BooksBarbecue
Back The House Party
Chapters (57)
  1. Cover
  2. Dedication
  3. April 2008
  4. 1
  5. 2
  6. 3
  7. 4
  8. 5
  9. 6
  10. 7
  11. 8
  12. 9
  13. 10
  14. 11
  15. 12
  16. 13
  17. 14
  18. 15
  19. 16
  20. 17
  21. 18
  22. 19
  23. 20
  24. 21
  25. 22
  26. 23
  27. 24
  28. 25
  29. 26
  30. 27
  31. 28
  32. 29
  33. 30
  34. 31
  35. 32
  36. 33
  37. 34
  38. 35
  39. 36
  40. 37
  41. 38
  42. 39
  43. 40
  44. 41
  45. 42
  46. 43
  47. 44
  48. 45
  49. 46
  50. 47
  51. 48
  52. 49
  53. 50
  54. Author’s Note
  55. Acknowledgments
  56. About the Author
  57. About the Publisher

First there was his conversation with the police on the track at school on Monday. He hadn’t expected them to show up there, and every time he played through his lame answers to their questions his face began to burn. The fact that they hadn’t really challenged him on anything only made it worse. They knew he was lying, so why hadn’t they said anything? By Tuesday morning, the news that the police had been called to the house was all over school. As the stories about who was there, and who had done what, raced through the halls, Will had started to realize that it probably wasn’t a matter of if he would be caught, but when. He’d always enjoyed being the one who could get booze for parties, but now he wished he hadn’t brought it.

This afternoon, when Will floated the idea to Trip that they should come forward—that it would be better to be honest with the police about their involvement rather than wait for other kids to do it for them—Trip insisted that they keep quiet. I could go to jail for this, he said. I’m counting on you.

Was it true that Trip could do time if they got caught? Will wasn’t sure, but with Trip’s suspended sentence, and the fact that he was probably the only person at the party who was over twenty-one, Will didn’t want to find out.

What he did know was that if the police connected him to the house party, and he was charged, it would screw up everything with his admission to Princeton and his scholarship from the Union Club. This was the place, for the past several days, where his mind shied away, as if even thinking about it was bad luck. And then he would start again, going over his conversation with the police, looking for clues, trying to figure out how much of this was in his head, and how much was real.

He dozed for a minute before he was jerked back awake by the pull of his unfinished thoughts. The sound of the fan seemed to grow louder, and then he realized that it was actually an approaching helicopter, probably Hunter’s dad flying in from New York. His head pounded. He felt a childish desire to climb out of bed and walk down the hall to his mother’s room. He wanted to tell her everything, and to listen to her as she whispered to him not to worry, that they would figure everything out together in the morning. But he knew he couldn’t do that. He wasn’t a little boy anymore.