Page 8 of In the Air Tonight

She drags me back to where we left the SUV. “Let’s go home and forget about this.”

“Are you insane? I’ll never forget this.”

“You have to. She’s nothing to us. He’s been part of our entire life. He’ll be in my life forever. You can’t say anything. No one will believe us anyway.”

She’s right, and I hate that.

People at school hate Neisy.

They love him.

It’d be our word—and hers—against him. We’d be vilified.

I lean over and puke up the meatloaf, which burns on the way out.

I’ll never eat meatloaf again.

“For God’s sake, Blaise, you’re being so dramatic.”

We ride home in stony silence. My hands shake so hard I can barely keep the vehicle in the lane. To think my biggest fear upon leaving the house was getting caught with the car across the river. Now that’s the least of my concerns. I pull up to her house, a two-story colonial with black shutters.

“You can never say anything about this.”

I maintain my stony silence. I feel like I don’t know her at all.

“Swear to me that you won’t say anything, Blaise. No one knows this, but Ryder’s up for an appointment to the Naval Academy.”

Hearing that, I feel sick all over again. His gilded life will go on like nothing happened while Neisy will never be the same. And neither will I.

“Blaise?”

Almost ten years of close friendship has come down to this. If I do the right thing, I’ll lose my best friend and be made a pariah at school. Not to mention Arlo will hate me. Ryder has been his best friend since T-ball. I’ve never been more conflicted. If I tell what I saw, life as I know it will be over. People will hate me for taking Neisy’s side against Ryder.

“I won’t say anything.”

“Good.” Sienna gets out of the car and slams the door. She disappears inside the house, leaving me shaking uncontrollably. It’s so bad I fear I shouldn’t drive the short distance to my house. I sit there for a long time, trying to get myself together so I can get home safely.

I’m sobbing so hard I’m afraid I might vomit again.

Later I won’t recall driving home. Those few minutes will be a total blank while everything I saw in the woods will exist in my memory bank in bright, living color forever.

My mother is in the kitchen when I come in through the door from the mudroom.

“You’re home early,” she says as she makes the sleepy time tea she says is critical to getting any rest.

“Not feeling good. My stomach.”

She comes over to feel my head. “Have you been crying?”

“From feeling sick.”

“You’re not warm. Did you drink anything?”

“Of course not. I was driving. I just want to go to bed.”

From under the sink, she produces the lime green bowl that’s served as our puke bucket my whole life. “Take this with you. Just in case.”

I take it from her, hoping she doesn’t notice my hands are shaking. “Night.”

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