Random by Tom Leveen Page A

thumb in the air and mouths, Mute.
    I tap the mute button, double and triple checking that it’s on this time. “Andy?” I say, just to check.
    There’s no response. Noah and I speak quickly.
    â€œI have to keep talking,” I say, whispering even though there’s no reason to. I can’t risk him using any excuse to drive off that cliff. “Maybe he’s not serious—or not anymore, anyway—but I can’t afford that chance.”
    â€œNo, I get it,” Noah says. “He’s not sounding good. He sounds like . . . like he just doesn’t give a crap anymore. That can’t be good.”
    â€œNo.” I rub my eyes again. They feel as dry and leathery as my mitt.
    â€œYou’d better tell him,” Noah says gently, like he knows it won’t be easy.
    And it won’t. Going over the whole story again . . . dammit, why did he have to call this number? My number is on his phone, and the chances it would be destroyed in a car wreck, even a bad one, are pretty small unless the Sentra explodes, like he talked about, but I think he’s right that it wouldn’t really happen. . . .
    Â . . . And I can’t believe I am even thinking about it. I mean, my God! How can I be standing here considering the “legal ramifications” of my cell number being on the phone of another dead kid? Am I that self-involved?
    No. It’s not that; it can’t be that. This is a perfectly legit and reasonable fear.
    Isn’t it? I mean, I’m in enough trouble as it is, that’s all, so I just have to be cautious.
    That’s all.
    Andy’s voice smacks me back to the phone. “So tell me about it. What did you do?”
    Since he’s sort of backed me into a corner, I take a breath. My eyes close. I have this part memorized. Seared, really, into my head, where I’m sure it will stay for the rest of my life.
    I hit the mute button.
    â€œAggravated manslaughter,” I say, and hope he can’t hear the way my voice shakes.
    â€œUm, okay,” Andy says, “can you say it again except this time pretend I haven’t actually graduated from law school?”
    â€œIt just means that I said some things that weren’t real nice, and he killed himself over it, and now they’re blaming me,” I say, practically choking on the words. “ Us , I mean. Blaming us.”
    â€œWell, what did you say?” Andy asks.
    â€œNothing! I mean . . . nothing worse than what everyone else said.” I run a hand through my hair, pick up my coffee, put it down again. Not so thirsty anymore, it turns out.
    â€œSo that makes it okay.”
    There he goes with that statement-question thing again.
    â€œI didn’t say that,” I tell him.
    â€œOkay, back up for a minute,” Andy says. “How exactly did you know Kevin? Cooper, was it?”
    I slump to my bed. But even if I did lie down, I wouldn’t sleep now. Absurdly, I wish Noah would put his arm around me, even if just for a few minutes.
    â€œKevin was a friend of mine,” I say.
    â€œ Oh ,” Andy says, sounding surprised. Noah frowns a bit.
    â€œNot a good friend,” I add, and feel a quick needle prick of guilt in my stomach. I’m not lying; Kevin Cooper was never my best friend, or even a good friend.
    But a friend? Yes. I can admit it to myself even if I’m not supposed to to anyone else, according to Mr. Halpern.
    â€œJust someone I knew,” I say to Andy. “From around. You know. My mom calls it a perfect storm.”
    I close my eyes and rub them with my fingers. I don’t bother to tell Andy that I think she’s right. I also don’t tell him that we used to be better friends in junior high. Even last year,a little. Things changed this year, that’s all. It happens all the time. Softball was going really well; I was making new friends, even with the upperclassmen like