Here comes the ninth chapter of my extremely popular interactive blog story, which gets an average of about twelve billion views a day. If you haven’t read the first eight chapters, click here. At the very least, you’ll be entertained.
“I’m not lying,” I said, for reasons I myself wasn’t even sure of.
Detective Thompson looked, to put it lightly, a bit disappointed. “Okay,” he said, getting up. “That’ll be all. Let me know if you… remember anything new.”
He left me there to contemplate my decision, and I realized just how stupid said decision was. I was the only completely innocent one in this whole ordeal, and of course I managed to mess that all up as well. Thanks, Wyatt. I could’ve called the detective back in at any moment and told him the truth, I knew, but something held me back. Not entirely sure what it was, but it just felt… wrong.
The next half hour or so I had all to myself, and I decided to spend it trying to sleep. After all, if I wasn’t awake, maybe my parents wouldn’t try to talk to me. Mom could be horrible when she wanted to be, and she’d only gotten worse over the last few years. I was still mad at her for how she treated Kathy a few years ago, back in her senior year of High School where she decided to come out of the closet. The rest of the family was fine with the revelation, but Mom didn’t believe her. The other day she had caught Kathy hiding drugs in her room and grounded her for a couple months, and she figured Kathy pretending to be gay was her way of rebelling. She was wrong.
I was way too stressed out for sleep, but when I heard the nurse talking and the door opening I feigned unconsciousness anyway. At first I was positive the footsteps belonged to one of my parents. I mean, I figured at least one of them would be here for their second favorite son—but when the person didn’t say anything, I started to have my doubts.
Then she threw a pillow at me.
“Quit fake sleeping,” said Kathy. I opened my eyes, relieved, as she sat down on the chair next to me.
“How’d you know I was faking?”
“I always know.” She kicked off her shoes and rested her feet on the bed. “So, how’d everything go?”
”Well enough, I guess. A detective interviewed me. He thinks Wyatt’s selling drugs.”
She smirked, then stopped suddenly. “Wait, seriously?”
“Yeah. He thinks ten thousand dollars is too much for anyone to make just by selling gum.”
“Well, he has a point,” she said, shrugging. “Wyatt told me his distribution method, which explains how he’s made so much money, I guess, but it’s also exactly the type of system drug dealers usually use.” I was surprised to see doubt all over her face.
“Wait, do you actually think Wyatt’s selling drugs?”
“No,” she said, too quickly. She changed the subject, “Mom and Dad should be here any moment.” Neither of us were happy about the prospect.
“Well, I’m going to pretend to be sleeping when they do.”
“Sure,” she said, putting her shoes back on, “just don’t be so obvious about it.”
Both our parents came at the same time. After talking with the nurse for a bit, they walked into the room and greeted Kathy.
“Hey, Kath,” he replied. He didn’t sound any bit out of the ordinary. “How’s he doing?”
“Is he even supposed to be sleeping?” Mom asked. “The nurse said he had some sort of head injury.”
“The nurse said it was fine,” Kathy said, with cold courtesy. “And Adrien said he didn’t want to be woken up.”
“Okay,” Mom said, though you could tell she really wanted to wake me up. “So, what happened, exactly?” But at this point I heard someone else enter the room. Mrs. Romero.
“Hi, Mr. and and Mrs. Melonsky?” she said, her voice more than a little shaky, “I’m so sorry about what happened to your son. We did everything in our power to get him back to safety.”
“WHY DIDN’T YOU CALL US?” Mom asked, not paying the supposedly sleeping person in front of her any mind.
My breathing stopped—luckily they didn’t notice—temporarily, as I remembered how Wyatt decided to put his phone number on both of our emergency sheets.
“I–I did call,” she said, sounding honestly perplexed. “And then you hung up on me halfway through the conversation.”
“I did not such thing.” I risked opening my eyes a little to see Kathy shifting uncomfortably in her seat. “I didn’t receive any contact at all from you. You know how I found about all this? I got a phone call from the ER saying my son wasn’t in school, for some reason, and that he was in the hospital and badly injured after escaping a kidnapping, and no one from his school bothered to tell me anything!”
“I’m sorry, but I called the number listed on the emergency card given to each student at the beginning of the year. And whoever answered claimed to be you, Mrs. Melonsky. In fact, we have a history of you calling the school with that number several times before.”
“For what?” asked Dad.
“Well, one was to cancel a parent-teacher conference, and one last year told us how their uncle died and you were coming to pick him up.” Ah, I remembered that. One day last year, Wyatt had decided he didn’t feel like going to school, so he paid Kathy twenty bucks to pretend she was Mom, tell her our uncle died, pick us up, and drive us to Six Flags for the day. No one bothered to let me on the plan first (especially since I truly thought my uncle was dead), but it was still a lot of fun.
Dad sounded like he understood what was going on. “What number did you call?” he asked.
“I don’t have it on me, but I can call my office and they can get the number for you.” My mother took a deep, exasperated breath and said, as if she deserved a medal for her patience, “That would be nice.”
I laid completely still as Mrs. Romero called her secretary, powerless to do anything about it, knowing the number would lead to Wyatt and then to Kathy and then to me. Mrs. Romero told them the number and both of them immediately recognized it as Wyatt’s.
(“That kid is behind everything,” Romero muttered, forgetting herself for a second.)
“But that doesn’t make any sense,” Mom said, “Wyatt’s still in school.”
My eyes were closed, but it seemed like the whole room was holding its breath as the Principal broke the news, bluntly, that “Wyatt’s suspended.” The next few seconds were silent, as everyone took the news.
Knowing my mother, she would immediately try to blame this on someone. Mrs. Romero must’ve sensed this, because she suddenly turned the attention towards my sister.
“Kathy,” she said. “I remember you when you went to this school. You were the one who picked Wyatt up, right?”
“You knew about this?” Mom said, furious. “This whole time?”
“You never asked,” Kathy replied. “I thought Adrien getting kidnapped was more important. I was going to get around to it.”
Mom scoffed, “Oh, I’m sure you were, Kathy, and I bet you didn’t pretend to be me when she called.”
“For God’s sake, after everything we did for you the least you could do is act like an adult. You’re nineteen, for Christ’s sake!”
“Twenty,” Kathy said, coldly. “I turned twenty a month ago.”
If mom felt bad, she didn’t apologize. “Tell us what happened. Exactly what happened.”
“I drove Wyatt home. I stopped once to answer the Mrs. Romero’s phone call. My idea, not his.”
“No, what happened to Adrien.”
“We could ask him,” Dad said. “He’s obviously awake—no one could sleep through all this.”
I almost continued fake sleeping, but feeling everyone’s eyes on me I saw it was a hopeless ambition. So I got up, answered my mother’s seemingly endless supply of questions as best I could while still staying true to my original story. I didn’t roll my eyes once, which must’ve been some sort of record for me. After I was done, everyone seemed to calm down a bit.
“So… these other kids… do you have any idea who they were?” she asked. I shook my head no.
“Did you manage to get any punches in before you blacked out?” asked Dad. I lied and said yes.
“I’m sure Wyatt has something to do with them,” muttered Mom. “Why was he suspended, by the way?” Mrs. Romero was a tall woman, but she never looked smaller when she answered, almost ashamed, “For selling gum.”
Several uncomfortable arguments with Mrs. Romero later, both my parents and the principal decided to leave the room in order to let me sleep in peace. Kathy offered to drive me home, but Mom wouldn’t let her, so she left. After awhile of almost-sleeping, it was time for us to leave, me on crutches.
Mom spent the first five minutes or so complaining about the principal, then about Kathy and back to the principal again, while Dad in the passenger seat barely paid attention. Eventually he asked, “So Adrien, does Wyatt sell drugs?”
This again. “No. Why?”
“That detective fellow was talking to us,” he said. “Says he has reason to believe Wyatt’s selling more than just gum.” Mom snorted at this, but didn’t say anything.
“Well, I don’t know what he’s talking about,” I said, before realizing how defensive I sounded.
More problems arose when we got home to find that Wyatt was gone. He must’ve left before Kathy got home, who was in the basement at the time and seemed just as confused as us. All we knew was that his room was a mess.