The Goldfinch

Chapter 4 | Part 6

"LISTEN," I SAID TO Andy several days later, as we were coming out of Starbucks after school, "can you cover for me this afternoon?"
"Certainly," said Andy, taking a greedy swallow of his coffee. "How long?"
"Don't know." Depending on how long it took me to change trains at Fourteenth Street, it might take forty-five minutes to get downtown; the bus, on a weekday, would be even longer. "Three hours?"
He made a face; if his mother was at home, she would ask questions. "What shall I tell her?"
"Tell her I had to stay late at school or something."
"She'll think you're in trouble."
"Who cares?"
"Yes, but I don't want her to phone school to check on you." "Tell her I went to a movie."
"Then she'll ask why I didn't go too. Why don't I say you're at the library."
"That's so lame."
"All right, then. Why don't we tell her that you have a terribly pressing engagement with your parole officer. Or that you stopped in to have a couple of Old Fashioneds at the bar of the Four Seasons."
He was imitating his father; the impression was so dead-on, I laughed. "Fabelhaft," I replied, in Mr. Barbour's voice. "Very funny."

He shrugged. "The main branch is open tonight until seven," he said, in his own bland and faint-ish voice. "But I don't have to know which branch you went to, if you forget to tell me."