Fouling Out Read Online Free Page B

starting to sink in. I try to think of something sane, something reassuring to say, but my brain has shut down while my body is going crazy: my feet tap frantically and streams of sweat drizzle from my forehead, upper lip and underarms. It’s all I can do not to whimper or bawl. Sitting around isn’t helping. “We need to go over there and see if everything’s all right.”
    Tom nods his head repeatedly. I half expect him to call me an idiot and tell me it’s a crazy idea, but he just keeps nodding. Finally, he speaks. “Here’s what we do. We walk over there from Thompson Road. I’ll carry my basketball, so it’ll look like we’re gonna shoot some hoops at the high school. If there’s no car in the driveway, then chances are everything’s okay. We’ll watch the news tonight. They always report shootings, so if anything bad happened, we’ll know for sure.”
    Tom gets up and grabs his basketball from under the steps. He doesn’t look at me to see what I think of the plan, and I have no intention of raising any what-ifs.
    We don’t say anything as we walk. I keep imagining police scenes while Tom bounces the basketball. It isn’t his normal dribbling. It’s more like a trance sort of thing.
    As we turn off Thompson Road, I see exactly what I don’t want to see. Not only is there a car in the driveway, but there’s also a police cruiser parked in the street; small groups of people stand on the sidewalk and on nearby lawns.
    Tom stops bouncing the ball. I start seeing television and movie scenes again. The cops throw me facedown onto the pavement while the mob chants “Killer, killer!” and tosses whatever trash they can find—empty soda cans, used Kleenexes—at me. Okay, I’ve definitely watched too many police shows. I make a pledge to myself to stick to sitcoms and cartoons from now on. I want to run, but my legs keep dragging me toward the crime scene. Still, our pace has slowed considerably.
    â€œWe have to stay calm,” Tom whispers. “Just stay calm.”
    We are now four houses away. There are no police officers outside the house. They’re probably inside, investigating the scene, tracing the corpse with chalk. After that, they’ll photograph the bloodstains on the walls and pull some carpet fibers. Funny, there isn’t any yellow tape surrounding the property yet. I spot Gwen Ledder, one of my sister’s friends, on the sidewalk across the street. I tell Tom she can fill us in.
    We try to look casual as we cross the road. From out of nowhere, Tom passes me the ball. Of course, it hits my shoulder and drops to the ground. Tom and I glare at each other as I pick up the ball and pass it back.
    â€œWhat’s going on, Gwen?” I ask as we approach her.
    For a moment, she doesn’t seem to recognize me. Then it registers and she says, “Someone took a shot at the new family’s house. A bullet went right through a back window.”
    â€œYou’re kidding!” I respond, trying to earn my Oscar. “Are they okay?”
    â€œOh, yeah. It just broke a window. No one was in the room. They’re pretty shaken up though. The woman was screaming and crying on the front lawn until the police arrived. My mom went over and tried to comfort her.”
    â€œDid they catch who did it?” Tom interjects.
    â€œNo. They think it’s a hate crime. The family’s Chinese, and someone spray-painted their garage door last week too. It said something like Float Home . Pretty sick, eh? My dad helped them paint over it the day it happened.”
    â€œYeah. Really stupid,” I say, almost forgetting my involvement in today’s incident.
    â€œI hope they catch the guy and lock him up for years. It’s really scary wondering what will happen next.”
    â€œIt’s probably just—”
    â€œC’mon,” Tom interrupts. “Are we gonna play