Jack's POV:
Felix dropped the keys onto the floor of the car. "Hey, are you ok? Maybe you're in shock or something. Did you hear what you just said? You just said Mark shot the guy." I was silent for a long time.
"I know what I said," I told Felix finally. " It was Mark."
"Mark robbed the jewelry store? Mark killed the manager? Get real." Felix's words were as flip as ever, but the confidence had gone out of his voice.
I opened my eyes. "I saw him. It was Mark. It was Mark. It was Mark. How many times do I have to say it before you'll believe me?"
"Ok, ok," Felix said, frowning. "You don't have to get angry with me." Felix searched for the keys under the seat. "It is a little hard to believe you know."
"Yes," I said, tears filled my eyes. "Yes, it's hard to believe. But I saw him."
Felix started the car and backed out of the parking space. We drove in silence for a while as he maneuvered the car out of the vast mall parking lot.
"Why would Mark rob a store? Where did he get a gun? Why would he do such a dumb thing? Why am I asking you these questions?" He reached a hand out and grabbed my shoulder. "I'm sorry, I guess I'm really upset, too."
"That's ok," I said quietly. I didn't know what else to say. I was asking the same questions over and over again in my mind.
Sure, Mark's family was poor. His dad was one of the few blue-collar workers in Cloverhill. It was hard for Mark to fit into a upper-middle-class community like ours. But he was good-looking, a great athlete and managed to make a lot of friends. Yes, he was always apologizing to me for not having a car, for not being able to buy me expensive presents, for not being able to dress as stylishly as the other kids.
But he knew those things didn't matter to me.
Didn't he?
"I don't know what else to say," I told Felix with a sigh. "I thought I knew everything about him."
"Wait a minute! Whoa!" Felix cried, screeching the car to a halt in my driveway. He jerked the gearshift into park, then held a finger up in front of my face. "How many fingers do you see?"
"What?" I was in no mood for silly games. Why couldn't Felix realize that?
"Come on, Jack. How many fingers."
"One. Why?"
"Were you wearing your glasses in the mall?"
"No," I replied. "You know I never wear them when I go out. Too vain, I guess."
"So. There you have it. You're nearsighted, right?" Felix had a broad, triumphant grin on his face.
"Yeah, a little."
"So, you couldn't see clearly in the jewelry store. The guy only looked like Mark. But it wasn't Mark. That's the only logical explanation." He sat back in the seat and grinned at me, very pleased with himself.
I frowned and shook my head. "I wish I could believe you. . . ."
"But?"
"But it was Mark. Do you really think I wouldn't know Mark? Do you really think I wouldn't recognize someone I know so well? I wouldn't need to see him clearly to know it was him."
Felix's smile faded, replaced by a thoughtful pout. "I guess you're right. I guess his raven-black hair along would give him away. You should tell him to wear a cap the next time he pulls a---" He stopped himself.
I pushed open the car door.
"I'm sorry," Felix called after me. "I always make jokes. It's a defense mechanism, I guess. the more serious things are, the more hilarious I get. You should see me at a funeral. I'm a riot. But that doesn't mean I don't care."
“Talk to you later,” I said, wondering if my parents are home, wondering what I would say to them, wondering how much longer I could keep myself together without completely breaking apart.
“Call me,” Felix said. “Really. Call me. You can always talk to me.” He backed the car down the drive. He didn't do his usual two honks as he drove away.
I stood in the drive and watched Felix’s car until it turned the corner and drove out of view. The I slowly walked into the house, my mind whirling with horrible pictures, the sight and sounds of the holdup refusing to fade.
“Anybody home?”
There was no reply.
I found a note on the refrigerator, the usual place for messages and reminders. The note said that my parents had taken Chris to buy new shoes. That was good news. I really didn't feel like facing them at the moment.
I didn't feel like seeing anyone ever again.
I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket, I pulled it out and saw I had a missed call. I pulled out my phone and listened to the message.
I gasped aloud hearing Mark's voice. I could hear a lot of noises and voices in the background. He must have been calling while on a walk.
The first time the message played through, I didn't hear a word of it. When he had called me? I wondered. Before the robbery or after?
I had to listen to the message again. This time I forced myself to listen to the words: “Hi, Jack. Uh. . . sorry about the skating. Daniels kept us in the pool till after two-thirty. Would you believe we had to practice breath control the whole time? I. . .uh. . .got to run. I have some. . .other things to take care of before the dance. Pick you up at eight. Hey, where are you, anyway? Buh-bye.”
Did he sound nervous? Or was I just imagine that?
No. His voice definitely sounded funny.
Was he calling from the locker room? From the mall? I played the message again. Again. I couldn't tell.
But he definitely sounded nervous. That I could tell.
I played it one more time, trying to decide if it was before the robbery or after. I stopped the message halfway through, a sudden chill running down my body.
Had he seen me run out of the jewelry store? Was he pretending that he didn't? Was he going to try to pretend that everything was normal, that everything was going to continue the way they had so carefully, so lovingly planned it?
I put my head down on the kitchen counter. My life had seemed so wonderful, so certain, so exciting just a few hours before. Now, it was all broken. All of the happy plans, all of our dreams, our whole life together. Broken.
I stood up straight and shook my head. How could I go to the stupid school dance with him tonight? No way!
He had ruined our life. And he had killed a poor defenseless little man. Now he was coming to take me to the school dance.
I steadied myself against the counter and picked up my phone. I decided to call and break the date. I'd say I was sick. It was true, after all. I felt worse than sick. I felt like disappearing, dying.
The thought of his voice on the phone message, trying to sound so calm, so normal, made me feel even worse. There was no way I could face him.
I started to push his number, but stopped halfway. I put down my phone. I have to face him, I told myself. I have to know the truth.
Yes. It made a lot more sense to go to the dance with Mark. I would act as if nothing had happened. I would give him a chance to tell me all about what had happened, chance to explain.
This idea made me feel a little stronger. I glanced at the kitchen clock above the sink. It was just about time to start getting ready. I hadn’t planned on getting dressed up. No one ever did for dances in the high school gym. But I wanted to look nice. After all, it might be our last date together.
I picked up my phone and walked up to my bedroom. For some reason I found myself thinking about the tickets to the dance. I had bought them in homeroom Wednesday morning. But where had I put them?
In my wallet. I searched through my pockets for the black wallet. My feeling of dread grew as I continued to search.
Finally, desperately, I emptied out my pockets onto my bedspread.
No wallet.
“Oh, no.” I groaned.
Had I dropped it in the jewelry store?