The Confessional by J.L. Powers

Author:J.L. Powers [Powers, J. L.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-0-375-89171-7
Publisher: Random House Children's Books
Published: 2007-09-04T04:00:00+00:00

On the other side of the bridge, just before crossing into the United States, La Migra has the dogs out.

“Did you smoke today?” I whisper out of the side of my mouth.

“Shut the fuck up,” Machete says softly, not looking at me.

A Border Patrol agent and his dog stop at my feet. A little sucker, a black lab with a squat body and brown, wistful eyes. I have an urge to smash it right between those cute little eyes.

I don’t have anything on me, so I’m not worried. The pup stops for just a second, maybe gets a whiff of last night’s weed, then moves to Josh. That’s when she gets excited.

“Come with me,” the Border Patrol agent says, and moves Josh to the corner.

I’m still in line. Should I join him or just split?

“You been smoking?” the agent asks.

“No, sir,” Machete says. Voice of steel—but with a lee-tle crack in it somewhere.

“Are you sure? Because the dog smelled something on you. Do we need to search you?”

“Go ahead.” His voice quivers, just slightly. “I haven’t smoked and I don’t have anything on me.”

“Were you at a place where people were smoking, son?” he asks.

“I don’t think so,” Josh says.

The dog’s finally lost interest. She’s poking her head toward some other poor bastard waiting in line. Now the question is, how badly does Border Patrol want to harass Josh?

La Migra decides to let him go with a warning. “I have no jurisdiction over what you do in your own house, son, as long as you’re free, American, and over eighteen,” he says. “But sanitize yourself before you leave home. Take a shower, change clothes.”

Did he really just say that? Fucking impossible.

“Did he really just say that?” Machete says, joining me. “Fucking impossible.”

Scaaaaaary. Can Machete read my mind? If so, he’d know how pissed off I am at him because of last night. How I see it as a betrayal. How lucky he is I’m loyal to my friends.

“Citizenship?” the Border Patrol guy asks me in a bored voice.

“U.S.,” I say, handing him my driver’s license. He punches something into the system, probably my license number. That always makes me nervous. Sure, they have juvenile records expunged and all, but I still wonder what’s going to pop up. But, like always, the guy nods at me and lets me know I can go through.

They question Machete longer, probably because they saw him get pulled aside for smelling like pot. “Purpose in Mexico?”

“Visiting a friend,” he says.

“Really? What friend? What’s his name?”

“Bernardo Martínez,” Josh says.

“Where’d you meet him?”

“Downtown Juárez. Just across the bridge.”

“Why were you meeting him?”

“Just wanted to hang out.” Josh has been through all this before, I can tell. “We go to school together.”

He’s finally nodded through and we head back to the car.

“I don’t know why they had to sweat you so bad,” I say, but, Machete-like, he doesn’t want to talk about it. Okay, okay, I get the point.

“Before we go anywhere else, we’re getting stoned,” he says. “I don’t want to think anymore today.

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