Did it?
I mean, no one facing a "slap on the wrist" got dragged away from school.
I glared at Gordon. "But he didn't doanyof that,includingthe alcohol thing."
Gordon smiled. "And he's not going to either."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, I'm doing this for you." He leaned forward. "For your future."
"You are not! You're doing it for yourself."
Whether this was true or not, it didn't matter. In the end, I did exactly what Gordon wanted me to do.
I lied – just once – to the investigator who took my statement right there at the house while Gordon and my mom played the concerned parents.
But the lie wasn't for my own sake. It was for John Archer's.
One quick lie, and it would all go away – or so I'd been told. Just between us, Gordon claimed that he was doing this to teach me a lesson – and John Archer too while he was at it.
The lesson?
Stay away from each other.
Or else.
But then, to my absolute horror, nothing played out the way it was supposed to. Instead of the promised slap on the wrist, John got sent away to juvie for nearly a year.
As for myself, my grades hit rock bottom as I wrote letter after letter, trying to make it right.
As if I could.
For some stupid reason of his own, John had pled guilty, which meant there was nothing I could do to take it back, especially with Gordon doing who-knows-what behind the scenes.
I should've known better.But I hadn't. And it hadn't beenmewho paid the price. It was John Archer, a guy who'd done nothing worse than lend me his coat.
Was it any wonder he hated me?
No. It wasn't.
Even so, after that scene in his back seat, I'd had just about enough.
