Get Out If You Can

Diego | I Don't Know What He Did Last Summer

Torrez.

That was the name she'd said. Torrez.

I watch as Matt stands up on an armchair, and takes out the last cassette from the player.

I know they're all trying not to look at me. The feeling's terrible, but I really can't blame them.

I myself have no idea why my name was there. In her entire muddle...in what was supposed to be Alison's muddle.

"Diego?"

I turn to face Alison. She's trying extremely hard not to look like she's — she's suspecting something.

And what was the word that Caitlyn had used? Dealing.

There's only one kind of dealing you'd sneak off to parties where you're not invited to talk about, and it's not about dealing Uno cards.

"Yeah?" I say, a funny crackle to my voice.

"You weren't by any chance stealing business from me, were you?" Matt says, in an awfully cocky tone. I look at him as he kicks his legs up on the glass table, causing the poisoned tea kettle to shake precariously about its base.

"I have never touched drugs in my entire life," I say, and I say it truthfully. I haven't. I'd be an idiot to do that, especially after what happened to Enrique.

I don't completely miss Enrique.

I was way too young to mourn his death, and younger still to say I knew him. I didn't, even though at the time, I thought I did. I remembered him, of course, for all the responsibility he took to prepare me for school — I wouldn't have learnt any of the moves I'd prepared to use on Bruce the other day if it hadn't been for him.

Wait a second.

Oh shit. I feel like some very obvious puzzle pieces have joined together in my brain.

"Guys," I say, in a crazily breathy tone, " I remember something really weird."

"You sleep-walked and dealt drugs without knowing it?" Matt sniggers, and though I appreciate the way he's taking it, like 'Diego Torrez is too much of a goody-two-shoes to even touch drugs', it doesn't stop me from wanting to reach over and smack him straight in the face.

"No," I say, looking at the rest of them. "My brother, Enrique. There was this day, I think I was around eleven years old —"

I clutch my head with my palms, punishing myself for not realizing it sooner. I was around eleven years old — and the day I was talking about was not very far from the day he OD'd.

"As I was saying," I continue, "on this particular day Enrique took me out into the hall and said he was going to teach me how to fight."

I glance at their faces to gauge a reaction, but there isn't any sign of thought on anyone's faces except Emilie's. But she doesn't speak.

When I don't continue, Hunter speaks.

"There's — there's, um, something weird in that?"

"Évidemment!" Emilie says, leaning forward in her seat. "Of course there's something weird about teaching a kid how to fight! And, Diego," she says, turning to face me, "do you remember if he mentioned why?"

"No," I say, cursing my memory. "But yeah, I think I can recall something. He said I would need it."

"There you have it," Matt says, with an awkward flourish of his arms. "This proves that Torrez was a dealer — and a really good one, if people were already threatening him."