Dead Ends (19 page)

“I don't know. But even if he does—the way he was groping your mom, I doubt he'd want to find your dad, you know what I mean?”

I looked at Billy and saw in his face that he
did
know, and he was not too happy about the idea. He spun away and stormed down the street before I could stop him. I followed him back onto the sidewalk and spread my arms wide.

“Billy D.! I was just kidding!”

But either he couldn't hear me or didn't want to, because he didn't look back once. He marched all the way down the street and up the steps past his mom without saying hello before slamming the door shut behind him.

The slam echoed across the street for just a second, then a startled Mrs. Drum turned her eyes from the door to me and frowned.

Yeah, like this is all
my
fault.

Billy's bad attitude lasted all the way into the next morning. The only expression uglier than his was the one on his mom's face as she watched us leave for school.

“Dude,” I said to Billy once we'd turned off our street. “What's with your mom giving me the evil eye?”

Billy hoisted his backpack higher on his shoulders, and I could tell by the heavy way it flopped back down that the atlas was inside.

“She saw us spying on her yesterday.”

“We weren't spying—”

“And I told her you wanted to know who that guy was.”

“I didn't—you
told
her?”

“She says you shouldn't be so nosy.”

“But I was just trying to—”

Billy silenced me with a glare. “I don't want to talk about my mom anymore.”

“Okay.”

“We have to solve the clue.”

“Fine.”

Billy veered off the sidewalk toward the gardens, and I followed, slipping on the dewy grass while Billy's heavy stomps kept him steady.

“You figure out the favorite?” I asked.

His silence answered my question.

“All right, let's try a game.” I looked over at Billy, expecting his face to light up at the suggestion, but he kept his features pulled tight and focused on the ground. I pushed ahead anyway. “What's your favorite song?”

“Don't have a favorite.”

“Well, what's your dad's favorite song?”

“Don't know.”

The garden came into view.

“What's your favorite flower?” I asked.

“Flowers are for girls.”

I clenched my teeth and tried to ignore the tiny tickle in my palms.

“What's your favorite color?”

“Green.”

“What's your dad's?”

“Not green.”

Anybody but Billy would have been flat on the ground with a swollen jaw. For the first time in weeks, I had to remind myself
that helping Billy wasn't just something I wanted to do; it was something I had to do—to keep my record clean. I forced myself to keep a steady voice as we dropped down the slope from the garden to the next sidewalk.

“Okay, forget that for a second. What about the next part?
What's paired with a frown.
A smile?”

Billy rolled his eyes. “That's the
opposite
of a frown.”

“Oh yeah, genius?” I spat. “You learn that in your life skills class?”

“Everybody knows that.”

“Well, then? Let's hear it. What's paired with a frown, huh, Billy D.?” I threw my hands up. “Seriously.
What's paired with a frown?
What does that even mean? You'd think your dad would leave you easier clues, considering …”

I took a deep breath, trying to suck back those last words.

Billy's face was so fierce he could have been growling. “Considering what?”

“Never mind.”

“Considering I'm
retarded
?”

“I didn't say that.”

“Because I'm not!”

I held up my hands. “I know you're not.”

“I'm smart enough to figure out the clues.”

“I know—”

“I'm smarter than
you
. At least I know who my dad
is
!”

He pushed past my outstretched hands and raced down the street before I could say another word.

• • • X • • •

I was sitting in first period, feeling half pissed at Billy and half guilty about losing my temper with him, when they showed up in the doorway.

The warden came in first, whispered something to Mr. Johnson, and motioned to the door. They stood there, shoulder-to-shoulder, right outside the doorjamb—my mom and Billy's. Something in their expressions made the hairs on my arms stand up.

The warden raised a hand, beckoning me to follow him. I think it was supposed to be subtle, but because he was standing in front of the class he'd just brought to a standstill, every single set of eyes followed the gesture to me and watched as I grabbed my books and got up. I might have been embarrassed if I hadn't been so focused on those frightened faces. I felt something tight and cold inside my chest.

“What's up?” I asked outside the classroom.

The warden ushered us a short way down the hall, where we couldn't be heard through the classroom door. “We have a situation, Dane.”

“I haven't done anything!” I said. “I've been on time for every class; I haven't started any trouble; I'm all caught up on my missed assignments—”

“Dane, you're not in trouble.” Mom put a hand on my arm.

But I guess I knew that already. I was just too afraid to admit that if I wasn't the one in trouble …

“Have you seen Billy D. today?” the warden asked.

“Yes,” I said, but I didn't elaborate. I was picturing those punks from the bus stop. Had they just been waiting for a chance to get Billy alone?

“He walked Billy to school,” Mrs. Drum said. There was an edge of accusation in her voice.

“No, I didn't.” I shifted my weight and looked at the floor. “At least, not all the way.”

“What do you mean?” Mom asked.

“We … we got in a fight.”

The warden and the moms all gasped in unison.

“Geez. Relax. Not a fight-fight, just … y'know, an argument. Someone got him in a bad mood, I guess.” I looked pointedly at Mrs. Drum, who pursed her lips.

“Dane,” Mom said in her warning voice.

“If he was upset, it was probably because the last person he was with upset him.” Mrs. Drum's angry words and face dissolved with the tremble in her voice, and I felt a chill. This wasn't just overreacting to a kid skipping school. There was genuine fear oozing off of her.

“Look, I'm not the kid's babysitter.” I locked eyes with Billy's mom. “I guess it's scary for a parent not to know where their son is, huh?”

Mrs. Drum and I stared at each other for a second, seething. The warden twitched next to us and cleared his throat. “Dane, I'm sure you've gathered—Billy is not in class. He hasn't shown up for first period.”

“He's probably in the bathroom or something.” I wanted there to be a simple explanation.

“We checked the bathrooms,” the warden said. “We checked everywhere. Normally, we would just mark a student absent, but in Billy's case, there are … special circumstances.”

“What kind of circumstances?”

Mrs. Drum spoke to my mom in a whimper. “Jennifer, there's something—”

“What circumstances?” I repeated.

“Please,” Mom said to Mrs. Drum. “Call me Jenny.”

I raised my voice. “What circumstan—”

“Okay, Dane, you may go back to class,” the warden said. He took my arm to lead me away.

“No!” Mrs. Drum's shout echoed down the empty hallway. She lowered her voice back to a whisper. “He can help us.”

“I don't think—” Mom started, but Mrs. Drum cut her off and spoke straight to me.

“You know him bet—” She choked on the word. “You know places to look that I don't know.”

“Are you guys serious?” Their fear was contagious, and it was growing inside me, making my stomach roll over.

“Please.” The angry edge in Mrs. Drum's voice collapsed, and the tears took over. “Please, can you help us look?”

Of course I was going to help them look—even if it meant cutting out of school and getting expelled right then and there. But that wasn't going to be necessary.

The warden nodded at Mom. “With your approval, we can excuse Dane from—”

“Yes, that's fine,” Mom said.

Mrs. Drum kept her eyes on me. “You'll help?”

Like they could stop me.

“Fine, I'll help,” I said. “But only to prove to you guys that you're overreacting. He's probably home watching TV or hugging his stupid atlas or something.”

I don't know if I said it that way to convince them or myself.

• • • X • • •

I told Mom and Mrs. Drum to follow the sidewalk route home while I checked the gardens. I was sure they wouldn't find Billy, but I didn't want them on my heels. I could move a lot faster without two old ladies trying to keep up.

“Call us if you find him!” Mom shouted after me as I trotted away from the parking lot and across the baseball fields.

I gave her a backward wave in response and started jogging. Our moms were making me so damn nervous I wanted to just hurry up and find Billy to calm everyone down.

I ran all the way to the gardens, even though I knew I'd find them empty.

I tumbled out onto the street on the opposite side. On instinct, I turned right, instead of left toward home. My feet carried me all the way to the Dairy Queen, where those potheads sometimes hung out after school.

I was running so fast by the time I reached DQ, I actually skidded to a stop when I rounded the back of the building. There was nothing there but a beat-up metal trash can and one lonely cockroach creeping under the restaurant's back door, trying to find a crack big enough to slip inside. I bent with my hands on my knees, breathing hard. Blood pounded in my brain, making it hard to think clearly.

Why am I looking for those guys, anyway? I should be looking for Billy.

The pounding subsided after a minute, and I started walking again, without giving the DQ a second glance. Billy hadn't
been jumped by a bunch of thugs. He'd run away. I'd watched him do it—right after he'd told me off.

There was only one direction I'd ever seen Billy run in—whichever way led him closer to his dad. And there was only one place I could think of where he'd ever made any progress on that journey.

I called Mom from my cell as I veered toward Seely's. I gave her directions and told her and Mrs. Drum to meet me on the way.

Halfway there, a short
whoop
like a birdcall caused me to spin in place. When I saw the squad car, I held up my hands, ready to explain why I wasn't in school. But Mom's face came into focus in the back window before I could speak. The window rolled down with a whine, and I leaned into it.

“You called the police?”

Mom started to answer, but Mrs. Drum leaned across her lap, cutting her off. “Did you find him?”

“Just one more place to check,” I said. I tilted my head at the officer in the driver's seat. “You want to … uh, follow me?” I was used to avoiding cops. It felt wrong asking one to tail me. “It's just down here.” I pointed ahead, past the bus stop where Billy had nearly gotten the shit beat out of him—the almost-fight I'd literally pushed him into, when I shoved him out from behind the garden wall. A knot of guilt tied itself up in my stomach.

“You want to hop in?” the officer asked.

No. I want to run.

“I'll walk,” I said.

Mrs. Drum fell back into her seat, and I was struck by the
image of her in the back of a cop car. It seemed like a fitting place for a possible kidnapper, but what kind of kidnapper called the police for help?

She waved her hands around in a panicked way that reminded me of Billy D. when he was upset. “We need to do a—a—what do you call them? An Amber Alert!”

I stepped away from the window and back onto the sidewalk, not wanting her fear to infect me. Maybe it was a mom thing—even a kidnapping mom—to overreact and call the cops, but I was surprised they came along. Didn't kids have to be missing for twenty-four hours or something before police gave a shit? If this was Billy D. getting special treatment because of his Down syndrome, then I guess for once I didn't mind.

I started jogging along the sidewalk. Seely's house was only one block down. She'd shown us where they hid the key to the garage, so we could go in whenever we wanted. I would find Billy there and get into the squad car when I could throw him in with me. I was starting to feel pissed at him for putting me in this spot—for worrying his mom and everyone else. After he got an earful from his mom, he was going to get one from me.

Behind me, the wheels of the cruiser turned slowly, following me down the road.

“Dane, what are you doing?” Mom called from the passenger window.

I kept moving.

“Get in the car,” Mom said, but it sounded more like a question than an order.

Still, I ignored her. I wasn't going to say another word until I found Billy in Seely's garage and hauled him outside.

I had one foot in her driveway when movement in the park—
our
park—across the street caught my eye. Past the grassy expanse of lawn and a little to the left of the faded, graffiti-tagged playground, where the trees started to grow thick together and become woods, I saw the motion that had distracted me.

A scream caught in my throat as I ran toward the scene. It was all playing out in front of me in slow motion, but not slow enough that I could get there in time to stop it.

I watched, helpless, as two arms lifted a heavy object and lowered it in a long slow arc down to the body already broken and bleeding on the ground. Up, down, up, down. Again and again. I ran as fast as I could, but it was like I was deep underwater, pushing against a current. I was nearly there when my chest finally opened up, and the scream soared out.