Chasing Forgiveness by Neal Shusterman

come to hugging him again.
    â€œHow soon could you get out?”
    He takes his time answering. “It depends on the trial,” he says, and we both know what that means. It means he may never get out. The Talberts—Russ’s parents—are testifying against him. Even though they told my grandparents to their faces that they love my dad, they’re testifying against him,telling how Dad tricked Mr. Talbert into lending him the gun.
    Grandma and Grandpa are testifying for my dad. Dad’s lawyer thinks that if they testify, explaining how they’ve known him since he was fifteen and know he’s a good person—how they felt that both he and Mom were terribly disturbed, and that they still love him—then maybe a jury would let him off easy. But as much as I like the idea of Dad getting off, it still bothers me.
    Just because he was disturbed and people still love him doesn’t necessarily mean it’s right for him to get out of jail. I’m sure lots of people in prison for life, or even on death row, were disturbed when they committed their crimes. I’m sure that most of them have people who love them, too. And the only difference is that this one happens to be my dad.
    Tyler impatiently reaches up to grab the phone from me. He uses the p word, so I have to give it to him.
    â€œI love you, Preston,” says my father before I hand over the phone.
    â€œYeah, Dad,” I say. “I love you, too.”
January
    My secret room has no windows, so I don’t know if it’s dark yet. They say the days have started to get longer now that it’s January, but I haven’t seen it. The sun still sets by five. The days are getting colder—not cold enough for snow, but coldenough to make you wish you didn’t have to get out of bed. It’s probably about five now. I study science while Jason organizes my entire baseball-card collection in some mysterious but brilliant filing system. Jason never seems to study. We’re both good students, but he’s a good student by nature. I, on the other hand, have to study my butt off. We sort of have a competition going—you know?—who can pull in higher grades. He always wins, but not by much.
    Today science seems to bypass my brain completely. I sigh and slam down the textbook.
    â€œWhat’s your problem?” asks Jason.
    â€œI’ve just been wondering something,” I tell him.
    â€œAbout science?”
    â€œNo, about life, and God and stuff.”
    â€œOh, one of those questions,” he says rolling his eyes. “You think about God and stuff more than anyone I know our age.”
    He’s right about that, and I’m kind of glad about it. I guess it’s because my grandparents are really strict about going to church and things like that. That must be the reason.
    â€œI’m just wondering,” I tell him, “if someone helps a murderer get out of prison, do you think they’re damned?”
    Jason takes the question very seriously. He thinks about it, then answers me. He doesn’t answer the question I actually asked—but instead answers the question I was afraid to ask.
    â€œI don’t think you’ll be damned if you testify for your father, Preston,” he says. “I don’t see how you could be.”
    Grandma doesn’t want me to testify; she thinks it’ll be too traumatic. Maybe it will be, but Dad’s lawyer thinks I should because if Dad’s found guilty of first-degree murder, “the judge will have no mercy.” He could be in prison for life, or worse.
    â€œPreston’s testimony,” the lawyer said, “could make all the difference in the world.” I haven’t told Dad that I might testify. I don’t have the guts to tell him that the rest of his life rests on my shoulders. But I think he already knows.
    â€œIf all you’re doing,” says Jason, “is telling the truth, then I don’t