The Boy Who Lives In My Garage > jariana (COMPLETED)

twenty-one

The next morning, it takes me less than five seconds to remember what happened last night, be devastated all over again, and decide that I have to do something.

I quietly creep across the hall and knock on Alyssa's door. When she tells me to come in, I sneak in and close the door behind me. Alyssa is sitting on her bed, textbook open. Must have some kind of test today.

She removes a pencil from between her teeth and says, "Hey. You crashed pretty hard last night. Doing okay?"

I ignore the question and sit on her neatly made bed. "Can you find Justin's parents' address for me?"

She narrows her eyes at me. "Why?"

With a deep breath and hushed tones, I tell her what happened last night. About Justin's visit. What he told me.

"Holy shit," she says, tapping her pencil against her textbook. "I can't believe he showed up here. But wait, why do you need his parents' address?"

"I want to go talk to them." I bite my lip. "I think you were right last night. Maybe I couldn't do anything to save Kayla. But I have to at least try to save Justin."

It takes a few seconds, but Alyssa nods and grabs her laptop. "Okay. Give me a minute to find the address. We can head out like we're going to school. He said his dad works from home, right? So when we get there—"

"Wait, 'we'?" I ask.

She doesn't look up from her computer screen. "How are you planning on getting there? Walking?"

"I thought I'd convince Rosalinda or Misty to drive."

Alyssa shrugs. "Bring them, too. If there was ever a time for moral support, this is it."

"Are you saying you're going to skip school to drive me to the house of the fugitive who lived in our garage?"

"Well, when you say it like that, it sounds bad." She turns the computer screen in my direction and points to a map with a red star which I assume represents Justin's house. "I assume you don't want to do this in the clothes you slept in? Go get changed."

But I don't get up. Instead, I throw my arms around Alyssa in a hug. "Thank you," I whisper.

"Yeah, yeah." She pats my back twice. "Best sister ever. Brush your teeth, too."

...

Less than an hour later, we pull out of Rosalinda's driveway. We all agree to let Alyssa drive because none of us trust Misty's van to get us all the way across the state. Rosalinda's in the passenger seat because carsickness and pregnancy don't mix well. Misty's behind Rosalinda, and I'm behind Alyssa.

"So, where exactly are we going?" Misty asks.

I love the fact that even though Rosalinda must have called and told her something to the effect of "I don't have a clue where we're going, but skip school and come with us," the girl still showed up.

"It's kind of a long story," I say. And it is. By the time I finish explaining everything to Misty, Alyssa is pulling onto the expressway, heading northwest.

"Holy shit," Misty says.

"Right?" Rosalinda asks, spinning in her seat. "Makes pregnancy seem pretty boring."

"What I don't get is the murder part," Alyssa says. "Why would Justin's parents jump to that conclusion?"

"Blame," I say immediately. "It's easier to point fingers than it is to feel pain." Even when you're pointing fingers at yourself. It took me two years to learn that blame doesn't help. Unfortunately, a lesson learned over time isn't a luxury Justin has.