“They didn’t see us take a drink,” he added quickly. “Just saw all the beer and kinda assumed.”
“Were you drinking?” My stomach had turned sour, and my throat was dry.
“It doesn’t matter because nobody will believe us,” he said. “My school found out this morning, and the principal called me in. Since I’m on the hockey team, they’re doing a code of conduct review.”
I slowed my pace, a cold feeling settling in my stomach that had nothing to do with the ice. "Why are you telling me this? Does your mom know?”
“No.” And Gabe finally turned to me with a pained look on his face. "But she’ll know soon enough. Michael, you have to talk to her. You have to tell her they got it wrong. A couple of us weren’t in the room when the cops came around, so we’re sticking to our story of mistaken identity. Nobody saw us there, so we didn’t do it.”
I stopped dead in my tracks. I stared at him, the weight of his request hitting me like a blindside hit. This wasn't a "pass" for sneaking out to see a girl or hanging out late. This was a legal paper trail. This was a school administration and a mother's trust.
“That’s not how it works,” I said, stunned by the kid’s confession. “And there’s no way I’m lying to your mother.”
“You’ve lied to her before. You never told her about me sneaking out. This is basically the same lie, just a little more added onto it.”
I realized right then that the cool mentor vibe I’d established was suddenly under threat. But fuck it. This wasn't about being an okay guy anymore. This was about the fact that the secret I was keeping had just grown teeth.
The last thing I needed was Landon or Tucker overhearing a conversation about an underage drinking bust and turning it into a locker room punchline, so I steered clear of it. Instead, I snagged the back of Gabe’s hoodie and led him into a narrow, dimly lit hallway behind the equipment drying racks. It smelled like industrial detergent and stagnant sweat, but it was private.
"Are you out of your mind?" I hissed, spinning him around. I didn't care whether or not he thought I was cool anymore. I felt like a man watching a train wreck in slow motion. "Drinking, Gabe? A police report? That’s not just a mistake. That’s a career-killer before the career even starts. It’s a trust-killer too, and your mom has a right to know."
That teenage nonchalance snapped back into place like a shield. "Michael, seriously, it’s not that deep. It was one party. Everyone was there."
"Doesn’t make it right," I said. “You’re fifteen and have no business drinking.”
"Technically, I didn't get caught at the party," he corrected me. "Someone just put my name on a list of people who were there. I told the principal I was home all night. He has no proof."
I stared at him, floored by the brazen confidence of a fifteen-year-old who thought he was invincible. "And your mom? You think she’s just going to nod and say 'okay' when the school calls?"
"She thinks I’m in my room every night while she’s at the bar," Gabe said, his voice dropping into a flat, matter-of-fact tone. "She trusts me. As long as you don't say anything, it's fine. I just need to know you’re not gonna rat me out."
I felt a surge of genuine anger. He was weaponizing his mother’s trust, the very thing she’d told me she was terrified of breaking. "Gabe, this is insane. You're asking me to be an accomplice to a lie that’s going to blow up in your face eventually."
He didn't flinch. Instead, he looked past my shoulder toward the end of the hall. "Hey, is that a vending machine? I came straight from school and I’m starving."
I blinked, thrown by the sudden pivot. "Are you serious right now? We’re talking about your future, and you’re thinking about snacks?"
"I can't think on an empty stomach," he muttered, already walking toward the glowing glass box of processed salt and sugar.
I followed him, fuming, but pulled out my wallet and tapped my card against the sensor. "Fine. What do you want?"
"Barbecue chips. D-4," he said.
I punched in the code. The metal coil turned with an agonizingly slowwhir-click, and the bag tumbled to the bottom.Gabe snatched it, ripped it open, and shoved a handful into his mouth.
"Listen to me," I said, leaning against the machine as he crunched. "What you’re doing is stupid. It’s not just about the drinking, it’s about the habit of thinking you can cheat the system."
Gabe swallowed. "All kids my age do this, Michael. It’s not a big deal. I’m not failing classes. I’m not getting arrested. I’m just... living." He pointed a salty finger at the glass. "And a Snickers. B-7."
I groaned, punched in B-7, and watched the candy bar fall. "You’re missing the point. It’s not about everyone else. It’s about the fact thatyouare getting caught. You’re leaving a trail, Gabe."
"I told you, I'm not caught if you don't talk," he said, unwrapping the chocolate with a crinkle that seemed deafening in the quiet hall. He took a massive bite, muffled words coming out through a cloud of caramel. "Mom believes me. The principal is fifty-fifty. You’re the only variable."
"I am not a variable, I'm a person who actually cares about what happens to you." I was so frustrated with him I could’ve screamed. "If your mom finds out I knew and didn't tell her, she won't just fire me as your mentor. She’ll never speak to me again. You’re putting me in a real tight spot here. Can’t you see that?"
Gabe leaned in, his eyes darting to the last row of the machine. "Can I get a Coke? My throat is dry from all the chips."
I stared at him for five long seconds, wondering if I could just leave him there in the hallway. I swiped the card again, and the heavy bottle hit the tray. I handed it to him, my jaw tight.
