On My Honor by Marion Dane Bauer Page A

face. Did she know the truth? Did she know he had been there, that he had seen it all? He couldn't tell.
    "Did you know Tony went down to the river, Joel?" Mr. Zabrinsky asked in the same lifeless voice he had used at first.
    "No," Joel said. "I didn't know anything. I got tired, like I told you. I..." They were all looking at him, the police officers, Tony's parents, his father. Staring. Again Joel started to back away, and again his father's arm prevented him from doing so. The slight pressure of the arm along his back made him want to strike out, to break away and run. If he could get away, he could hide someplace where those terrible eyes couldn't follow. Why had he come back from Starved Rock? He couldn't seem to remember.
    "Okay," he said. "Okay. Tony said he was going to go swimming. I tried to stop him. I told him the river was dangerous."
    "And did you see him go into the water?" one of the officers asked, stepping closer to Joel.
    The other one moved in closer, too, asking, "Were you there?"
    "No!" Joel cried. "No!"
    "Nobody's blaming you, son," the first officer said. "But the more you can tell your friend's parents"—he indicated the Zabrinskys with one hand as though directing Joel's attention to a picture or a statue in the doorway there—"the easier it will be. It's the not—knowing that's the worst."
    "Please," Mrs. Zabrinsky whispered. "If you know anything..."
    Mr. Zabrinsky leaned against the doorframe, one massive fist pressed tightly against his mouth, weeping silently.
    "Joel?" his father said. "You've got to tell us." And then he turned to the others and added, laying his arm heavily across Joel's shoulders, "Joel is an honorable boy. He'll tell you what he knows."
    Honorable! Joel staggered beneath the weight of his father's arm, then pulled away, teetering on the edge of the porch. The five faces bent toward him were like five pale moons, but it was his father's face that loomed the largest.
    He took a deep breath. "Tony wanted to climb the bluffs at Starved Rock, and I was scared to do it. So when he changed his mind, when he decided to go swimming instead ... I thought ... I thought..." He was shaking all over as he spoke. "I looked for him. When he went under, I tried to find him. But I couldn't.... He just ... he just ... disappeared."
    "Oh ... Joel!" The arm that had been holding him didn't reach out to touch him again. "Joel!" his father repeated.
    Mr. Zabrinsky moaned and stepped backward into the shadowy hall. Tony's mother stood perfectly still. She didn't look at her husband. She stared only at Joel, her face twisted and ugly.
    Everybody was looking at him, blaming him. He wanted to turn away, to run at last, but his feet refused to carry him in that direction. Instead, he stumbled toward his father, his hands raised and clenched into fists. "I hate you!" he cried, pounding at his father's chest. "It's all your fault. You never should have let me go!"
    His father said nothing, did nothing to shield himself from Joel's fists. He simply stood there, absorbing the force of the blows until Joel could bear it no longer. He turned and leaped off the porch and bolted across the street.
    But even as he slammed through the door and ran up the stairs to his room, he knew. It wasn't his father he hated. It wasn't his father at all.
    He was the one.... Tony had died because of him.

Chapter Twelve
     
    J OEL LAY CURLED ON HIS SIDE, FACING HIS bedroom door. That's where his father would appear when he came to punish him. He would have to do it this time. He wouldn't have any choice.
    He would punish him for yelling at him ... for hitting him ... for daring Tony to swim out to the sandbar.
    Joel had known from the beginning that it was his fault. From the moment Tony had disappeared, he had understood. Running away hadn't changed a thing, and coming back hadn't changed anything either.
    Nothing could change what had happened ... ever.
    A light summer breeze fanned across the bed, rustled the leaves on