There are a lot of people who can't believe that Jojo has the nerve to come back to our neighborhood. There are more people who don't want him around. Things haven't exactly been peaceful since he went away. Things are never peaceful in my neighborhood. But at least people haven't worried about Jojo for the past two years.
Cher Journal : Une mer de chagrin
Dear Canada: A Sea of Sorrows
When James and the rest of them talk about the other guys, their faces get all twisted so that they don't even look like themselves. I wonder if I looked like that when I beat up that guy. I sure was mad enough.
A mucha gente le cuesta creer que Jojo haya vuelto al vecindario. Hay todavía más gente que no quiere tenerlo cerca.
El policía se sacó algo del bolsillo. Era una fotografía.
—¿Lo reconoces, Josh?"
No podía creerlo. Me la quedé mirando fijimente.
Andrew también la miró. Después de unos segundos dijo:
—Parece el garrote que papá te dio.
—¿No son ésas tus iniciales, Josh? —preguntó la mujer policía.
Contesté que sí con la cabenza.
—Fue con esto con lo que golpearon a Scott. Lo tenemos en la estación de policía, Josh. Además de tus iniciales, tiene tus huellas digitales.
Un gars est arrivé derrière moi, m'a pressé quelque chose de dur dans le dos et m'a offert un autre choix : lui donner mon sac à dos, sinon...
Tracie crumples and falls to the ground. My dad twists around to look at her. He bellows. He lunges at the man again.
Blam!
Blam!
A second person falls to the ground.
Only my dad is left standing.
"One more thing," Stike called as I mounted up. "Keep your eyes open."
"Huh?" Keep them open for what? What did he mean?
"We had a kid last year who ran into some trouble. Some crew didn't appreciate his cleanup. They waited for him one morning and jumpted him. Kid ended up in the hospital." He grinned at me as if he were telling me about some fond memory. "Watch the watchers," he said. "If you think you're attracting some of the wrong attention, you let me know. Crews don't scare Stike."
I had the feeling that not much scared Stike. But the thought of getting jumped by a gang sure scared me. I began to wonder if Dave Marsh had done me a favor after all.
J'ai l'impression qu'il n'y a pas grand-chose qui fasse peur à Stike. Mais moi, l'idée d'être attaqué par un gang me terrifie.
There's a masked man in the store, and it isn't Halloween. I duck down again—fast.
I hear someone say, "This is a stickup." It's the guy in the mask. He has a weird voice, like it's not a normal voice. He says, "Is there anyone else in the store?"
That tells me that the masked man hasn't seen me.
"No," my dad says without even a second's hesitation.
I hit something.
I have no idea what it is. All I know is that my bike slams to such a sudden stop that my butt comes off the seat and my feet leave the pedals. But I continue to grip the handlebars because I have the crazy idea that if I just hang on, everything will be okay.
It was a bad choice to take a shortcut through a dark alley. A guy came up behind me, stuck something hard into my back and offered me another choice: Hand over my backpack or else.
But before he got a word out, his eyes shifted from me to the driver's-side window. BOOM!
BOOM!
BOOM!
Something stung my cheek. It turned out to be a shard of glass.
Something splattered all over my face and my hair and the front of my coat. It turned out to be blood and brains and tiny pieces of bone.
Someone screamed. It turned out to be me.
The cop pulled something out of his pocket.
"You recognize this, Josh?"
I stared at it. It couldn't be.
Andrew looked at it too. After a moment he said, "That looks like the fish club Dad gave you."
"Those are your initials, aren't they, Josh?" the woman cop said.
I nodded.
"It's what Scott was hit with. We have it down at the police station, Josh. Besides your initials, it has your fingerprints on it."
I lay on the gritty wooden floor of the filthy shack, frozen with terror. For weeks I had been hearing about the two girls who had disappeared, but I had never in a million years thought that something like that was going to happen to me.
But here I was, tied up, groggy, panic-stricken—and waiting. Waiting for whatever had happened to the girl who had been found "not alive." Waiting for whatever had happened to the other girl.
This couldn't be happening to me.
But it was.
"He said they want to talk to you, David."
"They?" I said. "The cops?"
She nodded.
"What for?" I don't think I ever worked harder at getting just two words out of my mouth. I tried to sound like I had no idea what the cops would want with me.
"Go out for a pass," he said.
The old lady was still ahead of us. She had already reached the park and was walking alongside it. I ran past her into the park. Drew's arm arced back and over his head. He sent the Frisbee sailing through the air. But it didn't come straight at me. Instead it curved to the left. I ran for it. I was in the clear too--until the old lady in the black coat suddenly started down the path that cut through the park. She must not have been paying attention. I yelled for her to look out, but all she did was turn and stare at me. Maybe she hadn't heard what I said. Then, boink, the Frisbee hit her on the side of the head. I saw the starteled expression on her face. She staggered a little to one side. Her foot slipped off the path. Her ankle twisted. Then she crashed to the ground and just lay there.
