Every Day (Every Day 1)

Carrie laughs, but more out of support than humor.

“Tell Corey I say hi,” I say playfully as I close my locker.

She laughs again. This time, out of happiness.

“Where is he?”

I haven’t even stepped through the kitchen door and the interrogation begins.

Leslie’s mother, father, and grandmother are all there, and I don’t need to access her mind to know this is an unusual occurrence at three in the afternoon.

“I have no idea,” I say. I’m glad he didn’t tell me; this way, I don’t have to lie.

“What do you mean, you have no idea?” my father asks. He’s the lead inquisitor in this family.

“I mean, I have no idea. He gave me the keys to the car, but he wouldn’t tell me what was going on.”

“And you let him walk away?”

“I didn’t see any police chasing after him,” I say. Then I wonder if there are, in fact, police chasing after him.

My grandmother snorts in disgust.

“You always take his side,” my father intones. “But not this time. This time you are going to tell us everything.”

He doesn’t realize he’s just helped me. Now I know that Leslie always takes Owen’s side. So my instinct is correct.

“You probably know more than I do,” I say.

“Why would your brother and Josh Wolf have a fight?” my mother asks, genuinely bewildered. “They’re such good friends!”

My mental image of Josh Wolf is of a ten-year-old, leading me to believe that at one point, my brother probably was good friends with Josh Wolf. But not anymore.

“Sit down,” my father commands, pointing to a kitchen chair.

I sit down.

“Now … where is he?”

“I genuinely don’t know.”

“She’s telling the truth,” my mother says. “I can tell when she’s lying.”

Even though I have way too many control issues to do drugs myself, I am starting to get a sense of why Owen likes to get stoned.

“Well, let me ask this, then,” my father continues. “Is your brother a drug dealer?”

This is a very good question. My instinct is no. But a lot depends on what happened on the field with Josh Wolf.

So I don’t answer. I just stare.

“Josh Wolf says the drugs in his jacket were sold to him by your brother,” my father prods. “Are you saying they weren’t?”

“Did they find any drugs on Owen?” I ask.

“No,” my mother answers.

“And in his locker? Didn’t they search his locker?”