Liar by Justine Larbalestier Page B

night.”
    â€œYou ran at night?” Rodriguez says, as if that’s unusual.
    â€œLots of people do,” Dad says, in a tone that says he thinks Rodriguez is stupid and from the sticks. It’s one of Dad’s favorite tones. Stein briefly transfers his glare from me to Dad. But then he’s back to glaring at me. I want to tell him he’s not getting to me but that would probably prove to him that he is.
    â€œSo you ran together? You didn’t chat or go get a malted?” Stein asks.
    â€œWe ran,” I say. I wonder what a malted is. I know it doesn’t matter. I don’t want to think about them believing I killed Zach.
    â€œWhat time did you stop running that night?”
    â€œI’m not sure,” I say. “Maybe 9:00 or 9:30?”
    â€œWas it any different from your normal running sessions?” Rodriguez asks.
    â€œNo,” I say. “We stretched. We practiced sprints. Then we did distance. A bit more than ten miles.”
    â€œTen miles?” Stein asks. “What time did you start?”
    â€œMust’ve been by 8:30.”
    â€œYou started your ten-mile run at 8:30 and were done by 9:30? What? You’re running six-minute miles?” he asks. He thinks I’m lying. I never lie about running.
    Six minutes? I am tempted to tell him that I go sub-five all the time. But Dad hates it when I show off. Besides, if they know how fast I run maybe that will make them suspect me more. “We were running for a long time,” I say.
    â€œI told you she’s good, didn’t I?” Dad says.
    â€œWe were building up to twenty-six,” I add.
    â€œThat’s the length of a marathon,” Dad explains, to show them how stupid he thinks they are. “Twenty-six miles, 385 yards.” He is not helping me.
    â€œWhen you were done training that night,” Rodriguez says, “what did you do?”
    â€œWent home.”
    â€œDid you go home together?”
    â€œNo,” I say, even though we did. “He lives—lived—in Inwood and I’m all the way down here.”
    â€œAnd that’s the last time you saw him?” Rodriguez asks.
    â€œYes.”
    â€œDid he seem upset?” Rodriguez asks, trying to sound concerned.
    â€œNo.”
    â€œDid he say he was going to meet with anyone?”
    â€œNo. He said he was going home.” Didn’t just say it. I ran with him every step of the way from the park to Inwood.
    â€œDid he ever tell you he was afraid of anyone?” Stein wants to know.
    â€œNo. Never. I don’t think he was afraid of anything.”
    â€œOr anyone?”
    I shake my head. He wasn’t even afraid of me, which made him different from almost everyone else at school. Most of them are too scared to look me in the eye. It’s like they think my lies are contagious. Or that looking at me will turn them into as big a weirdo as I am.
    â€œWhat was his frame of mind when you last saw him?” Rodriguez asks.
    Frame of mind? I want to mock him, but he is a policeman who thinks I might have killed Zach. “He was tired. Beat. But he seemed happy. I didn’t think it would be the last time I’d ever see him.” I have to concentrate to keep my voice steady. I can’t cry in front of them.
    â€œWas it the last time?”
    â€œYes,” I said. “Like I told you.”
    â€œWe have an account from another student who says you saw him late Saturday night. Or rather, early Sunday morning.”
    Sarah. Had to be. Why had I lied to her about that? Because I wanted her to feel bad, wanted her to think I was the last one who kissed him, not her.
    â€œNo. You can ask Mom and Dad. I was here all of that Saturday. Sunday, too.”
    Rodriguez turned to Dad.
    â€œYes,” Dad says. Mom nods. “Micah was grounded that weekend.”
    â€œWhy?” Rodriguez asks.
    Dad pauses. Mom and Dad look at each other. “No,” my mom says. “It