What do you want me to tell you?” Jessup says. What he really wants to say is, what’s the point? Diggins has had his mind made up from the jump. Otherwise, why wouldn’t Jessup be a captain?
As if he’s said it out loud, Diggins nods. “I know what you’re thinking, but if you tell the truth, I’ll stand behind you. I want to know what happened: did you have anything to do with Kevin Corson’s accident?”
“What did Chief Harris say?” Jessup is surprised at the words coming out of his mouth. David John has always been big on respecting teachers and coaches. When Jessup was younger, the one time Jessup mouthed off to a coach—he can’t remember what it was over, just that it was the week before David John and Ricky were arrested—his stepfather marched over from the bleachers and demanded the coach pull him from the game and sit him. Even then, even though he was small at the time, he was one of the better players, and David John said that meant he had more responsibility, that he had to set an example for the other players. You could disagree—you could even argue respectfully—but no mouthing off. There’s a difference, and you know it, his stepfather said.
He’s not sure if he’s mouthing off now, just that he doesn’t understand what Coach Diggins wants of him.
But what Diggins wants is the truth.
Jessup tells him something close to it. Runs through most of the night, mostly sticking to the facts.
“And you didn’t see him again after the Kilton Valley boys walked out of the house?”
“No, sir.”
“And you went straight home after you left the party?”
Jessup barely hesitates, but he knows his eyes flicker, a quick glance at Deanne. “Yes, sir.” He can’t tell if Diggins notices him looking at his daughter. “Look, sir, I’m sorry about what happened to Corson, but I didn’t do anything wrong.”
I didn’t do anything wrong. I didn’t do anything wrong. I didn’t do anything wrong.