Free Guilty by Norah McClintock Page A

them. He’s better at the club. At least, he says he is. But he spends a lot of time at home looking for stuff that he’s put somewhere but can’t remember where. My mom used to tell him that if he added up all the time he spent looking for stuff, it would be years of his life, and that he could have spent those years doing something fun if only he’d been more organized.
    I toss the envelope onto my dresser. I’ll give it to him later.
    I crawl into bed.

    The next thing I know, I’m being blinded by the afternoon sun. I check my clock. It’s nearly three. School will be out soon. I reach for my phone. It isn’t there.
    Right. I left it in the kitchen.
    I roll out of bed and go downstairs to retrieve it. When I hit the button for my list of saved numbers, I see hers right under John’s. Lila. The girl from the funeral. It was nice of her to show up, especially considering what she told me about her dad.
    I don’t even hesitate. I call her.
    The phone rings twice, three times, four times at the other end. I hear a breathless voice.
    â€œHello?”
    â€œLila?”
    â€œYes?” She sounds guarded, as if she’s expecting bad news and is bracing herself.
    â€œIt’s Finn. From the police station. And the funeral. You gave me your number, remember?”
    The pause that follows is so long that there can only be two possibilities—she doesn’t remember, or she’s trying to figure out what to say to make me go away.
    â€œI remember,” she says at last. If there’s any way she could sound less enthusiastic, I can’t come up with it. I remind myself that her father died. That was why she was at the police station.
    â€œSo…how are you doing?”
    â€œI’m kind of busy,” she says.
    â€œIf there’s a better time…”
    â€œNo.” She doesn’t hesitate, not even for a split second. “No. It was a mistake to give you my number. I’m sorry.”
    I hear the click, but I can’t quite believe it. No one has ever hung up on me before. I stand there like an idiot and stare at my phone. Grief, I can understand. But what did she mean when she said, It was a mistake to give you my number ? Is it just that she isn’t interested in talking to anyone, especially a stranger? I can understand that. But that isn’t what it sounded like.
    Whatever.
    I call John. We agree to meet up near school.

    I wait for John about a block from school where none of my teachers will see me, even though I know that none of them would dare challenge my absence today. Last year, the mother of a kid in my class died in a car accident. He was out for nearly two months with a complete mental breakdown. Well, I can top that. I saw a shooting—two people killed right in front of my eyes, and my father nearly killed. Still, I don’t want any hassles. And I sure don’t want any awkward moments of forced or even sincere sympathy.
    John’s hungry. What else is new? So we head to a burger place, where he orders a cheeseburger with bacon, fries with gravy, and a chocolate milkshake.
    I order a Coke.
    â€œThat’s it?” he says.
    I shrug, and he nods.
    â€œYou okay?” he says.
    I tell him, yeah. And then I start to tell him about the girl.
    â€œThe one you were talking to at the funeral?” he says. “She’s hot. Who is she?”
    I explain the little I know about her.
    â€œBut you got her number, right?”
    â€œI called her today.”
    John grins. “And?”
    â€œShe hung up on me.”
    He sits back in his chair, a look of mock astonishment on his face.
    â€œBlown off? By a hot chick? How did that happen?” He laughs and drags a couple of French fries through thick gravy before shoving them into his mouth.
    â€œShe said she made a mistake when she gave me her number,” I say.
    â€œI could have warned her.” He chuckles. “So, you’re going to call