Speechless(103)

                Sam looks at me like he’s seeing me for the first time. My                     heart starts pounding really fast, and I get that elevator-drop stomach again. I                     shouldn’t have brought this up. I shouldn’t keep sabotaging the few things that                     allow me to cling to my ever-dwindling sanity.

                I am such a moron.

                “I think about what happened to Noah—not just what happened,                     but what they did to him—every day. I was mad at                     you. I am mad. But—” He stops and sighs. “Asha told                     me you didn’t know what they were going to do to him,” he says. “Is that                     true?”

                I nod. I didn’t know, but—

                It wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t said anything.

                “Probably not,” he agrees. “But if you hadn’t said anything to                     the cops…who knows if they would’ve been caught. Andy never saw them. Noah                     doesn’t even remember.”

                So he has talked to Noah about this. Or someone has,                     anyway.

                I’m glad the police found the bloody ice scraper in Warren’s                     truck bed. I’m glad he and Joey both confessed. Otherwise it would just be my                     word against theirs—but now it’s no secret. Everyone knows. I mean, I assume                     there’s probably going to be a trial, eventually, though it could take months.                     And I’m sure I’ll have to testify, even if the very idea makes me want to throw                     up. I’m not really clear on how all of that is supposed to go down; Mom and Dad                     hired a lawyer who has been dealing with most of the mess. One they couldn’t                     afford before and definitely can’t afford now that Dad is jobless.

                I still find it unbelievable that this happened at all. I know                     Warren and Joey were totally drunk, but it’s one thing to joke about that stuff                     and another altogether to act on it. To track a boy down like—like an animal and just kick the shit out of him because of                     who he is.

                “Just tell me—are you sorry?” Sam asks. “And I don’t mean are                     you sorry for what it cost you. Are you sorry for what you did? For what                     happened to Noah?”