Blind Spot (21 page)

Greg shoved his hands in the front pockets of his jeans and kicked at some mud with his tennis shoe. “I heard he was dealing drugs to Tricia.”

“Not everything you hear is true, Greg.”

He stopped kicking at the mud and looked at me. “Not everything he tells you is true, either. What if you’re wrong about him?”

I kept my voice calm and even. “I’m not.”

“You were wrong to trust him when you two were dating.”

“That’s different.”

“Is it? You know that drug they found in Tricia? GHB? Mom said if given too much, it can immobilize you. It can make you black out too. Whoever gives it to you can do anything he wants; you can’t fight back, and you won’t remember.”

A sick feeling crept through me. My throat went dry. If what I’d been slipped was GHB, did someone do something to me? Something I couldn’t remember?

“Tricia’s not the first girl to be slipped GHB at a party, Roz. Missy thinks she was, and Heather too. You know what they have in common? Jonathan. When it happened, they were both with Jonathan.”

“Come on, Greg, anyone could’ve given it to them.” Uncertainty nagged at me, though. Both times I blacked out, I’d been at parties with Jonathan too.

“Roz, without even talking to each other, they both accused him.”

I shook my head. He was wrong;
they
were wrong. I might not remember much about that night Tricia died, but I did know Jonathan never touched anything I ate or drank. How could he have slipped me something without handling my cup? And would he have told me someone was slipping stuff in beer if he was the one doing it?

“Greg, I know he didn’t do that, okay?”

“After everything he’s done”—he clenched his jaw—“how can you be so blind?”

I set my jaw too. “I’m not being
blind.
” He was the one being blind—blinded by jealousy and hatred for a guy he barely knew.

“You want to stand by him? Go ahead.” He opened his car door. “It’s your funeral.”

The thing about alien life is there’s no universally accepted proof that it exists. Belief is left to the individual. Some believe without needing proof. Others believe because they’ve seen proof. And some will never believe, regardless of proof.

Truth is like that too. It isn’t necessarily universal. Sometimes what we see, what seems real, isn’t real at all. When I didn’t see the lamppost in front of us the day Greg tried teaching me to drive, the truth, for me, was that nothing existed in that space. But unfortunately, the truth for Greg and his car was that it did exist. The same thing happens on
UFO Sightings
when two witnesses give opposite accounts of the same event. Both believe their accounts are the truth, even when they are drastically different. So which is the real account? The
truth?

It all comes down to faith and your examination of the evidence.

After Greg left, I struggled with this. What was truth, what was fiction, and could I spot the difference between the two? Once upon a time, I thought I could. Now I was questioning everything and everyone, especially myself.

What if I was wrong about Jonathan? What if he wasn’t telling me everything? Then again, what if I was right? What if Dellian was guilty and would get away with it because everyone was too busy crucifying Jonathan?

If truth had to come down to evidence, then I needed to find some. Something tangible I could examine. Jonathan’s idea seemed the best way to get that.

A few days later we had it all planned. I’d get Fritz to make a scene as he had before, and once Dellian was out of the room, I’d hang my jacket in the coat closet, steal the keys from Dellian’s pocket, and give them to Jonathan, who would be waiting in the hall. Once he’d searched Dellian’s apartment—taking pictures of anything incriminating, such as Tricia’s cloak—he’d return the keys to me. I’d “remember” my jacket in Dellian’s room and slip the keys back in his pocket. Simple. Smooth. Easy.

“Roz.” Ruth stopped me as I approached the SPED hallway. “Ratner’s waiting for you. Dellian got you suspended.”

“What?” I should’ve been ready for this. Given Tricia’s death and my attempts to find the truth, though, I’d forgotten how I’d followed up my Last Stand in AP by ditching the entire day of school.

“Sorry,” Ruth said with a shrug. She handed me a book. “It’s my yearbook from last year. Renny’s in there.”

I didn’t have the heart to tell her I had the same yearbook at home, so I took it from her. “Thanks,” I said as we rounded the corner.

Principal Ratner’s silhouette blocked the hallway. “Roswell, come with me.”

I rolled my eyes at Ruth and followed Ratner to his office. We passed Jonathan along the way. I shrugged at his questioning look and kept walking.

“Roswell, I am afraid I am going to have to suspend you for two days. I warned you about missing school; we also sent a warning notice home. With the death of your classmate, I was willing to forgo this, but Mr. Dellian feels suspension is necessary.”

Of course he does.
“Principal Ratner, I swear he’s marking me absent because I won’t sit in the back. Ask Mrs. Martin; she knows.”

He picked up his phone. “Nurse Martin? Could you come to my office for a moment?” When she entered he said, “Roswell is about to be suspended for missing too many classes. She tells me you are aware of this situation?”

“Yes, my son actually mentioned something earlier this year. When I spoke to Mr. Dellian about it, he assured me he was simply separating Roz and my son for too much socializing. Roz came to me before break with the same story, though, so I observed.”

He nodded. “Did you witness anything?”

Mrs. Martin glanced at me before she answered. “No, he marked her present.”

“Because you were there!” I protested.

“I did skim her records,” Mrs. Martin said. “The majority of absences do occur in that class. She’s a good student too. I’m inclined to believe her and my son when they say she’s there every day.”

Ratner shuffled through the attendance records. “Thursday you were marked absent in all classes. I seem to remember you leaving before first hour.”

“I wasn’t feeling well.”

“Your parents excused you then? I don’t see a pass.”

“No.” What was I supposed to say? I saw Greg hugging Missy and took off? “I . . . just left.” I’d lost my footing.

“Roswell, you cannot leave school when you wish. I’m suspending you as planned.”

“How does that even make sense?” I looked at Nurse Martin for help. “If I
was
skipping class, how does keeping me out of school punish me?” She didn’t say anything. I looked back at Principal Ratner. “That’s every truant’s dream! It’s stupid!”

“It’s policy,” Principal Ratner said. “Go gather your books. I’ll call your home.”

I found Jonathan waiting in the hallway. “I only have a second; I have to meet Ratner in the front to wait for my mom.” I told him. “I’m suspended.”

“Shit, our plan was perfect!” He glared at me. “What do I do now?”

“Wait three days? Or get the keys yourself,” I said, annoyed by his attitude.

“I can’t get near that room, and three days is too long!” We heard someone coming. “I’ll call you,” Jonathan whispered, and left.

“I don’t believe it.” Heather walked up with some sort of cardboard tree. “You two are back together?”

I gave her a hostile look and started walking.

“How could you be with him again?”

“Why? Are you jealous?” I hurried up the stairs to my locker.

“Hardly.” She took the steps two at a time to keep up. “I’m worried about you.”

“Worried about me?” I ripped my locker open, tossed Ruth’s yearbook on the floor inside, and grabbed my coat. “The way you were when you hooked up with Jonathan at Ethan’s party?”

Heather ignored my dig. “Where are you going?”

“I’ve been suspended for skipping classes I never skipped.”

“That sucks.”

I threw my backpack over my shoulder. “Yeah, pretty much everything sucks these days.”

“Roz, can we start over? Please? My dad’s out of town tomorrow. We could hang out after school. Order pizza, whatever you want. Come on, please?”

“I don’t . . .” Her dad’s apartment was right above Dellian’s. The perfect place to gain access. I nibbled my inner cheek. “I’ll think about it.”

“You know, after talking with that police lady, I almost believed you,” Mom said as she peeled out of the school parking lot. “I thought maybe you were telling the truth this time. Maybe that perverted teacher really was out to get you.”

“He is,” I muttered.

“Rozzy, your principal said you admitted to skipping!”

I shook my head. It was no use. She was pissed and believed only what she wanted to believe anyway. While she ranted, I formulated a new plan. An easier one. From Heather’s apartment I could watch for Dellian while Jonathan broke in and searched.

“One problem,” Jonathan said when I told him my plan later that afternoon. “I don’t know how to pick a lock.”

“Can’t you just pop it with a paper clip?”

“Sure, if we’re breaking into his bathroom. A dead bolt’s another story.” He paused. “Hold up. Heather dates that Felix kid, the one in a wheelchair, right?”

“Fritz. Yeah, what about him?”

“Dellian wouldn’t stop to lock his dead bolt if he had to leave in a hurry, say in an emergency, would he?”

“Probably not,” I said, unsure of what he was getting at.

“This will work,” Jonathan said. “Get Felix with you at Heather’s tomorrow night.”

“Fritz.”
I corrected. “Why? How’s he going to help?”

“Fire alarm. Can’t use the elevator in a fire. You get Dellian to help Lover Boy out of the building. I’ll search his apartment.”

I liked my less criminal role in the new plan. No stealing of keys or sneaking around. I would simply get Fritz to Heather’s and make sure Dellian helped him out of the building—something I’d do anyway if there were a real fire.

The first part was easy. I called Heather and said I’d come over, but Fritz had to be a buffer between us. She was more than willing to agree to that. As it neared the time to catch the bus the next day, though, doubt about carrying out the rest of the plan began to rattle me.

No matter what my role, I was helping Jonathan commit a crime. And what did we really hope to accomplish? Even if he did find the cloak, by the time the police searched the place it could be gone. It would still be our word against his—only this time our word would also get us arrested for burglary.

But at least I’d know.

My doorbell rang as I was about to walk out. “I’m on my way to pick up Fritz,” Greg said. “You want a ride?”

“You and Heather are buddy-buddy again?” It figured she would ask Greg to pick him up.

“No, but I think inviting me was a gesture to make amends.”

“Wait, she invited you?” He could not be there. He’d know I was up to something and ruin the plan. “You’re staying?”

“If you don’t want me there—”

“I don’t.” I saw the hurt in his face. I couldn’t worry about his feelings right now. He could
not
be there. I pushed past him. “I’m gonna take the bus.”

Greg and Fritz were sprawled out on Heather’s couch eating chips when I arrived. Greg held his arm up and tapped his watch. “Took you long enough.”

“I thought you weren’t staying.” It came out snotty. Fritz and Heather glanced at me in surprise.

“No, you said you didn’t want me to stay,” Greg shot back. “I never said I wouldn’t.”

He could be so annoying!
Okay, he’s here, so what?
I told myself.
Just ignore him.
I strolled over to the window and pushed the curtain aside. “Can I open these? Let some light in?”

“I shut them so we could watch a movie,” Heather said.

“Oh.” I peered down at the crowded parking lot. I could barely make out the first row of cars. The rest were just a smear of colors. “What does Dellian drive?”

“Do we care?” Greg asked.

“A truck,” Fritz replied.

I nodded, remembering the day he’d come looking for Tricia. “Dark green.” Great. If there had been snow on the ground, dark green would be awesome. It would stand out against the white canvas. Most of the cars down there, however, were black, green, or blue. There wasn’t enough contrast against the black asphalt for me to pick out his vehicle. Why did I say I’d be the lookout? I couldn’t even
see
to look out.

“Why?” Fritz asked.

“I was curious to see if he was here. It’s sort of creepy, with him so close by, especially if he had something to do with Tricia’s death.” I tried to focus on individual sections of the parking lot, darting my dots to the side so I could look.

The smell of dryer sheets sent my heart into a frenzy as Greg came and stood next to me. He pressed his nose up to the glass. “There’s his truck.” He turned his head toward me, face still against the glass, and gave me a serious look. “Why do you think Dellian was involved?”

“She was living here with him.” I squinted in the direction Greg had motioned. I couldn’t see the truck, but at least I could watch the area, make sure he didn’t pull out between now and when Jonathan called. “They had a baby.” I glanced at my watch. He’d be calling in a few minutes.

“Allegedly, according to you two.” Greg gestured at me and Heather.

“Allegedly?” Heather said. “I’ve seen him with her a billion times! Or I used to anyway. They found me in the stairwell. If they didn’t have something going, why would she be here after midnight on a Saturday? Plus, as Roz said, there’s the baby.”

Greg shook his head. “My mom said Tricia couldn’t have had a baby. She never missed that much school. I think my mom would know if a student had a baby.”

“What about when she went for rehab?” I said. “She could’ve been pregnant then.”

“Yeah.” Heather agreed. “And drug babies are small. She could’ve been pregnant without anyone noticing, especially with that smock thing she always wore.”

My cell rang. “Hey.” I turned away from the others.

“Is D. there?” Jonathan asked.

“Yeah.” I wanted to warn him about Greg. “I’m at Heather’s, hanging out with Fritz and Greg.”