Jeremy’s rage about the entire situation meant that he might reveal too much before we were ready, so at the last minute I offered to take on the miserable task.
Peter was still snoring. I shook him gently until he opened his eyes.
“What do you want?” he asked sleepily.
“I have to tell you about Killer Fang.”
Peter immediately sat up. “You found him? How is he?”
“He got…” My throat closed up and it took me a few seconds before I could continue. “He got hit by a car.”
Peter’s lower lip began to tremble. “He’s okay, though, right? He’s a pretty tough dog. I bet he made it through okay.”
“He got killed. Darren found him.”
“Darren doesn’t know for sure, does he? He could be wrong. Killer Fang’s a pretty smart dog. I don’t think he’d let himself get hit by a car. He wouldn’t do that.”
“He got killed,” I repeated.
“Oh.”
Peter rolled over on his stomach and buried his face in his pillow. His whole body began to quiver. I wasn’t sure how to console him, and after standing there for a long, uncomfortable moment, I went to bed.
When we got up the next morning, I was very relieved to see that Darren was there. I’d half expected him not to return to the room, maybe even to run away from Branford Academy altogether. I lingered behind with him as Peter and Jeremy went to take their showers.
“Did you do it?”
“Yeah,” said Darren, almost pouting. He held up his hands, which were raw and swollen. “Look what happened ’cause I didn’t have anything to dig with.”
“Too bad for you.” While I hoped that none of his teachers asked Darren to explain what had happened to his hands, I certainly wasn’t going to feel sorry for him.
“I should have used the dog’s jaw,” he said, looking me straight in the eye as if daring me to take offense.
The frightened, pleading Darren of last night was gone. I couldn’t help but take a small bit of pleasure from knowing that soon it would return.
“You were wrong,” Peter told me as we returned to the room after lunch to pick up our materials for our next class.
“I was?”
“I talked to Darren. He said he doesn’t think it was Killer Fang that got run over. He said it was a little black dog, and that the people who hit it took it right to the vet.”
“I guess I was wrong, then.”
“I’ve read a lot about how dogs can find their way home, no matter how far it is. He’s pretty fast. It’ll probably take him about a week to get back home, so that’ll be around Sunday or Monday.”
“Well, that’s good to hear.”
“Yeah. I hope he doesn’t get too hungry.”
Jeremy and I didn’t speak to anybody else about our plan for the rest of the day, or all day Friday. I was growing more and more uncomfortable with the whole idea, but Jeremy was insistent. Darren needed to be punished, and Peter needed to accept the fate of his dog.
“And it’ll be fun,” Jeremy said.
I strongly disagreed about that aspect, but each time I considered telling Jeremy that he’d have to do this without me, I remembered the headless carcass on the garbage bag. Even though he knew how much Peter missed his dog, how much he loved it, Darren had mutilated its body. He was a sick, scary kid, but when we were done with him, he’d be on his best behavior for the rest of his time at Branford Academy, and hopefully for the rest of his life.
Saturday evening. Jeremy and Peter had already snuck out of the building. Darren was seated at his desk, lost in thought. He held his pen but hadn’t written anything for the past twenty minutes.
“Put on your jacket,” I told him.
“Why?”
“We’re going out.”
“Screw you. I’m not going anywhere.”
“You are so. You have to apologize to Peter. You’re going to take us out to where you buried the dog, and you’re going to say you’re sorry for lying about it being a different dog.”
“Yeah, right.”
“I’m serious, Darren. It’s mean to let him think
Peter was still snoring. I shook him gently until he opened his eyes.
“What do you want?” he asked sleepily.
“I have to tell you about Killer Fang.”
Peter immediately sat up. “You found him? How is he?”
“He got…” My throat closed up and it took me a few seconds before I could continue. “He got hit by a car.”
Peter’s lower lip began to tremble. “He’s okay, though, right? He’s a pretty tough dog. I bet he made it through okay.”
“He got killed. Darren found him.”
“Darren doesn’t know for sure, does he? He could be wrong. Killer Fang’s a pretty smart dog. I don’t think he’d let himself get hit by a car. He wouldn’t do that.”
“He got killed,” I repeated.
“Oh.”
Peter rolled over on his stomach and buried his face in his pillow. His whole body began to quiver. I wasn’t sure how to console him, and after standing there for a long, uncomfortable moment, I went to bed.
When we got up the next morning, I was very relieved to see that Darren was there. I’d half expected him not to return to the room, maybe even to run away from Branford Academy altogether. I lingered behind with him as Peter and Jeremy went to take their showers.
“Did you do it?”
“Yeah,” said Darren, almost pouting. He held up his hands, which were raw and swollen. “Look what happened ’cause I didn’t have anything to dig with.”
“Too bad for you.” While I hoped that none of his teachers asked Darren to explain what had happened to his hands, I certainly wasn’t going to feel sorry for him.
“I should have used the dog’s jaw,” he said, looking me straight in the eye as if daring me to take offense.
The frightened, pleading Darren of last night was gone. I couldn’t help but take a small bit of pleasure from knowing that soon it would return.
“You were wrong,” Peter told me as we returned to the room after lunch to pick up our materials for our next class.
“I was?”
“I talked to Darren. He said he doesn’t think it was Killer Fang that got run over. He said it was a little black dog, and that the people who hit it took it right to the vet.”
“I guess I was wrong, then.”
“I’ve read a lot about how dogs can find their way home, no matter how far it is. He’s pretty fast. It’ll probably take him about a week to get back home, so that’ll be around Sunday or Monday.”
“Well, that’s good to hear.”
“Yeah. I hope he doesn’t get too hungry.”
Jeremy and I didn’t speak to anybody else about our plan for the rest of the day, or all day Friday. I was growing more and more uncomfortable with the whole idea, but Jeremy was insistent. Darren needed to be punished, and Peter needed to accept the fate of his dog.
“And it’ll be fun,” Jeremy said.
I strongly disagreed about that aspect, but each time I considered telling Jeremy that he’d have to do this without me, I remembered the headless carcass on the garbage bag. Even though he knew how much Peter missed his dog, how much he loved it, Darren had mutilated its body. He was a sick, scary kid, but when we were done with him, he’d be on his best behavior for the rest of his time at Branford Academy, and hopefully for the rest of his life.
Saturday evening. Jeremy and Peter had already snuck out of the building. Darren was seated at his desk, lost in thought. He held his pen but hadn’t written anything for the past twenty minutes.
“Put on your jacket,” I told him.
“Why?”
“We’re going out.”
“Screw you. I’m not going anywhere.”
“You are so. You have to apologize to Peter. You’re going to take us out to where you buried the dog, and you’re going to say you’re sorry for lying about it being a different dog.”
“Yeah, right.”
“I’m serious, Darren. It’s mean to let him think
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