Mysteries & Detective Stories
The seating on the bus is different this year. That's because Raedawn and I and Sherry and Steve crossed the line.
I hit something.
I have no idea what it is. All I know is that my bike slams to such a sudden stop that my butt comes off the seat and my feet leave the pedals. But I continue to grip the handlebars because I have the crazy idea that if I just hang on, everything will be okay.
It was a bad choice to take a shortcut through a dark alley. A guy came up behind me, stuck something hard into my back and offered me another choice: Hand over my backpack or else.
The guy had his hands around my neck and was slamming my head against the floor. I guess he couldn't decide whether he wanted to strangle me or bash my brains in. Either that, or he'd just got tired of killing people the usual way.
At first my mother doesn't seem to understand. Why are there cops at our house? Why are they talking about Danny?
"Where is he?" she says. "Is he all right?"
The taller cop looks down at his partner. I have this weird feeling that they tossed a coin before they rang our doorbell—the loser gets to tell the family.
