Free Death at Devil's Bridge by Cynthia DeFelice

the speedometer as it dropped to fifty, then forty, then thirty-five. Keep it there, Donny , I urged silently. Let’s just get home without anything happening .
    We did get home eventually, but not before I’d nearly had about seven heart attacks. Donny wasn’t too good at handling the curves, and a couple of
times when he was talking, he didn’t even notice that he was driving on the wrong side of the road. Twice I couldn’t help shouting, “Watch out!” and once Jeff reached over, grabbed the wheel, and steered us out of the path of an oncoming car.
    At least Donny laughed about it instead of getting mad. I was grateful for the lack of other cars on the road once we got up-island, and relieved when Donny pulled over on the stretch of road where we’d left our bikes.
    â€œThanks, man,” Jeff said, getting out. “That was great.”
    â€œYeah, thanks, Donny,” I said, practically leaping out of the car.
    â€œNo problem,” Donny replied. He smiled his lazy smile, seeming to have recovered his good mood. “What can I say? I got lucky, I shared the wealth. That’s what friends are for, right?”
    â€œRight!” Jeff agreed.
    I was too nervous and jumpy to smile back. I just wanted Donny to leave.
    â€œAdios, amigos,” he said, and pulled away.
    â€œWow,” said Jeff, turning to me with an excited grin on his face. “Can you believe it?”
    â€œWhat?” I asked. “That we got home alive?”
    â€œWell, yeah,” Jeff said with a sheepish smile. “But I wasn’t too worried about that. Donny wouldn’t crack up his car.”
    Of course he wouldn’t crack it up on purpose, I wanted to say but didn’t. Lately I seemed to be doing a lot of keeping my mouth shut.
    â€œI can’t believe what he did,” Jeff went on. “And the way he, like, really trusts us.”
    â€œYeah,” I replied, without enthusiasm.
    â€œWhat’s the matter? You seem kind of bummed out.”
    â€œI don’t know,” I said. “When Donny explains it, it sounds okay, I guess. I see what he means, you know? But…”
    â€œWhat?” Jeff urged.
    Right at that minute, I was really missing Pop. I’d been able to talk to him about almost anything. But now things were happening that I’d never had to discuss when he was alive.
    Jeff was looking at me, waiting. When I didn’t answer, he said slowly, “Look, your mom and my parents would say what Donny did was really terrible. But, like Donny says, they just don’t get it.”
    â€œYeah, maybe,” I said.
    â€œAt least Donny’s doing something,” Jeff went on.
    I almost told Jeff he was starting to sound like a parrot, repeating everything Donny said, but I didn’t.

    â€œI was freaked when he brought out the booze,” I said instead.
    â€œDonny said we were going to party,” Jeff answered nonchalantly. He laughed, and punched my arm. “What did you expect? Cake and ice cream?”
    I looked at him, feeling like a dumb little kid again. I’d been sure Jeff had been as surprised and nervous about drinking as I was, but maybe I’d been wrong. “Come on, Manning,” I said. “You were surprised, too. Weren’t you?”
    â€œWell, yeah, sort of,” he admitted.
    Curious, I asked, “Did you like the taste?”
    I was hoping he would make a gagging sound and say, “Are you kidding? That stuff was awful!” and we could laugh about how gross it was, the way we once would have.
    But instead Jeff said, “It grows on you.”
    Like Donny says , I thought. “Look, I gotta go,” I said.
    Riding the rest of the way home on my bike, I practiced different conversations with Mom, who I knew would be waiting up for me. Part of me wanted to walk into the house and tell her everything, but another part of me wasn’t sure.
    Most grown-ups, Mom included, would