Blood Trail by Nancy Springer

locked behind me I just leaned against it and closed my eyes. Mrs. Ledbetter meant to be my friend, but in my mind I could hear her on the phone right this minute, telling her buddies that she saw Jeremy Davis and he wouldn’t talk and he looked awful, all upset. And they would call people they knew and tell them—what? That they heard Jeremy Davis wouldn’t talk? By the time it got around town, some of them would be saying I had something to hide. Jeremy Davis looked awful? What’s that mean? Grieving? Or guilty?
    By the time they got done, some of them would be saying I killed Aaron myself.
    Damn phones anyway. Mom was on ours talking with the cops about the threatening calls. When she was finished, and when I was sure she was in the bathroom and she wouldn’t hear me, I called my father.
    But he wasn’t home. Story of my life. I left a message on his answering machine: “Dad, hi, this is Jeremy. Would you do me a favor? I want you to get me a gun.”

chapter eight
    â€œHold your head up, son,” Mom told me softly as we walked to the church door for Aaron’s funeral.
    Easier said than done, when I’d been getting hate calls for three days. When people who didn’t even know me were saying I was a lying bastard lower than dog doo. When I was wearing a suit and I felt dressed up like a circus monkey. When there were news photographers climbing the trees to snap pictures of me. When even the stony old mountains seemed to be watching me. But screw all that. I did what Mom said. I yanked my eyes off the pavement and looked around as we reached the end of the line waiting to go in.
    People looked at me, then looked away like they didn’t know what to do or say. Three guys from the football team walked over to me and muttered, “Hi, Booger,” then stood beside me looking the same way.
    A few people glared. “Dirty liar,” taunted a girl’s voice from the crowd.
    â€œNone of that, miss,” growled one of the cops at the door. There were uniformed police everywhere. Crowd control, I guess. School had started today, but seniors had the day off to attend Aaron’s funeral. Nearly everybody in my class was there, and it seemed like nearly everybody in Pinto River was there, too. To show sympathy for the family? Or to gawk at them and at me?
    The guys from the team kind of drifted away.
    â€œâ€¦ should be ashamed to show his face,” muttered a man’s voice in the crowd.
    â€œIn this country it’s innocent until proved guilty,” said some woman quietly, and I couldn’t tell whether she was talking about me or Nathan.
    That was what really freaked me. Most people, the ones keeping their distance, I couldn’t tell what they were really thinking. Like, were they just embarrassed? Or trying to stay in good with the Gingriches? Or did they really despise me? All around me and especially behind me I heard people mumbling to each other—about me?
    I felt a big warm hand on my shoulder, turned around, and there was Coach from school. “Jeremy,” he said, “how you doing, son?”
    All of a sudden I got choked up and couldn’t answer. But my sister was standing there and she said, “He’s being a total boogerhead.”
    Coach smiled. “Good.” He said to my mom, “Okay if I sit with you folks?”
    â€œJeremy.” Another voice, a girl’s, and there stood Morgan, looking at me kind of puzzled. “What made you change your mind?”
    Oh. Jeez. I was the one who had yelled at her to shut up about Nathan. I told her, “I’m not sure I even have a mind. Listen, I’m sorry—”
    â€œForget it.” All of a sudden she gave me a hug, then headed away.
    â€œThat’s Jeremy Davis,” whispered a voice behind me. “What’s he doing here?” I didn’t turn around.
    Once we finally got inside, it was dim and crowded and way quiet. Hushed. All