Paranoid Park by Blake Nelson Page A

know about Paranoid Park better than skaters? Or maybe they got Scratch and he confessed and told them the murderer was a Prep, a nice kid from the suburbs. And now they were hunting that person down.
    I stared out the window. I imagined riding to the police station, my hands cuffed behind my back. That would be fine with me. It really would. I was done. There was no point now. My life sucked so much, I might as well get caught.
    I smiled as I thought that. I almost started to laugh. A week before, I had been so scared I was pissing myself. Now, with a homicide detective a few hundred feet down the hall, I was thinking, What are we having for lunch today? I wonder if Dustin liked his board? I wonder how many years I’ll get in prison? I was like, dude, whatever. I didn’t care. I was sick of worrying about it. Whatever happened, happened. Go ahead, Brady, I thought. Bring it on.
    The bell rang. I walked to Jared’s locker to see what was up. He wasn’t there. I saw Cal in the hall. He grabbed my arm. “Is that detective guy here? Is he gonna call us all in?”
    “How would I know?” I said.
    “Man, I hate things like this.”
    “What do you care? You didn’t do anything.”
    “I know,” he said. “But I hate cops.”
    “When have you ever dealt with cops?”
    “I dunno. You know what I mean.”
    I walked away. I went to my next class. And then about halfway through it, there was a new announcement. It was me this time. My name. My name and no others.
    I was to report to the principal’s office. Now.

    I walked slowly, calmly through the empty hallway. I felt proud of myself in a way. I was handling this. I was dealing with it.
    In my mind, I rehearsed my story. We had planned to go to Paranoid, then Jared bailed to party with the girl at Oregon State and I drove around. I went back to Jared’s and spent the night. Then I went home the next morning.
    That was my story and I’d stick to it. If they busted me, they busted me.
    I walked into the office. Mrs. Adams led me around the counter, through the hall, and into the same room we’d been in before.
    Detective Brady sat reading some papers, making notes. He sipped a cup of Dunkin’ Donuts coffee. I watched him more closely than at the first meeting. He looked tired today. I wondered how old he was. Thirty? Thirty-five? I also noticed he had a redneck haircut—no sideburns, too short on top. He was probably from the East Side himself.
    “Hello there,” he said.
    “Hi.”
    “Have a seat.”
    I did. He told me he was talking to everyone individually. He wanted to make sure he had his paperwork together. He went through my info, checking my name, my address, my age. It was all the same as before.
    “Sorry to take you out of class.”
    “That’s okay,” I said.
    “So. Anyway. I talked to Jared and he says you almost went to the Eastside Skatepark the night of the seventeenth. Is that right?”
    “Yes,” I said. I suddenly felt dryness in my throat. I tried to remember how freaked out Cal was. Even someone who was perfectly innocent would feel nervous talking to a homicide detective. So I was fine. I was a little nervous, but that was natural.
    “So you ... drove around that night?”
    “Yes. I ... well ... we went there another time and I was ... well, I thought it was cool and everything, but it was pretty hard-core. I’m not that good of a skater, so I didn’t want to go there by myself.”
    “Did you drive by there that night?”
    “No.”
    “Where did you go?”
    “That night? I ... I drove around ... downtown a little. And since I was downtown anyway, I got something to eat. And I ... then I parked down near the waterfront. And walked around a little.”
    “Were you skateboarding?”
    “Yeah. Well, actually, no, not really that night. I mean, I had my skateboard. Like I said, I’m not as good as the other guys. So I try to practice by myself.”
    Detective Brady nodded. “So can you give me some times for these things?