The weather was all wrong for Kevin's funeral. Sunny and beautiful, with a warm spring breeze carrying the scent of cheery blossoms.
My first funeral, I thought. It should be gloomy out, foggy with a cold drizzle of rain.
Mom didn't want me to go to the funeral. She was trying to protect me. I'm not sure from what.
I told her that Howie, Tyra and all my friends planned to be there. So there was no way I could stay home.
True, I kept having nightmares about Kev. Who wouldn't have nightmares after finding a friend strangled in an alley with a skate shoved down his throat?
But I didn't think that going to the funeral would add to my horror--or my nightmares. In a way, the funeral might close this sad and frightening chapter of my life.
At least, that's what I hoped.
As I dressed for church, pulling on my dress shirt and white khaki jeans, I had no idea the horror was just beginning.
I rode with my Mom to the church. Mom didn't know Kevin's family that well. But she felt she should attend the funeral since Kevin had been my friend.
No one said a word the whole day. Mom kept her eyes straight ahead on the road. I stared out the window, watching the blur of green from the new leaves on the trees. Thinking about what a beautiful day it was, and how strange it felt to be going to a funeral on such a sunny, cheery day.
The church stood on a low hill outside of town where Canyon Road meets the highway. A small, white church. A brass bell in the steeple glowed brightly, reflecting the sunlight.
Large pots of white lilies at the door made the air smell sweet as we stepped inside. Most of the long, dark-wood pews were filled. I recognized a lot of kids from school and a few teachers.
Mom slid into a seat near the back. I walked down the isle to talk to Howie and some other kids. They were clustered near the front, somber expressions on their faces, talking in low tones over the organ music.
Everyone was so dressed up. The boys looked stiff and awkward in their ties and dark blazers. It was so unreal, like a scene in a movie.
That's what I remember about the funeral.
The boys so uncomfortable in ties and jackets. The soft, unnatural whispers, barely loud enough to be heard over the mournful, depressing organ music.
The smell of lilies. So sweet it became overpowering. The cold, damp touch of Howie's hand as he gripped my arm in greeting.
The long, dark coffin in front of us.
Kev couldn't really be lying inside it--could he?
A tiny woman with tight curls of white hair, her head bowed, her lips moving, tears dripping into the lap of her black dress.
Those are the things I remember.
And the whispered rumors.
Someone said that Kev's father had offered a reward to anyone who finds the killer.
Someone said that the police knew who the killer was. That it was one of Kev's friends from Tampa. He had run off, and the police were searching for him.
Rumors. And the smell of lilies. And the tiny woman letting her tears fall onto her lap.
I remember all that.
And the faces of my friends.
I had a seat in a side pew. I could see all of my friends, their faces pale and drawn and sad. While the minister talked, my eyes moved from one to another.
Tyra leaned forward in the pew, elbows on the bench in front of her, her face buried in her hands. I waited for her to sit back up. But she didn't.
Brandie's features were set and hard. I could see her clenching and unclenching her jaw. She stared straight ahead blankly, as if she were thinking to herself somewhere else, somewhere far, far away.
Howie's face was blank. I couldn't read it at all. He sat erect, one hand toying with his ponytail. No expression.
Brian cried softly into a wadded up tissue. I couldn't read it at all. These aren't the faces of murderers, I thought, watching them, studying them as the minister droned on in front of Kevin's coffin.
I know these kids.
These are my friends.
Not murderers. Not murderers. Not murderers.
After the funeral, we all met at Tyra's house. Tyra's Mom put out plates of sandwiches, which we gobbled up. We were starving!
We all chattered at the same time. We were all tense, I think. Eager to put the funeral behind us. It wasn't easy since we were still in our funeral clothes.
Brandie pulled out her hair piece and threw it on the coffee table. She seemed a little more like herself. I think she was relieved that her parents had allowed her to come to Tyra's house.
She told us a story about her grandmother's funeral. According to Brandie, she had been a very proper person, very strict, very eager that everything should be done in the right way.
The priest gave a touching eulogy that had everyone in tears, Brandie told us. The coffin was opened so that everyone could file past and say last respects.
But when they opened the coffin, the church filled with horrified gasps. Brandie's grandmother was not inside. Instead, everyone stared at an enormous, three-hundred-pound bald man with a bushy Santa Claus beard.
The wrong coffin had been delivered to the church. The gasps turned into shocked giggles. Then the church echoed with laughter.
"People roared," Brandie told us gleefully. "They rolled in the isles. Really. It was so perfect. My grandmother spent her whole life complaining that no one ever did anything the proper way--and she was right!"
We all laughed. Everyone but Tyra. She seemed even more tense the usual. She stood by herself beside the mantel. She picked up a small bronze bust of herself and was rolling it nervously between her hands.
Tyra's Mom is a shrink, but she's also a really talented sculptor. The living room is filled with heads she did of Tyra and Tyra's older brother Matt, who is away at college in Sacramento. The likenesses are perfect.
I watched Tyra move the bronze head from hand to hand. She barely listened to Brandie's story. I was suprised that she wasn't paying any attention at all to Brian.
Brian and Howie were talking quietly on the couch. Even from across the room I could see that Brian's eyes were red from crying.
"Are you still grounded?" I asked Brandie. "Or did your parents spring you?" I don't think she heard me. She had her eyes on Brian. And then she stepped away from me, walking rapidly, ad made her way to the kitchen.
"Anyone want a coke or anything?" she called. I followed her into the kitchen. She had the refrigerator door open and was bending inside.
"Are you okay?" I asked. She pulled out a can of Mountain Dew and stood up. She shrugged. "I guess. It's all pretty weird, isn't it?"
"Yeah, weird," I agreed. She popped the top on the can.
"Are you okay AJ? Do you have nightmares or anything? I mean, you're the one who found him there. It must have been..."
"I keep picturing it all the time," I confessed. "My mom says it will take awhile. She thinks-"
I stopped when I heard Tyra calling us from the living room. Brandie took a long drink from the soda can. Then we turned and made our way back to the living room to see why Tyra was calling.
"In here," she said. She ushered us into the den. I tried to read her expression. She avoided my gaze. "In here everyone." Her voice sounded tense, hoarse.
"What's this about?" Brian demanded. She muttered something, keeping her eyes on the floor. I couldn't hear her. I don't think Brian did either.
We all perched around the small, cork-panaled den. Tyra carefully closed the door behind her. "I-I want to tell you something," she said softly. She still held the small, bronze bust of herself in her hands.
"Are you selling that thing?" Brandie joked. "Or do you just love yourself?" Brian laughed. Howie and I exchanged glances. What is Tyra's problem? I wondered. What kind of bug announcement did she want to make?
Tyra coughed and cleared her throat. She set the bronze head down on a bookshelf. "I'm only telling you guys this because you're my friends and I trust you," she said, speaking rapidly, her eyes on the window behind my head.
I saw Brandie open her mouth, probably to crack another joke. I shook my head and signaled "no" with my eyes. Brandie dropped back against her chair.
"I want to tell you this, and I don't want to tell you," Tyra said mysteriously. "But I feel that...I feel that..." Her voice trembled. She took a deep breath. "I feel that I have to tell you."
"Tyra--what is it?" Brian cried, jumping to his feet.
"Well..." Tyra cleared her throat again. "I-I have a confession to make. You see, I'm the one. I'm the one who killed Kevin."
Chapter 12
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