Read Breaking Point for Free Online Page A

.
    Weird .
    Cool .
    But no one seemed sorry or even surprised.
    I met Binky for lunch in the library. It was dark in there, and my eyes hurt. We weren’t really supposed to eat there, but the room was empty except for us, so no one said anything. Binky offered me a banana from her sack.
    It was too sweet, overripe. I gagged and put it down, its sugary odor mixing with the library’s old balloon smell. I carried it to the farthest garbage pail so I wouldn’t smell it, then sat back down. “I don’t get it. Some psycho decapitated a dog here. Why are they acting like nothing happened?”
    Binky didn’t finish chewing. “Because nothing did.”
    â€œHuh? Repeat that.”
    â€œNothing happened.” Another bite. I smelled tuna, onions, felt tears spring to my eyes.
    â€œNothing happened,” I repeated. “So the blood, the psychotic-looking note, that was all my imagination? ’Cause I should probably go home if I’m hallucinating.”
    â€œI meant, nothing happened to them.”
    â€œHow could it not have?”
    â€œDoes anyone look upset?” Mrs. Booth, the librarian, shushed her even though we were alone. Binky whispered, “David Blanco isn’t one of them.”
    â€œSo? Does that mean—?”
    â€œYes. David isn’t one of them, which relieves them of having to do anything. If it was anyone else’s dog, they’d have started complaining, called all the parents, investigated. People would pull their kids out of school, and everyone would be all upset.”
    â€œAnd that would be a bad thing? Do you know most serial killers get started killing animals?” I’d read that on-line once. “Do you know that—?”
    She put two fingers to my lips, a gesture more intimate than I wanted to think about, and said, “Parents say they send their kids here for a bunch of reasons. But it adds up to one thing: They don’t want to worry about their kids. Spend enough, you don’t have to worry.”
    â€œAnd this makes them worry?”
    â€œNot at all. It has nothing to do with them.”
    I couldn’t begin to understand that. Binky stood, tossed her lunch bag. When I didn’t get up, she turned back.
    â€œRight or wrong, the Blancos feel blessed that the school’s educating their son. So, they don’t mind that the administration’s also letting it get spread around that David killed the dog himself.”
    I stared at her, stunned. I hadn’t heard that one. Finally, I said, “And you believe that?”
    She shook her head. “You weren’t listening, Paul.”
    She left seconds before the bell.
    David wasn’t in class that day or the next. I knew because I looked for him. When he wasn’t there Monday, I went to the janitor’s cottage after seventh period.
    It looked more like a tool shed or guest house than anyplace a family could live. Ancient coral rock with a green door so old it could give way under strong wind.
    Or a hard knock. I tapped. No answer. I called, “Hello?”
    The door creaked open. David stood, looking neat as ever, neater even, in his Gate uniform polo and pants. Except where there had been only scars from his various piercings, now he wore jewelry, cheek rings, earrings, nose rings, all glinting in the afternoon sun.
    â€œWhat do you want?” he asked.
    â€œI wanted to say I was sorry.”
    â€œSorry?” The word twisted around, mocking. “For what?”
    â€œAbout Trouble. I’m sorry for what happened.”
    â€œWhy? Did you do it?”
    â€œNo. I mean, of course not.”
    â€œThen, don’t be sorry.” His mottled face was angry now. “You are the one person who should not be sorry.”
    â€œWhat do you mean? They didn’t all do it.”
    â€œDidn’t they?” He held up a hand. “You know there’s a kid here who, every afternoon at three, pisses on the tile of the