32

That stupid elevator never did reach the top. After a half hour in that tin box, I about had a nervous breakdown. Finally, it started moving again.

Back down. Something about high winds.

Forty-five minutes later, I was home. I stood outside for a another ten minutes more, trying to walk through that front door. Then I saw Mom staring at me from the window above. I took a deep breath and went in.

“Erica, we meet again,” said Rodney Graves, rising up to greet me, along with a nicely dressed woman who looked like a lawyer. “Have yourself a good run?”

I didn’t even have time to say anything to Mom because they were all sitting there in the living room waiting for me. I’m sure they grilled her all about me, but she really didn’t know anything, so they probably learned nothing.

“I wasn’t feeling good.”

He nodded. “You go to Truman, right? You probably remember me from school?” he said in that soft Southern lilt. “I’m the Special Investigator for the Juvenile Division. This here is my partner, Ms. Hallstrom, from the Family Court Prosecutor’s office. She makes sure we do everything by the book.” He winked, tapping on his notebook. He was well-dressed and had a kindly but weary face—the deep lines in his brow said he’d been doing this forever. “Your friend Destiny. She wasn’t too pleased that you ditched her and left her holding the bag.”

“What bag?” Mom asked.

“It’s just an expression, ma’am, you know?” He stared straight into my eyes like he was trying to suck the information from my head using telepathy. “I already know that you know something about the events from this morning, so you might as well start talking before things get ugly. We have your camera and that alone says a lot. Right now, you could either be a potential witness to a serious crime and or you could be a suspect. One is a lot better than the other—”

“I didn’t do it.” The words just came out. “I . . . I . . .” Mom looked at me, confused by it all. “I need to think.”

“I think you’ve had plenty of time to think this afternoon. Where did you go?” he asked.

“Is that important?” I asked.

“It is if you went to visit the suspects in a murder investigation.”

The words sunk in.

“I went to the Arch.”

Mom looked at me, surprised.

“Funny time for sightseeing,” said Mr. Graves.

“What did Destiny say?”

Mom put her hand on mine. “Erica, if you know something, you have to tell him. A woman died today! She could be somebody’s mother. What if it had been me?”

I imagined Mom lying in a pool of blood. After seeing what Kalvin was capable of, I knew anything could happen if I talked.

“She’s right. This needs to stop, now,” said Mr. Graves.

Mom panicked. “Was that Kalvin involved?” she asked.

I tensed up. Graves noticed.

“Who’s Kalvin?” he asked.

“A boy from school,” I said.

“What’s his last name?”

I wasn’t ready to say anything; I was so stunned. I just shrugged. “I don’t . . . even know. Everyone just calls him K.”

He scribbled some notes. “Does the name ‘Knockout King’ mean anything to you?” He looked for a reaction from me.

I dug my nails into my arms to see how much pain I could take. Mom noticed I was about to explode.

“Is she under arrest?” Mom asked.

He stopped writing, glancing at Hallstrom. “Not yet.” He seemed to confer with the woman lawyer telepathically. She nodded. “But perhaps . . . it would be best if you all came down to my office. We could take a formal statement and, as you have the right to an attorney, especially considering her age—”

“I didn’t do anything!” I said, the tears flowing.

A lie. That stupid camera would betray me. I wished Dad had never given it to me. I wished he and Mom had never divorced. I wished we’d never come to St. Louis and that my video had never impressed Destiny. Then I wouldn’t be stuck in this mess.

Assured that I wasn’t about to skip town, they gave us until tomorrow morning. Mom said we’d come down after she called Dad. He knew lawyers. I almost screamed from the tension in the room, but Mom kept a firm grip on my arm until they left.

“Please don’t call Dad,” I begged.

She grabbed my shoulders hard and hissed, “You think I want to call him?! I can’t afford a lawyer by myself for whatever you’ve gotten yourself into. So it’s either him or you’re on your own!”

I could see I would lose this one. I was tired of fighting. “Fuck it.”

Her face screwed up. “What happened to you? You used to be such a sweet girl.”

“I moved to St. Louis,” I shot back.

She gritted her teeth. We’d been through this many times and she didn’t want to go through it again. She spoke very slowly. “Now . . . you’re going to tell me and your father everything. No more stories, just the truth. Because the police are surely going to get to the bottom of this and we are the only two who have your back. Certainly not that Kalvin.”

I nodded to Mom. She called Dad, who was too busy until she told his assistant that I might be going to jail. That got him on the line.

I heard them arguing for about half an hour, blaming each other for how I turned out. Finally, she came in and put Dad on the speakerphone.

“Erica.”

“Hi, Dad.”

He sighed and then there was silence. “I don’t really know what to say to you. I was getting ready to come in a few days for Thanksgiving.”

“Are you still coming?” I squeaked.

There was a long pause on the other end. I knew he was trying to hold it in. Finally, he said, “Yes. I will save my sermon for tomorrow when I’m there. But right now, you need to tell me everything. And I mean everything.”

Of course, I couldn’t tell him everything—just some of the highlights. I made it look like I’d been sucked in, and that I was innocent. I didn’t tell him about the other Knockout Games, but let him know that it was an accident gone bad and that I didn’t do anything but try to save her.

Mom’s expression was bad enough. She’d read about the Knockout Games and was horrified to see it hit so close to home. “He was in your bedroom,” she said over and over. I lied again, told her he’d never touched me, that he was a mixed-up boy who wasn’t so bad.

“Not so bad?” Dad started in. “Your mom said they were doing this game for fun! Do you think this is fun?”

No, I told myself. “It wasn’t like that . . .”

“Why would you even attack another human being? It really makes me sick—” he paused for a few seconds, the anger building up in him. I heard something break. Finally, he took a deep breath. “To know that you were somehow involved in all this just makes me sad. I liked you better when you used to sit by yourself and draw, not—” he couldn’t say it.

So much for saving the sermon for tomorrow. “Maybe if you hadn’t divorced Mom—”

He cut me off. “Don’t even go there, Erica. You’re close to becoming an adult and it’s time you learned that we cannot clean up after all your messes. I take responsibility for mine because I know life is messy. This one, you’ll have to deal with the consequences. Whether you like it or not.”

I was done talking. So was he. He said he’d make calls to his lawyer acquaintances and be here tomorrow first thing. We’d plan on a strategy where I had been coerced by the others, but I had never actively participated. I did not tell him about Metal Detector Man. He said if I testified against the others, I could probably get probation or community service.

This is a conversation I never expected to have with my dad before my Sweet 16.