46 HOURS TO GO

THE PRINCIPAL’S OFFICE WASN’T MEANT for a man as big as Sheriff Riley. All six feet two inches and three hundred pounds of him had squeezed into a small chair. With his gut spilling out over the arms and his meaty hands clenched on the blotter, he made the desk look like a toy. Principal McCarthy stood in the corner, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Thank you for coming to see me, boys,” Sheriff Riley said, as if we’d had a choice. He looked at Daniel. “You must be Mr. Pulver.”

“I am.”

Sheriff Riley gave me a sideways look. “Mr. Ellroy and I are old friends.”

He seemed to be waiting, so I said, “Yes, sir.”

The last time I’d been questioned by the sheriff, I’d been so wound up I thought I would bounce off the walls. This time, however, I felt like a block of ice.

Asshole sheriff, we can take him.

“The sheriff and I would like to know where you two were between eight and eight-thirty this morning,” Principal McCarthy said.

Sheriff Riley looked annoyed at the question, but then he turned to me for an answer.

“We were at Daniel’s house,” I said.

“Comparing notes for English class,” Daniel chimed in.

“I didn’t ask you, Mr. Pulver.”

You didn’t ask anyone, you fat pig.

“Daniel invited me to come over early, on the way to school,” I said. “I got there a little after eight.”

“If I talk to your parents, will they confirm your story, Mr. Ellroy?”

“Well, I ... I said I was going to school ... they don’t know I was going to Daniel’s.”

“I see. And you, Mr. Pulver, will your parents confirm your story?”

“They’d already left for work. But I’ve got some of the notes we made if you want to see ...”

“No, thank you, I don’t.”

Daniel shrugged. “You still haven’t told us what this is all about.”

Principal McCarthy moved up beside the sheriff. “Boys,” he said, “we already know you smashed up P.J. Riley’s windows and flattened his tire, so just be honest. There was a witness, and he says—”

Sheriff Riley whipped his head around so fast I thought it would snap off his neck. “I’ll ask you to let me handle this, Principal McCarthy. After all, it’s a criminal matter.” Sheriff Riley looked at me to make sure that was sinking in. “By the way, he’s right. We do have a witness who says he saw you attacking my son’s car.”

Stupid Ross, goddamn ass, ass-licking asshole.

“Who’s the so-called witness?” Daniel asked.

“I’m not sure it matters,” Sheriff Riley said.

“It does to us. Because we didn’t do anything.”

“Well, he didn’t leave his name,” Sheriff Riley said. “But he told my dispatcher that he’d seen two boys smashing the windows on a black Taurus, and one of them appeared to be Travis Ellroy. When we figure out who made that call, we’ll question him and find out what else he knows. In the meantime, Mr. Ellroy, you still owe three hundred dollars for that windshield.”

“But he already paid the first one fifty,” Daniel blurted, jumping out of his chair. “I saw him.”

“Sit down.” Sheriff Riley spoke quietly, but his words were more menacing than if he’d shouted them. “You haven’t given me a dime, Mr. Ellroy.”

We’ll give you something, won’t we, Trav-oh?

“I gave it to P.J.,” I said. “Last week.”

Sheriff Riley jerked his head back. There was something I couldn’t read in his eyes, a different kind of anger than I’d seen before. “You were supposed to give it to me,” he said. Had he told me that? I thought back to the conversation with him and my parents in the police station, but it was hazy.

Sheriff Riley stood. “Would you mind waiting outside, Mr. Pulver?”

Daniel shrugged, as if it didn’t matter, but I saw the suspicion in his eyes: what was Sheriff Riley up to? Or was he afraid that I’d say something I shouldn’t?

As Daniel turned the doorknob, Sheriff Riley nodded at Principal McCarthy. “You too, if you don’t mind.”

“But this is my office, Sheriff.”

“And this is my investigation, Lyle. Perhaps I didn’t make that clear.”

Principal McCarthy hesitated for a moment, then nodded and said, “I’ll be outside.” I swallowed a lump as the door closed behind him. Instead of sitting back down, Sheriff Riley leaned his butt against the desk.

The end of period bell clanged in the corner and I looked up at the wall clock. It was almost ten, two hours since we’d smashed the car windows, but it felt longer.

“You going somewhere?” Sheriff Riley asked.

“I’ll be late for my next class.”

He sighed and just like that, the soothing voice was gone. “This I’m-so-innocent shit won’t wash with me, Mr. Ellroy. I know what you are.”

And we know what you are, a fat cop with a steroid-packing retard for a son.

“I also know what you’re capable of,” he said. “You smashed up my boy’s car, just like you threw those rocks, and God only knows what you’ll try next.” I was silent, and Sheriff Riley put a sausage-sized finger to his chin as though he’d just had an idea. “I could let you off a little easier if you cooperate. Just tell me what happened out there.”

I was silent for almost a minute until Sheriff Riley lunged up from the desk. He leaned over me, pushing his face into mine.

“You dumb kid, you’re not going to walk away this time. You’ll get what’s coming to you, every last little bit of it, and you’ll gobble it up like caviar.”

Gobble this, you prick.

“It wasn’t me,” I said in a small voice, and it was true. Whoever had been in the parking lot, whoever had enjoyed the sound of cracking glass and the slash of rain, was not the person who now shriveled under Sheriff Riley’s stare.

“Go ahead, get out of here,” he said. “I don’t want you to be late for class. But you’ll be hearing from me, Travis. Soon.”

And you’ll be hearing from us.

As I walked out, I realized two things: the first was that the sheriff had called me Travis. The second was that his parting words sounded like one of P.J.’s threats, only with the force of law behind them.

 

At lunch I told Daniel everything that happened after he left the principal’s office. He listened intently, not saying a word, but he didn’t seem concerned. That made me feel better, but only a little.

Picking at my cold french fries, I looked over at the football players’ table. Jordan, Amy, and Taffy were all sort of quiet. P.J. still wasn’t with them. Was he so upset about his car that he’d gone home, or was he at the sheriff’s office? I imagined him huddled with his father, the two of them making plans to get revenge on me.

Turning back to my lunch, I saw Ross and Moira at our old table. I tried to catch Ross’s attention, but he wouldn’t meet my gaze.

That stupid crybaby, that rat, we’ve got to make him pay.

I wondered again if he’d told Moira, and if she in turn had told him how I’d treated her earlier. I felt almost bad about that, but as soon as I remembered how she’d treated me, I knew I’d done the right thing. She was a manipulative bitch, and she’d gotten exactly what she deserved. But that still didn’t solve the problem I had with P.J. and his father.

“What do you think the sheriff’s going to do?” I asked.

“Nothing,” Daniel said. “He hasn’t got shit or else he wouldn’t be pushing us so hard. He might use our parents to try to convince us to come crawling to him, but that’s about it.”

“But the witness—”

“Doesn’t matter.” Daniel chewed a piece of hard corn bread as he looked at Ross. “If he wanted everyone to know who he was, he would’ve given the police his name. He’s too chickenshit. He won’t bother us.”

I hoped Daniel was right.

“There’s only one thing we can do now,” Daniel said.

I looked up at him.

“The list.”

He held out a red pen and I dug into my backpack and pulled out the list, smoothed it out on the table. By now it was as soft as cotton and worn at the edges. I was careful not to tear it, as though it were old parchment, and glanced at some of the names that ran down the page—P.J. Riley, Gus Benedict, Moira Lansbury.

I wrote Ross’s name first, since I was sure he was the one who’d gotten us in trouble at school. But it didn’t feel as good as I expected. Then I put down Principal McCarthy and Sheriff Riley, for the way they’d treated us that morning. The memory and the act of writing got my adrenaline going, and I felt a natural high.

“There’s still one person you forgot.” Daniel held up his spork for emphasis, a piece of meat speared on it. “That conniving, backstabbing little slut. Koryn.”

He’s right, that pissdyke, she’s top of the list.

“She treated you like crap. She used you. I hate her guts, and I barely even know her. You must hate her twice as much. You probably wish you could take that hammer and beat the crap out of her.”

But did I? Maybe the night after she left me in the parking lot, or even the next day. But now I was remembering all the reasons I’d wanted to go out with her in the first place, and I was hoping maybe we could patch things up.

Patch things up with that bitch? You’re dreaming, Trav-oh.

As I started to write Koryn’s name, the pen was stopped up. I made a small circle on the edge of the paper. The red ink finally came, but then I hesitated, thinking about Koryn in the hallway and the new sketch I’d been about to start in English class. And that’s when it came to me. When Koryn saw the new sketch, drawn exactly as I wanted, when she understood how much I liked her, really liked her, and how much I wanted her to really like me, she would be so moved that she’d have to forgive me. Soon we’d be friends again, and maybe even more.

And best of all, she’d smile at me the way she smiled at Jordan. “I’ll just do it later,” I said, rubbing at the red spot on the list.

“You better,” Daniel said. “And I hope you’re not thinking about trying to make up with her. Because a girl like Koryn, she screws you once and she’ll keep on screwing you. I’m serious, Travis.”

He’s right. We’ve got to do something, we’ve got to—

“I know,” I said, looking at the list.

Journal of Jordan Beaumont

Ever since I kissed Koryn the other night, I’ve been feeling guilty. It doesn’t mean anything, right? I keep telling myself: She was upset. It was late. We were tired. It just happened.

But I don’t believe that.

I tried to be extra nice to Amy this morning. Opened her door when she got to my car. Gave her an extra long kiss.

“Well,” she said, “what’s gotten into you?”

“Just glad to see you,” I said.

First thing I saw at school was P.J, standing over his car. Screaming. I didn’t get it at first. But all the windows were broken.

“What’s going on?” Amy asked.

“Hell if I know.”

We went over. Amy didn’t get too close. P.J. must’ve been scaring her.

I looked at him. Trying to tell him to cool it with my eyes. “I’m sorry. Your brand new windshield and everything.”

“I’m going to kill those punks,” he said. Kept saying it.

“Kill who?”

“Travis and his little friend Daniel.”

“Do you know for sure it was them?”

“Oh, I know,” he said. His voice told me there was no use arguing.

P.J. had called his father, who showed up a couple minutes later. Suddenly P.J. was calm. Or maybe he was scared too. His dad has that effect on people.

“They’re really going to get it, aren’t they?” Amy said.

“Who?”

“Travis and Daniel.”

“P.J.’ll calm down. At least I hope so.”

I’d been thinking about Koryn. How I ought to tell her that it was nothing. What we did. And how I wanted to tell her the opposite. That it was everything.

I left Amy at class, kept going. On my way into English, I saw Koryn. “You dyed your braid,” I said. It was the first thing I could think of.

“I do it every once in a while,” she said, sounding cheerful. But her smile was sad.

We walked into class together. I still wanted to talk to her. Really talk. And I wanted to kiss her again too.

P.J. never showed up at English. Then Travis and Daniel got called out to the principal’s. Were they really dumb enough to smash those windows?

I checked for P.J. after second period and again after third. No sign of him. I saw Koryn on my way to fourth-period Latin. She walked faster than I did. Like she was avoiding me.

I was getting worried about P.J., so I found Amy and borrowed her cell. You’re not supposed to use phones in school. I went to the bathroom to dial. P.J. answered on the first ring.

“What’s going on?” I asked. My voice echoed against the pipes.

“Those assholes,” he said, and then he was real quiet. That scared me more than the look I’d seen in his eyes earlier.

“Didn’t your dad take care of it?” I asked.

“Oh, yeah, he took care of it. Took care of me too.”

“What’re you talking about?”

“Those pissants told my dad about the money they gave me.”

“So?” I asked, not getting it.

“So? So? So my dad gave me a bunch of money last week. Money to fix the windshield.”

“Ah, P.J.” Double-dipping? That was just stupid. But he didn’t need an I-told-you-so. “Look, are you all right?”

“I’m fine. Just peachy.”

“Don’t do anything stupid,” I said. But I wasn’t sure he heard me. There was a dial tone in my ear.