Blood on My Hands

about it,” Chief Jenkins answers.
    “What about the other girl and the Clemment kid?”
    I lie perfectly still, afraid to move, trying desperately to hear an answer. The “Clemment kid” has to be Griffen. What could he possibly have to do with this? But just as the police chief begins to answer, his words are drowned out by applause coming from outside. The next thing I clearly hear is the other man saying, “The congresswoman’s leaving?”
    “That was quick.” Chief Jenkins must be standing beside the window, looking down at the crowd.
    “And still no sign of her,” the other man says gravely and without the astonishment I’d expect to accompany that statement. “What do you make of it, Sam?”
    “Damned if I know.”
    “Know what worries me?” the other man says. “That we may never know.”
    Know what? I wonder. What are they talking about? Are they worried they may never know who did it? Why did the other man bring up the medical review board? Was Mia the “other girl” they were talking about? And what is Griffen Clemment’s role in this? I wish Chief Jenkins would answer, but there’s only more silence until the other man says, “I better get moving.” I hear something faint that might be a soft pat on the shoulder. “I’m sorry, Sam.”
    The opinion piece in the Soundview High School Bugle was supposed to have had both Mia’s and my names on it. That was what she said would happen. But there it was with only my name on it, causing a big stir. Even I was surprised when I reread it. Somehow it looked and sounded different on my computer than it did in black-and-white print on the opinion page. At school some kids came up and congratulated me, but it seemed they were impressed more by my bravery than by what I’d had to say. Others glanced in my direction, frowned, and shook their heads, as if I’d voluntarily climbed into the lion’s cage.
    As soon as first period was over, I looked for Mia in the hall and the girls’ room but couldn’t find her. I did the same thing after second period. By the end of third, I was almost certain she was avoiding me, so I sent a text: Have 2 talk 2 U .
    The reply came almost instantly: Home sick .
    So not only had Mia left my name alone on the piece we’d cowritten; she’d left me alone in school to face the reaction. I couldn’t help wondering just how sick she was.

Chapter 38
    Wednesday 2:55 P.M.
    HIDING IN THE cabinet under the sink was uncomfortable, but being crammed into the pool table is way worse. I’m afraid any movement I make will result in a noise, and there’s no place to move anyway. It’s hard staying in one endless position with various parts of my body pressing against the wood until they throb painfully, then seem to go numb, then awaken and throb again. Quietly, I make whatever tiny adjustments I can, trying to take the pressure off the points that hurt the most.
    Meanwhile, it feels like hours have passed, but I know that’s just what I imagine, and it probably hasn’t been nearly that long. What keeps me going and helps me endure this confinement is a sort of astonished hope. So far, my plan has worked! I’m not sure I really believed that it would. But I got to Congresswoman Jenkins and didn’t get caught. And I have to believe that no matter how much she loves her daughter, no matter how much she doesn’t want to believe a thing I’ve said, I’ve sowed a seed of doubt. Somewhere in her mind, she’s got to be wondering. At the very least, when she goes into her kitchen tonight, won’t she have to check her knives?
    But now that feels like the easy part, compared to what I have to do next. The plan I’ve set for myself requires me to stay in the pool table until after everyone’s gone, when I’ll emerge and sneak out of the town center. But it’s hard to wait in this painful position, especially when I’m not tired and can’t count on a nap to help me pass the hours. But it’s like everything else I’ve done. I’ll just have to force myself to make it to the end.
    And the time does pass. I can tell by the subtle, barely noticeable changes in the light coming through the pockets of the table. Especially when it begins to fade and then, finally, go dark.
    Yet I still don’t move. Instead, I listen—for the sounds of doors closing, of voices bidding each other good night, of car engines starting.
    And then, after another eon, I feel like it’s time. I’ve been in here so long that my body is beyond