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Matty tossed his cell on the bed, then snatched it back up. Why wasn't Aiden answering?
Matty had scoured the web to make sure there wasn't some article about a kid dying of an overdose the night before. There had been a write-up on the bust—Teen Rushed to ER after Police Break Up House Party—but all they'd said about Aiden was that there was no more information available.
So he'd thrown on his jeans and walked the couple of blocks to the house where the party'd taken place the night before. No Camry.
Matty dialed again, got voicemail again, and paced the tiny room he shared with his little brother. Jimmy was already gone to his soccer game. He'd asked Matty to come, but Matty would go nuts if he had to watch a bunch of ten-year-olds falling all over the stupid field. Sometimes he liked to go and support his little brother. He knew well enough what it was like to score on the field and then realize nobody you loved cared enough to be there. Mom tried to make the Saturday games, but when Matty'd been a kid, she'd hardly ever made his. So he tried to be there for Jimmy. God knew their father wouldn't bother.
He should have gone back to get the package out of Aiden's car last night. But he'd been scared there'd still be cops around. He'd planned to wait a while, sneak out of the house around four, and get the package then. But he'd fallen asleep.
And what kind of friend was he that he cared more about the package than about Aiden? His friend hadn't looked good when they'd put him in the ambulance the night before, but from what he'd heard from the other guys at the party, Aiden had dropped a couple hits of acid. Probably just a bad trip. The acid would have worn off by now. He'd be fine.
At least Matty hadn't supplied the acid. Then he'd really feel like a jerk, sending his best friend to the ER.
Aiden’s dad had probably flipped his lid, grounded him for the rest of his life, but whatever. Aiden would be eighteen in a few months, and then he could do whatever he wanted.
Matty, on the other hand... If he didn't get that package delivered the next day, what would happen? To him? To his dad? He'd thought about calling his father, but he'd decided against it. No sense telling Dad he'd lost the package. Not ever. He'd get it back, and everything would be fine. His father would be proud of him.
Matty tried to imagine what that would look like, but he couldn't conjure the image. He'd never seen pride on his dad's face.
But what if he didn't recover the package and get it delivered? What would his father say? That image, the anger, the disappointment—that was easy to imagine.
He couldn't sit here any longer.
He stuffed his phone in his pocket, grabbed his backpack, and left the house. When Aiden's parents divorced, Mr. Kopp had rented a house nearby so Aiden could stay near his friends. His dad's place was a little further than his mom's, but Matty could walk it in fifteen minutes. He'd just have to ask to see Aiden, get the keys to the car somehow, and get the package.
Little house after little house after little house. To a stranger, the streets probably all looked the same, but not to Matty. You could blindfold him, stick him on just about any street within a mile of his house, and he'd know where he was right away. He'd walked and biked and skateboarded every road since he was old enough to leave the house, and he knew Hempstead like he knew the route to his bathroom.
The streets were busier than he'd have thought, but then, when was the last time he'd been out and on foot this early on a Saturday morning? Who leaves the house voluntarily before eleven on the weekend? Stupid people or poor saps who have to work. Matty preferred to do his work at night, a deal here, a deal there, a couple hundred in his pocket.
He walked faster and finally turned down Aiden's street. Houses were smaller here than where Aiden's mom lived, even smaller than Matty's house. Matty figured Mr. Kopp had made good money with the FBI and now as a forensic accountant. Forensics sounded cool, but add accountant and suddenly it sounded like the most boring job ever. Why would somebody quit the FBI to do something like that? Maybe Mr. Kopp was sorry he'd done it now.
Matty slowed as he neared the house. There was a one-car garage, but it was full of sports equipment, old bicycles, and boxes they'd never unpacked. Which meant the car should have been parked in the driveway.
It wasn't.
Matty swore under his breath and ran to the front door. Maybe Mr. Kopp had just gone to the grocery store.
He rang the bell, waited, then rang it again. He pounded on the door.
No answer.
He sat on the stoop and pulled out his phone. He couldn't stand it any longer. If Aiden wouldn't answer the phone, maybe Mr. Kopp would.
He dialed, and a moment later, Aiden's father answered. "Hello?" The single word sounded weary, broken.
"Hey, Mr. K. I heard about what happened last night. I was wondering how Aiden is." There. Sounded concerned, a perfectly normal reaction for a best friend.
"He's doing all right."
Matty waited, but the man said nothing else.
"Anything I can do for you guys?" Matty asked.
"No, thank you. We're good."
Matty swallowed, closed his eyes. "I just wondered if I could come over and see Aiden later, maybe."
"We're not at home."
"Oh." He crossed his fingers. "When will you be back?"
"Not sure right now, kiddo. I'll tell Aiden you called."
And just like that, Mr. Kopp hung up.
That had been about as helpful as a paper cut.
Matty's phone rang. Maybe it was Mr. Kopp calling back. He looked at the screen, and his hope crashed like dead bird.
Dad.