I Swear Read Online Free Page A

blasted past me. She threw up a hand and smiled like she was on the campaign trail with her dad.
    I shook my head and frowned, stepping into the street as she passed, then standing with my arms outstretched in her rearview mirror, silently asking, “What the hell?”
    I’m sure she didn’t see me. Macie Merrick never looks back.
    •  •  •
    No text from Leslie when I got back to my room. I shot her a message and jumped in the shower. No text when I got outta the shower, so I called her phone. No answer, so I left her a voice mail.
    I was in the kitchen eating some cereal when my phone rang. I grabbed it and answered before I saw the ID. I knew it was her.
    “Hey, dude.” I smiled into the phone. “How’s Portland?”
    There was a pause on the other end. “Jake?”
    It was Brad.
    “Oh—hey, man. What’s up? Sorry—thought you were Leslie.”
    There was a longer pause this time. “Oh. Shit.”
    “Brad?”
    “You don’t know yet?”
    “Don’t know what?”
    “The girls were at your place last night, right?”
    “Yeah,” I said. “What don’t I know?”
    “You haven’t . . . talked to them this morning?”
    “I just got back from my run. Your girlfriend almost mowed me down on the corner, but no, I haven’t talked to them.”
    “Oh, man.”
    Silence.
    “Brad? Where are you? What is going on?”
    “I’m at school.” He paused. “Sitting here in my truck . . .” His voice trailed off.
    I looked at the clock. What was he doing at school already? I felt a weird, tense place in my stomach.
    “What don’t I know, Brad?” My heart was racing again like I was still running. He was making me nervous.
    “Hurry up and get here, and I’ll—”
    “Brad! Fucking tell me already.”
    Another long pause. I turned around and flipped on the water to rinse my bowl out.
    “Leslie is dead,” he said quietly.
    I stood there, blinking, holding the phone in one hand and my cereal bowl in the other. The sound of the water against the stainless sink roared in my ears. I couldn’t swallow.I couldn’t hear. Finally I gasped—a long, slow choke of air rattled into my chest and out again as soon as it came.
    “What?”
    It was all I could get out. I heard glass breaking. I saw my cereal bowl against the granite countertop. It had been circular and now it was tiny triangles—specks of white.
    “They found her in her garage this morning—in her mom’s car. It had been running all night.”
    “What do you mean?” I could hear the words he was saying, and they seemed to be coming out in order, but none of them made sense.
    “She had a bag on her lap—like she was packed for a trip or something. But she never left the garage.”
    I tried to pick up the triangle of bowl on the counter but my hand wouldn’t work, and as the shard fell into the sink with the others, I felt my knees begin to buckle. I leaned back against the counter as my mom rounded the corner with her briefcase, her heels clicking on the dark wood.
    “Jake?” She said my name like a question. Her wide, blue eyes searched mine for answers, then darted to the shards of bowl on the counter and in the sink, the water running hard and loud as I slowly melted down the cabinets and onto the floor. I was holding on to my phone like it was the only thing that would keep me upright. As I looked at my mom—framed by the doorway—the room seemed to shift an inch or two, like the whole world had dropped off center to the left.
    Not a big change.
    But it was all I could see.
    Brad kept saying my name into the phone. His voice sounded far away behind the roar in my ears. My face was hot and wet with sweat and something else. I couldn’t see clearly and wiped at my eyes. My hand came away wet, and that’s when I knew that I was crying. I felt a weight in my chest like I was underwater, and realized I needed to breathe—it wasn’t happening by itself. I gasped and choked into the phone.
    “Brad.” And then again, louder.