The Truth by Jeffry W. Johnston Page A

was sure you hated me.”
    I take in a deep, shaky breath. “This is…different.”
    â€œNo, it’s not. I watch him on the baseball field, a head taller than every other kid out there… It’s easy to forget he’s only ten. But he loves you. More than anybody. More than me, I think.”
    â€œThat’s not true—”
    â€œIt is. And that’s fine. Did you talk to him like I said?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œThen you don’t even know what he’s mad about.”
    I look down. “He’s mad at me about what happened the other night.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œI think maybe because I didn’t stay with him. Because I…”
    â€œKilled somebody?”
    I look up at her, surprised.
    â€œIf that’s the case,” she continues, “once he thinks about it, he’ll understand.”
    â€œUnderstand what?”
    â€œThat sometimes there are things you have to do to protect the ones you love.”
    I hesitate. Look down again. “He was only thirteen.”
    â€œAnd if you hadn’t gone downstairs, and he’d come up and killed you, would it matter then that he was thirteen?” She leans across the table toward me. “Yes, it’s a shame he was so young. But you and Devon are alive. That’s what matters to me. Devon is ten years old; if he doesn’t understand, well, make him understand. Talk to him when he gets home from school today.”
    â€œHe’s got the game—”
    â€œSo? Just do it.” She takes in another deep breath and stares at me in silence.
    â€œWhat?” I say finally.
    â€œThis is my fault,” Mom says. “I should have been here when it happened.”
    â€œMom, it’s not—”
    She waves me off. “He lost his father way too young, and before I knew it, you had stepped into the role. I haven’t told you enough how much it means to me. But I depend on you too much. I forget you’re sixteen. You should be out with friends, doing the things teenage boys do. You’re too young to be a pseudo-parent. I shouldn’t be the one out on dates. You should.”
    â€œMom, stop it. I’m okay. Devon and I will work it out.”
    Mom reaches across the table to squeeze my hand. “Promise me you’ll talk to him when he gets home from school.”
    â€œMom…”
    â€œPromise me.”
    After a moment, I tell her, “I promise.”
    â€¢ • •
    â€œAre you okay?” Terry asks me in the hallway. I’m getting a little tired of him asking me that.
    Fifth period. Lunch.
    â€œEverybody’s talking about you,” Terry says as we walk toward the cafeteria.
    â€œNot to me they aren’t,” I tell him.
    â€œThey probably don’t know what to say to you. Doesn’t mean they aren’t talking.”
    â€œMr. Schubert called me into his office.”
    â€œWhat did Principal Dorko want?”
    â€œI think he just felt he had to ’cause it was his job. He said a lot of kids are probably going to want to talk to me about it, but it was better for me and for everyone if I didn’t let it go to my head and stay focused on my schoolwork. If I can’t, then maybe I should stay home for a couple days.”
    â€œWhat a dickwad.”
    â€œHe did say I could talk to the school counselor, if I wanted to.”
    â€œAre you going to?”
    I shake my head. “I don’t see the point.”
    â€œI heard Feiler and Baumann talking.” Science teacher and English teacher. “Baumann said he totally agrees with what you did.”
    I get a queasy feeling in my stomach.
    â€œBaumann probably wishes he could shoot a few students,” Terry continues. “If somebody pointed a gun at him though, I bet he’d piss his pants.”
    In the cafeteria, we find a table. I pull out my bag lunch.
    â€œTom Callahan says you should get a medal,” Terry