Watchers

Fly Little Piggy, Fly

That Sunday after the Fourth, I was being lazy in the family room, watching cartoons at one in the afternoon, wishing I didn't have to go back to school the next day, when Corey let something slip that made me want to strangle him where he stood.

I was just lying there on the couch when he walked into the room, tossing a football back and forth between his hands. He stared at me for half a minute, me on my stomach with one arm dangling to the floor and my gaze plastered on the television like I was a zombie. I knew he was looking, but I didn't want to look back. He was in the mood to be obnoxious, I felt. After a while of my not giving him the stare back, he shoved the football under one of his arms and dove across the floor like he was making it to the endzone.

"Touchdown!" he belted, standing on his knees and slamming the ball into the carpet. He was completely blocking my view of the television, and I knew he was doing it on purpose, but I didn't feel like caring. He saw that I didn't care and stopped. Then he got real close to my face and said, "Hey Cole. Are you dead?" He poked me in the cheek. Then he pulled at my lip. "I think you're drooling."

Swatting his hand away, I said, "Stop it, dork! Leave me alone." Then I turned my face into the sofa so he couldn't mess with me. I felt like a nap anyway.

Corey sat back. I could feel his dark little eyes boring into the back of my head like screws. "Your only friend called."

"Adam?" I muttered into the couch cushion.

"Yeah."

"Just now?"

"Yep."

I turned back around. "Well why didn't you bring me the phone?"

He gave me this prissy, up-turned nose sort of look and said, "What am I, your slave? Call him back yourself. It's not so hard. Eight-seven-eight-eight-seven-seven-one."

"How do you know the number?"

"It's an easy one. How else do you think I gave the station his number when he screwed up our garage?"

"Whatever." I clicked off the TV and started to roll off the couch when my brother's words suddenly hit me. I jerked to attention. "Wait, Corey. What did you just say?"

He realized he'd said the wrong thing and started to head for the door, but I got up and blocked him. "Let me go!" he squealed. "I'll tell mom!"

"Were you the one who gave a tip-off about Adam?" I stared at him but he turned his eyes down, so I knew the answer immediately. I shook my head. "No way, Corey. No way. You wouldn't do that to my friend. Adam would never write that stuff about me. How could you think that he would? You just did it to be a little jerk, didn't you? You thought it would be funny? What, did you do it to get back at me for something?" I was fuming. My body was hot all over. I couldn't believe my own brother would turn in my only friend for something he couldn't possibly have done.

"No, Cole! I had a reason! I really did. Ask mom!"

"Mom knew you called—and she didn't tell me? I'm living in a house of traitors!"

The expression on Corey's face actually looked honest, like maybe he actually did have a reason to call on Adam. Whatever his reason was, though, it had to be wrong, because I had seen Dylan with my own eyes. I was furious. My family was against me.

Corey pressed up closer against the wall and tried to scrunch down away from me. "Stop it, Cole. I'm sorry, ok? You're scaring me."

"Oh I am, huh? Well maybe you need to be scared, Corey. Maybe you think you're something but you're not. You're dirt. No brother of mine would call the cops on my friend."