Don't Forget to Breathe Read online

  “I told that ass-wipe Kane you were going to the dance with me.”

  My stomach dropped to my knees. “You told Becket that?”

  “Yeah, he came up to me and said there was a rumor going around that Leo was going to the dance with me, and I said, ‘That’s no rumor, pal.’” Henry’s head tossed backward with an open mouthed chuckle. “It was huge to see Kane squirm.”

  I groaned, shielding my eyes with my hands.

  “You feeling okay?”

  I wanted to cry—I like Becket! Why did you ruin it for me! As an alternative, I said between tight lips, “I’ll go with you to the dance on one stipulation.”

  “Huh?” He shot me a befuddled expression.

  “We’re going to the dance as friends.” I repeated, “Purely on friendship.”

  “Friends. I can live with that.” A second later he mumbled, “For now.”

  ***

  I benefited from Mr. Slepe’s praise in English class. He peddled my short story like it was the second coming. Regardless of deriding sneers, I planned to dig myself out of a failing funk. Since last year, I’d flunked every subject, plummeting from honor-roll to barely making it.

  After English, I rumbaed into the third floor lavatory. Destroying my newfound disposition, I stumbled on a gaggle of girls voicing heated opinions. Nona looked venomous, embroiled in a debate with Marcy. They were discussing me. The concept of exiting from the room speared through my brain.

  My gaze strayed from Nona to Marcy. “What’s going on?” I queried.

  Nona parted her mouth to speak when Marcy chimed, “Henry James told me he was taking you to the dance.” She had an insolent spark in her eye. “I wasn’t lying to Becket.” Bobbing heads confirmed Marcy’s statement.

  Apparently, Henry perpetuated quite a coup.

  “Leo never said yes to Henry,” my friend admonished. “She was waiting for Becket to ask her, and he would’ve if you didn’t butt in. You knew they just starting to go out.”

  “Forgive me, Leo.” A master of disguise, Marcy’s expression morphed into astonishment. “I didn’t know. Henry sounded so positive.”

  “Yeah,” Becca trumpeted. “That’s what Leo gets for scamming two guys.”

  “Shut your grungy cakehole, Becca Pinarski.” Nona gripped my wrist and carted me from the bathroom into the hall. “I’m so mad. Miss bitch acting so innocent, makes me gag.”

  “I came in a little late.”

  “Marcy insists that Becket is taking her to the dance,” she clarified. “So I don’t know what transpired after we left Club Seven last night. She definitely got her talons into him, somehow, someway.”

  “Becket must’ve been willing.” My heart wept.

  “I need to move.” She commenced at a tromping stride. “When I walked in, Marcy was gloating how Becket dumped you to take her to Homecoming. That he was getting his rocks off with your skinny ass—”

  “For chrissakes, she said that?”

  “She said Becket’s been hounding her for a year and she finally gave in,” Nona seethed. “I wanted to drown her face in the toilet bowl. I still might.”

  “I might beat you to the punch.” Coping with a lipless smile, I looked at her and said, “Thanks for having my back.”

  “Oh, jeez,” Nona rolled her eyes, “we have cheerleading with them after school. That stinks.”

  “Could get dicy,” I said.

  “She better not get close to a toilet bowl.” We laughed in harmony.

  ***

  The morning frost frittered away into an afternoon shine. The temp scarcely hit fifty degrees when Zweilger led us outside. The girls vied with the sights and sounds of the football team. They were on the field gearing up for the rival game against Kensington High and it took all my tenacity not to watch Becket.

  It transpired into a prickly practice with Mrs. Zwielger’s constant whistle blowing and brash commentaries on our unsynchronized routines. “You girls should have this routine down pat by now.” I also had to contend with the evil eyes of Marcy and Blair.

  During the stacking of the pyramid, my gaze wandered to the bleachers. As customary, Henry waited to drive me home. Coach Zweilger terminated the practice with criticism. “Today was the pits. You girls better show me some stamina on Friday.”

  Off to the side a man in a trench coat headed for Henry. He said something and Henry nodded. The man sat next to him and looked out onto the field. I recognized him immediately—Detective Dyl.

  My heart in overdrive, I deviated toward the bleachers. As they conversed I observed Henry’s face drained of color, his expression detached.

  A few feet from them, I tripped on the walkway and fell to my knees.

  Henry leapt to his feet and charged, “You lied. You said you didn’t tell them I was with you the night Dave and Skip were murdered!”

  “Henry,”— breathing heavy—“I didn’t tell them.”

  Chapter 24

  “Come with me,” Detective Dyl said.

  “I…I have to get my stuff. It’s over there, on the bench.”

  “Henry and I will wait for you by the gate.” A calculating frown engraved his face. “Leo, no messing around.”

  I scooted along the walkway onto the grassy field as Nona zipped to my side. “What’s going on?”

  My eyes locked in on my sneakers, I didn’t want to witness a bunch of girls gawking. “I have to go to the police station with the detective. It has something to do with that night I told you about.”

  “Why?” For my sake, she maintained a quiet volume. “You had nothing to do with those murders.”

  “I…I lied to the police.” Fingering the handle of my messenger bag, I looked toward the field. My eyes fastened onto Becket. He pulled off his helmet and stared at me. Despite my distress, or maybe due to my distress, I couldn’t take my eyes off him. A light wind sent his pale-golden hair billowing about his head.

  “I warned you,” Nona said, breaking the spell. “You should’ve told them about Henry being there. The police always seem to find these things out.”

  ***

  Whether it was so we couldn’t pool our resources on the night in question or he didn’t trust us, the detective put me in the front of the police car and Henry rode in the back. “I phoned your parents,” the detective said. “They’ll be meeting us at headquarters.”

  My legs felt kind of noodly following him into the station.

  “Take a seat,” he ordered, and he walked over to one of the desks.

  Seated on wooden chairs against the wall in the police station, Henry and I looked at each other for support. He whispered, “I’m fucked.”

  Holding a folder in his hand the Detective Dyl’s no-nonsense eyes went from me to Henry. “Henry, come with me.”

  “My Dad’s not here yet.”

  “You’re eighteen right?”

  Henry nodded.

  “You want a lawyer?”

  “Do I need one?”

  “I have a few minor questions, but you have the right, if you want one.” He held his face low, gauging Henry from beneath his inflexible brow. The hardnosed detective’s expression was impossible to interpret.

  Henry supplied, “I don’t need one.”

  “Then follow me.”

  Henry swerved to me. “I don’t like this shit. He’s trying to trap us.” His eyes looked enormous behind his glasses.

  I angled into him and clinched his arm. “Just tell them what happened. The truth.”

  “Leo, you really don’t know what’s happening.” He shuddered. “You’ll never understand.”

  “I understand you should tell the truth.” I thought he was panicking; instead, he seemed to be boiling mad.

  Detective Dyl repeated, “C’mon, Henry.”

  As Henry eased off the chair, commotion flew into the station.

  Wearing a facade of controversy, Henry’s father stormed in. His fiery eyes filled with contempt, and his lips nonexistent in his bloated face. “How dare you,” he spat,
“bring my son in without my consent.” Mr. James cropped his hands on Henry’s shoulders.

  Henry’s mouth twisted, and made a point of stripping off his dad’s indentured fingers.

  “I’m glad you’re here, Mr. Ethan James,” the detective said. “You can both follow me.”

  Did I imagine it or did I observe Detective Dyl’s gotcha mouth quirk? After they clumped away, I squished both hands between my knees and concentrated on my grass stained sneakers. Henry never told me he was eighteen. He must’ve failed a grade.

  “I’d like to say, nice to see you again, Leo, but not under these circumstances.” I yanked my head upward, Officer Simmons held out a Styrofoam cup. “I brought you some coffee. I just made this batch, it shouldn’t taste like tar.” She carried a benevolent smile.

  “Thanks.” I rounded the hot cup with two hands.

  “Would you like to sit next to my desk?” she asked, indicating her desk with a sideways head tweak.

  I remembered the last time I sat next to her desk. She’d tricked me into telling her the whole sordid details of my plight on the tracks. “No thanks. I’m good here.” Her mouth crunched and she walked to her desk.

  I hovered over the steaming cup of coffee like a vagrant in a cheerleader’s uniform. Closing my eyes, the steam warmed my face. At various intervals, I tipped the Styrofoam to my lips and sipped, not relishing the taste, just for something to occupy my blistering thoughts.

  It felt like forever when the office door clacked open. Henry and Ethan James emerged. What made me edgy was the way Henry stared at me like I was the criminal. Then he quickly evaded my questioning gape, and thumped into the chair.

  “Leo, would you come in, please?” My gaze went from Henry to the crafty-eyed detective, overawed by his ability to creep me out. “Your father called. He’s still in the city. He’s finding it hard to get out of a business meeting. I told him what I planned on asking you, and he gave me parental permission. He might stop by later or I’ll speak to him on the phone.”

  I labored into a stark room with a metal table and chairs.

  “Sit here.” The detective indicated a chair and then sat behind the desk. A yawning folder lay on the table, however, he didn’t touch it.

  “You and Henry we’re having a late night picnic at Hallow Saints.” He watched me like a hawk. “Drinking booze and smoking some weed.” He didn’t question, it was a statement. “Leo, why did you lie?”

  “I…I didn’t actually lie.” My overwrought hands balled in my lap.

  The detective cocked his head. “What exactly do you mean by that?”

  Drifting from his judgmental eyes, I stared at my fingers. “When I saw those dark shapes in the graveyard, I didn’t know that one of them was Henry.”

  “Do you realize Henry’s life could be in danger?”

  “What?” My eyes flicked to meet his.

  “The perp is still at large. He must’ve seen Henry and could be tracking him down as we speak. The murderer might already know where the boy lives.”

  “I…I never thought—”

  “That’s the problem with you kids, you don’t think.” His fist tapped the table. “We have little to go on.”

  “You said my mom’s murder and these were,” I cleared the sludge hindering my voice. “Connected?”

  “Like I said before, I can’t divulge the—”

  “Why not,” I sobbed, coming apart. “It’s been a year…my mom…”

  Arranging his arms on the metal table, he leaned forward. His features changed to granite and peered like a man-eating tiger. “I’ll give you a clue. Promise me not to say a word, not one word.”

  I nodded.

  “The murder weapon.”

  Chapter 25

  Ethan James drove past the village toward school to Henry’s SUV. What was peculiar, Henry’s father turned on the charisma, like the previous hour never happened. I knew for a fact the man had a temper, at least that’s the general idea I got from Henry. “Leo, I’ve watched you grow into a real beauty,” he articulated. “Just like your mother. She could charm a rattlesnake.”

  “Stop it, Dad.” Henry sounded scornful.

  But I wanted to hear more. “You knew my mother, Mr. James?” I asked from the backseat. I noticed him watching me in the rearview mirror, unsettling my bones to an extent of restless leg syndrome.

  “I met Lily a couple of years ago at a teacher’s convention in New York City.” He smirked and a starburst of crinkles lined his eye. “We became close friends.”

  “She doesn’t want to hear your lame ass shit, Dad. Knock it off.” Henry swiveled on the front seat to look at me. “Can’t you see it’s upsetting her?”

  Ignoring his son, Ethan said, “You’re just like Lily, am I right?”

  “I don’t know,” I replied, not getting the gist of his question. “I…I guess so.”

  “She was so clever, so beautiful. She—”

  “Get out, Leo.” I hadn’t noticed pulling into the school and Henry had the rear door open.

  “Thanks for the ride, Mr. James.” I exited the car.

  “My pleasure, Leo. See you soon and—”

  Henry slammed the door hacking his father’s voice, and pulled me away by my arm. I construed father and son had issues.

  Evening had fallen and the school was abandoned as we climbed into Henry’s SUV. He seemed to be watching his father’s taillights before igniting the engine. “How come you never mentioned anything about your dad knowing my mom?” I inquired.

  “This blows.” Henry spanked the steering wheel while driving from the parking lot. “He ordered me to stay away from you.”

  “Your Dad?”

  “Dyl,” he muttered, his tone derisive.

  Why did Detective Dyl order him to stay away from me, and why’d Henry steer clear from my earlier question?

  “Does that cop think I’m going to listen to him?” A snort whisked through his nose. “What’d he ask you?”

  My fingers played with the button on my jacket. “He asked me why I lied. I should’ve told the police about you being there.” Henry’s teeth gritted together. “I was kind of surprised that you told him everything. About us drinking and smoking in the graveyard?”

  Henry braked. The inertia sent me forward; luckily, my seatbelt restricted my nose from colliding into the dashboard.

  “I didn’t tell him that.” He scowled. “I said I took you on a picnic date and we ate cheese and crackers, that’s all. We had a disagreement and you ran off, and then those guys showed up. I said nadda about the drugs.”

  “Oh…” I grimaced, then challenged, “A date in the graveyard. Like that’s not weird.”

  “Son-of-a-bitch—You told him we were drinking and smoking weed?”

  “Not exactly, he told me. So, I thought you—”

  “NO,” he cut in. “He’s playing you like a fish on a hook. Did you admit it?”

  “I didn’t deny it if that’s what you mean.” Feeling duped. “He said you might be in danger. That the murderer knows who you are.”

  Henry stiffened and his arms trembled, holding onto the steering wheel. A horn beeped and headlights flooded into the rear window refracting off the mirror. He stepped on the gas. “The guy was covered from head to toe.” His voice vibrated. “There’s no way in Hades I could identify him.”

  “Did you tell that to the detective?”

  “He wanted a description.” It looked like he was drilling a hole between his eyes with his forefinger. “I said he was dressed in black with a knit black cap covering his face. The guy was…taller than me, his clothes were baggy and wearing black boots, kind of like combat boots or something.”

  “That’s something to go on. The police probably made plaster imprints of the boot indentations in the graveyard.” Keeping my promise to Detective Dyl to withhold evidence regarding the murder weapon would be difficult.

  “C’mon, Leo, Star Hallow isn’t CSI.” He snickered humorlessly. “Besides the ground wasn’t dren
ched then like it is now from the rain. I’d think it’d be hard to get prints off rock hard ground.”

  “Detective Dyl seems to know what he’s doing,” I said.

  He blew exasperated air from his mouth and veered into my driveway. “My father’s not—” Henry coughed, like he’d changed his mind about what he was going to say.

  “You never talk about your parents.” I remembered the gash on his lip where his dad hit him and more than likely not the first time.

  “Sore subject.” He kept the car running. “See you tomorrow.”

  That was my cue to remove my butt from his car. I lugged my messenger bag and walked to the side door to find it locked. Dad mustn’t be home yet, and much appreciative. Not ready to deal with him, I found my house key and walked into a dark house.

  My cell had been silenced and now I scrolled down the screen: A missed call from Becket, no message. Nona texted three times and Blair and Marcy texted the identical sentence—‘Hope everything’s alright,’ which was laughable. I spun the device over the kitchen table, not in the mood to talk.

  Preceding a hasty shower and too lazy to dry my hair, I tied it on top of my head and threw on my favorite pair of sweats. Then after a disastrous phone call to Nona to keep her up to date, I switched on the television. Disregarding my homework, I lay on the living room carpet and peeled the crust off of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

  It was going on ten o’clock and Dad still wasn’t home. Perhaps he went for dinner with a colleague and a drink, which was good and bad: Bad because he’d been boozing like a fiend and good because he needed to chill with people his own age.

  A pang of dread rippled through me when I heard a car pull into the driveway. I had been anxious that a sloshed Dad would take my head off for lying to the police.

  Bell chimes.

  I didn’t lock him out, so it must not be him. Possibly Henry garnered the nerve to come to the door for a change.

  Like a neurotic-nilly, I fingered the curtain to have a peek. On the threshold, looking tremendously hot, Becket. My hands flew to my fountain of hair and groused eyeing my ratty sweats.