Swallowing Stones by Joyce McDonald Read Free Book Online

and sat him in a lounge chair. “Man, you’re really gassed,” he said.
    Joe grinned up at him. “That’s what parties are for, man. Get with the program.” He narrowed his eyes. “You ain’t gonna preach to me, I hope?” He shook his head and snorted. “Nah, you wouldn’t dare.”
    Michael didn’t have to ask what he meant. His body tensed. He glanced over his shoulder to see if anyone had overheard. He began to worry that Joe might say something to someone—the wrong someone—while he was in this condition, something they’d both regret.
    “Come on, I’ll take you home,” he said.
    “Can’t go home,” Joe slurred. “My folks’ll kill me.”
    Michael considered this for a minute. He didn’t want to leave Joe there on the lounge chair. “We have a couple of old sleeping bags in my garage. You can spend the night there,” he told him. He thought of calling Joe’s folks to let them know Joe would be staying at his house, but then thought better of it. What if they said no? Or worse, asked to speak to Joe?
    No, he would have to do this without telling anyone. He only hoped he could get Joe into the garage without too much noise. Michael didn’t need his parents calling the police. But as it turned out, the police would have been preoccupied anyway, because at that very moment two officers were standing on Steven Chang’s front stoop.
    Darcy came bounding through the back door and grabbed Michael’s arm. “We’d better get out of here. The cops are outfront.” For one terrifying moment Michael believed they had come for him. He stared down at Darcy in horror.
    “The neighbors are complaining about the noise,” she said. “But if the police find out kids have been drinking …”
    “Help me get him out of here,” Michael said.
    “What?” Darcy looked down at Joe as if he were a pile of squirming snakes. Her upper lip curled in undisguised revulsion.
    Michael knew that if the cops spotted them getting into his car, they’d probably ask to see his license. Especially if they thought he’d been drinking. And walking beside Joe was like holding up a neon sign that screamed GO AHEAD, BUST ME . But he didn’t dare leave his friend behind.
    “We can’t leave him here for the cops to find,” Michael said, lifting one of Joe’s arms. “Take his other arm.”
    Together he and Darcy got Joe to his unstable feet and began steering him across the yard, just as another police car rounded the corner.

5
    j oe was already gone when Michael checked the garage the next morning. A tangled sleeping bag lay in a heap where he’d spent the night.
    Fortunately the police hadn’t noticed the three of them leaving the party the night before. He and Darcy had managed to get Joe to the car without further incident, except for a brief detour into the Delaneys’ front yard, where Joe vomited into the hydrangea bushes. For a moment Michael had thought Darcy was going to be sick, too. Her face had turned a waxy white in the moonlight. But when he drove her home after helping Joe settle in, all she said was, “Have you ever thought about getting yourself a new best friend?”
    Michael neatly rolled up the sleeping bag, put it back on the shelf with the other camping equipment, and stepped outside. Dark clouds hinted at approaching thunderstorms. No one would be at the pool today, although Michael knew he would still be expected to be there. He would spend the day doing indoor jobs for Simon Goldfarb, probably painting over graffiti. Not that he minded this kind of weather. It had been an unusually dry summer so far, and they needed the rain.
    A loud clap of thunder echoed in the distance. Michaelheaded back to the house. But as he put his hand on the screen door he heard his parents’ voices coming from the kitchen. They were talking about the Ward case.
    Michael’s hand rested for a moment on the doorknob; then he let it drop to his side. He would skip breakfast this morning. Instead he headed straight for