Brett and Anthony drove home listening to Peace Frog over and over and drinking 7-11 coffee and the rest of the O.V splits. The story they came up with essentially mimicked the truth only no one was on acid.

In Skaneateles, they dropped all the empties in a blue dumpster behind the P&C and then drove over to West Lake St. They followed the lake up the road for a few miles and eventually Anthony slowed as they were just about at the Gingold’s.

“Should I pull in?” he asked.

“Yeah, it’s cool.” It was almost 10 am.

Anthony coasted into the Gingold’s drive way and then put the Suburban in neutral. Brett turned to him: “You’re cool?”

“My dad’s going to punch my face in.”

“You want to hang here for a while. We can call them?”

Mrs Gingold had once told Anthony he looked like Bobby Kennedy, but even she would have a hard time condoning not coming home last night. “No,” he said, “whatever it is, it’ll only be for a few more weeks.”

“Ok man, it was fun. Don’t worry about that moron. He’ll be back tomorrow. I’ll call you tonight to check in.” He flashed Anthony peace, slipped down from the truck, and shut the door.

***

Anthony’s father lifted him from the ground by the ear before he even knew about Laird. He couldn’t believe Anthony had done this to his mother. She had been up all night. Why would you do something like this to her? She was crying; Anthony was crying. Then his dad said Anthony had forfeited his driving privileges until Anthony was thirty.

“It’s not my fault,” Anthony said.

“Obviously,” he said, “It’s our fault for trusting you.”

“You wouldn’t have let me go, if I had asked.”

“Ask me if you can go to your room and stay there for the next few years. Go ahead, ask.”

Anthony turned and headed up the stairs.

“And take down those ridiculous posters.”

An hour later, he was sitting in my bed sucking on a Skoal Bandit and his mom knocked.

“Anthony?”

“What?”

“Mrs. Boudreau is on the phone. She’s looking for Laird?”

He didn’t say anything, casting nets around his brain for some feasible lie.

“Anthony? Wasn’t he with you?”

“He got a ride home with some other people.”

“But he went with you?”

Thirty minutes later, in the living room, Anthony sitting in the large winged-back chair, his father pacing and his mom and Mrs. Boudreau on our couch, he was forced to tell them the whole story. What do you mean ‘a bus’? Did they have a name? No. Burlington, Vermont? Anthony thought so. Laird was with them and then he wasn’t. They didn’t even ask about the acid. Anthony later told the same story to the cops. It was easy not having to lie.