Free Cracked by K. M. Walton Page A

teeth, and enormous blue eyes.
    It dawns on me that I have no shirt on and appear to be wearing a diaper. My eyes bulge, and I pull the blanket over me.
    “I’ve seen it all, trust me. And I do mean all .”
    This doesn’t help me feel any better. I pull the blanket to cover more of my bare chest.
    “Oh, no, no. I didn’t see all of you . I mean I’ve seen—” She cuts herself off and sticks out her hand. “Let’s try this again, okay? Hello, William. I’m Ellie.”
    We shake. No one has called me William since kindergarten, but I like how it sounds.
    “Hey. Where’s my mom?”
    This question seems to make Ellie uncomfortable, because she drops her eyes and starts rustling with the papers on her clipboard.
    “Ellie, has my grandfather been here?” I figure asking about him in a roundabout way is smarter than flat-out asking her if I killed him.
    “Yes, he has. He brought you in here, actually. But I haven’t seen him since.”
    “And my mom? She been here?”
    Ellie squeezes her lips together and tells me that my mom has been here, but she had to be physically removed because she was drunk. And loud.
    Great. Just great.
    I ask her where I am, and she tells me I’m in the ER recovering from surgery on my thigh to repair damage from the bullet. And waiting for my official bed to open up. I ask her what happened to me. She seems confused by this question and asks gently, “You don’t remember trying to kill yourself ?”
    I take a second and keep my mouth shut. I want to see if she’ll keep talking, because somebody told Ellie a lie, and it wasn’t me.
    “Your grandfather, he was . . .” She trailed off.
    I help her out, “Drunk. My grandfather was drunk, right?”
    “Well, yeah. But he was able to tell the police what happened after a cup of black coffee.”
    I swallow hard. “The police?”
    She nods. “Actually, William, there’s an officer waiting to talk with you.”
    “Whatever.” The police? Shit. What the hell am I going to tell the police?
    “You sure you’re up to talking? I think I could stall him a bit longer if you’d like to rest more.”
    I pause and think that resting sounds a lot better than talking with the cop, but I have to get it over with. “Nah, but thanks. I’ll just talk to him.”
    Two minutes later this supershort black guy pulls back the curtain. “William Mastrick?”
    “Uh-huh,” I answer from bed. We’re practically eye to eye, that’s how short he is. Between his 1980s glasses and bad hair, I’m thinking he probably got picked on a crapload when he was a kid and became a cop to take revenge on everyone. Genius move on his part, actually.
    “Officer Gill,” he says with an outstretched hand.
    We shake. He smiles. I shit myself.
    “Nothing to worry about, son, so just relax. Okay?”
    I nod. Still shitting.
    Officer Gill pulls out a small notepad and flips it open.“Last night your grandfather said you guys were having a fight. Is that right?”
    I nod my head in agreement.
    “And you attempted suicide?”
    My conversation with Ellie’s prepped me for this, so I nod my head in agreement again.
    “Why don’t you go ahead and tell me what happened?” Officer Gill says calmly.
    My brain surprisingly kicks into overdrive, and I do some lightning-fast reasoning. If this dude thinks I tried to kill myself, then that had to be what Pop told him. Pop must’ve left out the part where I aimed the gun at him. My fists are balled up under the blankets. I have no idea if what I say will contradict what Pop’s already told him. I keep it short and general. I get through my whole story in, like, four sentences.
    Officer Gill flips to a new page in his notebook and lifts his eyes to mine. “You never pointed the gun at your grandfather, is that correct?”
    I nod.
    “Did you try to hurt your grandfather, William?”
    I shake my head no.
    “I’m going to need a firm answer here, son.”
    “No, I did not try to hurt my grandfather.” Oh my God, I just lied to