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“I do?” I say.
“Yeah.”
I wait for him to say something else. He doesn’t.
“Owen,?
?? I finally say. “What happened?”
He shakes his head. He’s not going to tell me.
I stop swinging and plant my feet on the ground.
“This is stupid, Owen. You have five seconds to tell me what happened, or I’m going to head right back home, and you’ll be on your own for whatever happens next.”
Owen is surprised. “What do you want me to say? Josh Wolf gets me my pot. Today we got into a fight over it—he was saying I owed him, when I didn’t. He started pushing me around, so I pushed him back. And we got caught. He had the drugs, so he said I’d just dealt them to him. Real smooth. I said that was totally wrong, but he’s in all AP classes and everything, so who do you think they’re going to believe?”
He has definitely convinced himself it’s the truth. But whether it started out being the truth or not, I can’t tell.
“Well,” I say, “you have to come home. Dad’s trashed your room, but they haven’t found any drugs yet. And they didn’t find any in your locker, and I’m guessing they didn’t find any in the car, or I would’ve heard about it. So right now, it’s all okay.”
“I’m telling you, there aren’t any drugs. I used the weed up this morning. That’s why I needed more from Josh.”
“Josh, your former best friend.”
“What are you talking about? I haven’t been friends with him since we were, like, eight.”
I am sensing that this was the last time Owen had a best friend.
“Let’s go,” I tell him. “It’s not the end of the world.”
“Easy for you to say.”
I am not expecting our father to hit Owen. But as soon as he sees him in the house, he decks him.
I think I am the only one who is truly stunned.
“What have you done?” my father is yelling. “What stupid, stupid thing have you done?”
Both my mother and I move to stand between them. Grandma just watches from the sidelines, looking mildly pleased.
“I haven’t done anything!” Owen protests.
“Is that why you ran away? Is that why you are being expelled? Because you haven’t done anything?”
“They won’t expel him until they hear his side of the story,” I point out, fairly sure this is true.
“Stay out of this!” my father warns.
“Why don’t we all sit down and talk this over?” my mother suggests.
The anger rises off my father like heat. I feel myself receding in a way that I’m guessing is not unusual for Leslie when she’s with her family.
I become nostalgic for that first waking moment of the morning, back before I had any idea what ugliness the day would bring.
We sit down this time in the den. Or, rather, Owen, our mother, and I sit down—Owen and me on the couch, our mother in a nearby chair. Our father hovers over us. Our grandmother stays in the doorway, as if she’s keeping lookout.
“You are a drug dealer!” our father yells.
