But is she better than that? He says good-bye, hands the keys off to David John, asks him to put the game ball on his dresser, promises to be home at a decent hour (“Stay out of trouble,” David John says. His voice is quiet. Jewel’s in the van, Jessup’s mom is in the car, but David John is careful that they don’t hear. “Remember, they’re just looking for an excuse”— and heads into the mall.
He worries about his sister. Baptized in the Blessed Church of the White America. She only knows what’s around her. Only knows how she’s been raised.
He should be worried about himself, too. The snow comes down and it covers everything, makes it look clean and fresh, but just because it hides things doesn’t mean there isn’t anything rotting underneath. Sooner or later the snow melts and turns into a river, the water washing away everything its path, uncovering what lies beneath.
But this could stay hidden. Nobody can say he laid a hand on Corson at the party. Nobody saw the way the truck slid, Corson crumpled on the driveway. Corson was just dumb and drunk and made a bad decision, nobody to say anything different. Nothing to stop Jessup from getting out of Cortaca, from leaving his history behind. He’ll gladly trade his body on the football field for four years of college, a degree. College is an island; he’s been swimming his whole life, trying to keep his head above water, and solid ground for a few years is all he can hope for.
But what about Jewel? If family history is a weight around his neck, what is Jewel? You don’t hand a drowning man an anchor.