap-dancing anymore. You two were the team captains. You pulled together and won a state championship. If you get along on the court, then by God you can do it off the court too. I’m going to leave you alone in here for ten minutes. When I come back into this room, I expect to hear one story. The true story.”
Before either of us could object, McDowell was gone.
20
I LOOKED TO CASH. HIS HEAD was down, his eyes fixed on the carpet, his face blank. I waited. “Why are you doing this, Jonas?” he said at last.
“For Levi.”
He looked up, his mouth twisted into a scowl. “For Levi? You’ve got to be kidding. Right now Levi is a legend, and he could stay a legend, if you don’t ruin it for him and for us.”
“I’m not the one who ruined it.”
He put his head in his hands and stared at the floor again. “That cop—McDowell—he’s asked me the same questions over and over. Did Hartwell have us over to his apartment? Did Hartwell give us beer? Did Hartwell show us dirty movies? You want me to rat him out and get him fired over a couple of beers and some movies? After all he’s done for us?”
“Come on, Cash. It’s not over a couple of beers and some movies, and you know it. It’s more than that. McDowell must have told you.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Cash snapped, “I know. You say Hartwell’s a pervert.”
“Levi said it. He said it to me.”
Cash frowned. “Hartwell called me last night. He says you’re making up this stuff because he caught you cheating in chemistry. He says you’re trying to get back at him.”
“It’s true that I cheated. But the rest of what he said is a lie.”
“So I’m supposed to believe you and not him? That’s what it comes to, right?”
“I guess. But do you really think Levi got lost that night? Or that he was drunk or on drugs? Because I don’t.”
“I don’t either,” Cash admitted after a long pause. “Not Levi.” Then he leaned toward me and spoke, almost a whisper. “But don’t you see, Jonas. If it comes out that Hartwell is a pervert, and that we were at his house drinking with him and watching sexy movies with him—you know what everybody is going to think? They’re going to think he was doing stuff with us, too.”
“They won’t think that,” I said.
His nostrils flared. “Yeah, they will. You know they will. And if you don’t know it, then you’re a fool.”
He stopped, and the room went quiet. I looked at the clock; McDowell would soon be coming through the door again.
“Did you hear I got a basketball scholarship to Western?” Cash said, the anger gone from his voice.
“No. I didn’t. When did that happen?”
“A couple of days ago. That’s why I wasn’t at school yesterday. I drove up to Bellingham to meet the head coach and sign the papers. He had somebody else lined up, but that guy switched to a different school. The Western coach was at the Tacoma Dome and saw us beat Garfield. He says he likes my game, likes the fact that I was a team player.”
“That’s great, Cash. That’s fantastic.”
Cash stretched his legs out in front of him and then sat up straight. “I was never a team player until you came along.”
His words—his praise—took me by surprise. I didn’t know how to answer, but I didn’t have to reply because the door opened and Detective McDowell stepped inside. Our ten minutes were up. McDowell looked at me and then looked at Cash. “So which one of you is going to tell me what happened?”
Neither of us spoke. Seconds ticked away. Each second seemed like a minute; each minute felt like an hour.
“Do you need more time?” McDowell said at last. “Because I can go outside and wait for another ten minutes, and for another ten minutes after that. I’ll wait all day if I have to, but I will get one answer.”
More silence. “Okay. See you in ten minutes.”
He opened the door and was about to leave when Cash spoke. “There wasn’t one party,” he said.
I felt the blood rush out of my face; a roaring started in my ears. I looked into Cash’s face. I was expecting to
see ice, but instead he sort of nodded to me, a nod of reassurance, and then he turned away so that he was facing Detective McDowell. “There were at least four parties, and maybe more that I don’t know about. Levi and Jonas weren’t invited after they walked out of the first one, but Coach Hartwell kept asking the rest of us to his apartment. Each time he had more beer for us; each time the movies got raunchier. The last time—this would have been about a month ago—he said we could stay overnight, but nobody did.”
McDowell sat down, took out his small notebook, and calmly wrote for a few minutes. When he finished, he looked at Cash. “So why didn’t you tell me this earlier?”
Cash shrugged. “I promised Coach Hartwell I wouldn’t tell. I gave him my word of honor. We all did. And . . .” His voice trailed off.
McDowell tilted his head. “And what?”
“And I like Coach Hartwell. Or at least I used to. We all liked him.” Cash turned his eyes to me. “You liked him too, right?”
I nodded. “Yeah, I liked him.” I turned to face McDowell. “He was the coach I wanted.”
21
ONCE CASH TOLD THE TRUTH, Nick and DeShawn stopped lying too. In a TV show, McDowell would have arrested Hartwell, there’d have been a trial, and then a jury would have sent him to prison for fifty years.
But life isn’t a TV show.
Instead of arresting Hartwell, for the next few days McDowell repeatedly called me out of class and into the conference room, where he questioned me, checking and rechecking everything to get it exactly right. Finally, after three separate interviews, he flipped through his notebook and closed it up. “That’s it, at least for now.”
“You mean I’m done?”
“For now.”
I started to leave but then sat back down. “There’s going to be a trial, right? Hartwell won’t get away with it, will he?”