Random by Tom Leveen Page B

Marly and Lucas and everyone. Things just—changed.
    Andy says, “Hmph,” and that’s all.
    â€œThe county attorney has a thing about being hard on juvenile crime, or whatever,” Noah adds, looking at me as if for permission.
    â€œYeah,” I agree. “I guess that’s me. And the others. Juvenile criminals. And um . . .”
    I pause, because this isn’t getting any easier to talk about.
    â€œSo his mom found the Facebook stuff, and printed it out and made copies and everything, and took it to the cops. They investigated everything and took it to the county attorney, who probably would have, like, given us misdemeanors at most.”
    â€œWould have?” Andy repeats.
    â€œThe New Times got ahold of it,” I say. “I assume from Kevin’s mom, but I don’t know. And it turns out this one kid, named Paul I think, he’s thirteen . . . he shot at some horses with a BB gun, and they charged him with some kind of cruelty to animals crime. . . .”
    â€œWait, hold up, what’s that got to do with Facebook?” Andy asks.
    â€œOh, I’m getting there. So they charge this kid Paul with felony cruelty to animals. This was just over the summer. So this bitch of a writer for the New Times , Allison Summers, goes all ballistic about it. You know, ‘This kid was charged with afelony, but kids older than him who,’ um . . .” I clear my throat. “ ‘Who allegedly talked this poor gay kid into committing suicide, they get off with nothing.’ And I guess a lot of people read the New Times , because the next thing I know, we’re getting charged with stuff like aggravated manslaughter and . . . and now they’re calling it a hate crime, so if we get found guilty, that could add like ten years to any sentence, and . . .”
    And that’s as far as I can go.
    I press my lips together and hold them shut with my free hand. Jesus, what am I going to do?
    â€œWhy are you telling me all this?” Andy says.
    I blurt out a gasp. “Because you asked !”
    â€œNah, no,” Andy says, and I can imagine him shaking his head, long hair waving. If he has long hair, I mean. “You didn’t actually have to tell me all that. You could’ve made up anything you wanted. But instead you told me the whole story. How come?”
    He’s got a point.
    â€œI don’t know,” I say.
    â€œSure you do,” Andy says. “I mean, this is really serious.”
    â€œIt’s really bullshit .”
    Andy doesn’t reply. I don’t add anything. We sit there for a minute. Noah cracks his knuckles one at a time. For no good reason, it occurs to me that he hasn’t yawned once tonight.
    â€œOkay,” Andy says finally. “Why is it bullshit?”
    And it all comes out. Like soda from a shaken bottle, bubbling, frothing, and pissing you off as you try to get out of its way.
    â€œOkay, for one thing? He wasn’t gay! He had a girlfriend for like two years. Rachel. So what the hell is up with this hate crime shit, you know? That’s totally not fair! What if I called a white guy the n-word and then shot him in the face? Is that a hate crime? No!”
    â€œI’d think the shooting-him-in-the-face part is a hate crime,” Andy says.
    â€œI didn’t do anything wrong!” I shout, ignoring both Andy’s comment and how late—or early—it is. “It was a bunch of stupid jokes on stupid Facebook, for God’s sake. Happens to everyone, all the time, what makes him so special?”
    â€œHe’s dead.”
    My emotional explosion ends. I’m left holding a simile of a sticky bottle of flat soda.
    â€œThat’s not my fault,” I say.
    â€œI didn’t say it was,” Andy goes. “Just that—you know, you asked why he’s different, and that’s what’s different. That’s