Drowning Instinct
Page 11

His skin jumped at the contact. No way to hide that flinch. I heard the tiniest suck of air as he pulled in a gasp, but he didn‘t say anything. Didn‘t tell me to stop. Looking back on it, Bob, I don‘t think he wanted me to. Or maybe he was just too stunned.
The scar was very smooth. Warm. The feel changed, too, as my hand followed the trail of tissue over the hard shelves of his ribs. David still didn‘t move or speak; I think he was as astonished—as hypnotized—as I. The scar finally petered off over his left pec. His heart was knocking so hard I felt the flutter against my fingertips.
My head went a little airy. I could see the sudden throb of his pulse in his neck. His lips parted, and something spirited over his face, very fast. He blinked and said, roughly, It doesn‘t hurt anymore.
That broke the spell. Oh, I said, and exhaled a shaky little laugh. I took my hand back. Sorry.
That‘s okay, he said, tugging his shirt back down around his waist. Scarlet dashed over his cheeks. I . . . uh . . . I still carry that broken saber around. Want to see it?
Sure, I said, but he was already turning away and reaching down to unzip the large blue gym bag. I heard that metallic chatter again as he rummaged. I spotted at least five different swords. How come you have so many?
Because some weapons are for bouts and others for practice, he said and then tugged out the broken saber. Here.
The bell guard was broad and bright silver and curved, like you see in a movie, but the blade itself was a little disappointing: just under a foot long and dull gray. No real heft, either, or weight. Maybe he read my disappointment because he said, It‘s really light, but the tip, where it‘s broken? Here. He proffered the ruined weapon. You don‘t want to be on the business end of that.
He was right. The saber‘s jagged metal was very sharp. I thought about how easy it would be to draw blood. Mind you, I wasn‘t tempted. Just . . . interested. Handing it back was easier than I thought it would be. Why do you keep it?
He hunched a shoulder. I don‘t know. He turned the broken weapon over in his hands. I think, maybe . . . to remind myself, you know, I could‘ve died. Guys do, every once in a while.
So why keep fencing?
Because the danger‘s half the fun. His eyes flicked up from the broken blade to touch on mine. You could come watch practice sometime, if you want. Maybe you‘d like it enough to want to try it out yourself.
I thought of Mr. Anderson then, how he‘d pressed about the cross-country team.
You recruiting me? God, had that come out sounding like a line? Had I meant it that way? Was I flirting? Maybe.
Well. That scarlet splash on his cheeks deepened. You‘ll never know if you‘re any good unless you try. It might be fun. Do you do sports?
I used to run. I paused. Cross-country. Like Danielle.
Oh. He gave me a careful look. So how come you‘re not on the team?
Oh, because your girlfriend might cleat me just for the hell of it? That was part of it, Bob, really. But there was also something about showing myself in front of Mr. Anderson that . . . that made my throat kind of fluttery. If you know what I mean. It wasn‘t about my scars or grafts; my tank and shorts gave just enough cover. So he‘d never see them.
But I thought that I might want him to watch me; to stand there, stopwatch in hand, and be completely focused on only me. Which was completely weird, considering how much I avoided him.
Just not into it this year, I said.
Oh, David said again. There was a moment‘s silence which he filled by glancing at his watch. Look, uh, the library‘s going to close. You want to get a coffee or something? We could call your mom. I could take you to her store, if you want.
It was so unexpected—so nice—I almost glanced over my shoulder to make sure there wasn‘t some other person standing there. I wanted to say yes, but then I remembered Danielle‘s face from that first day and what she‘d said: The more broken they are ...
And that made me wonder, again, just why the hell David was bothering. Hadn‘t he just said he was having a crappy year fencing? That he was mad? Stuff going on, was how he‘d put it, and stuff had to equal Danielle. So this wasn‘t, like, a date or anything. Even someone like David must need someone to talk to. So, maybe we could be friends. That wasn‘t a bad thing.
But something evil clicked in my brain then, all the little gears meshing and mashing and grinding out hidden agendas. Blame the psych ward for this one, Bob, and all those times therapists tell you that what you say is not what you mean.
That‘s really nice of you, I said, but I should probably stay put. My mom might be on her way now, and if I‘m not around, she‘ll freak out. This all had the benefit of being true. If David had stopped right there, things would‘ve been fine.
But he didn‘t. You shouldn‘t be alone, David pressed. You want me to wait with you?
Yes. No. Why don’t you do the thinking for both of us? But I wasn‘t Ilsa Lund; he was way better-looking than Humphrey Bogart; and this wasn‘t Casablanca: it was Wisconsin. That‘s okay.
He was quiet a second. Is it because of Danielle?
Bingo. Kind of. Did you guys, like, have a fight or something?
What does that matter? A silly, half grin played over his lips, but his eyes were suddenly wary. It‘s just coffee. It‘s not like a date or anything.
Oh yes, it was. What if someone sees us together? Won‘t she be pissed off? Isn’t that what you want?
Is that what you think? This is, like, getting back at her?
Isn‘t it? I said. That just squirted out. Oh, all right, I let it happen. Whatever. I could hear Rebecca‘s ghost in my head, too. Every word out of her mouth was this creepy little verbal feeler, like an antenna: I think; I sense; I wonder. Like she didn‘t want to get caught committing herself one way or the other, so she would never be really wrong.
Anything she‘d said was a guess: an I think. Because, yeah, I kind of wonder.
Of course I was right. You should‘ve seen the look on his face: shock and surprise washing his skin purple as a beet. Even his ears pinked.
And, Bob? You have no idea how much seeing that hurt.
David was using me. He was being kind of a tool, you want to know the truth. This was all about hitting back at Danielle. I was convenient; that was all. But just because I thought I was right didn‘t mean I wanted to be.
I‘m sorry, I said, although I was probably talking for both of us. I felt the sudden sting of tears I couldn‘t afford pricking the back of my eyes. It‘s none of my business.
Don‘t worry about it. David‘s face closed tight as a fist. He was such a bad liar, Bob. So, probably a good guy despite all that, you know? Hitting back at someone who‘s hurt you or for whom you care is human—well, unless you‘re a shrink, in which case you can think your way out of it. Better yet, make it all someone else‘s fault, preferably your parents.
I got to get going. David abruptly shoved the broken saber into his bag and stood.
Forget I said anything, okay?
Yeah, I wish. Five seconds later, David was out the door and heading for his car. I gathered my books and tried willing my brain to gray. The librarian rolled out of her office and started flipping lights before I even had my coat on. But there was still enough light that I could see my reflection in the window—and David.
He was in his car, behind the wheel. Just sitting there, the dome light washing the car a weak orange, and he was staring. At me.
He was too far away, so I have no idea what was in his eyes. There was no way to read him. But it was like each of us was on the screen of our own movie: him behind his windshield; me in my little library fishbowl.
The invitation was right there, again. David was waiting. Whether he was doing that for me or him, I don‘t know. Maybe he was waiting for both of us.
And the horrible thing? That moment was just like a film. If the girl would just turn around, she‘d see the guy who was trying to save her life. She‘d get in the damn car or not hop on that subway, and everything that was gearing up to unwind in one way would unspool another.
Sure, in some ways, my night would still have played out the way it did, but the characters would‘ve been different. And then this emergency room, Bob, my story? Never would have happened. Maybe.
But I let the moment spin out, blow past. Evaporate.
The dome light winked out. His headlights came on. The librarian cleared her throat, and as I turned from the window, David drove away.
14: a
8:10 P.M.
David was long gone. The soccer game was over. Cars had streamed away, their lights like beads on a string. The opposing team‘s bus had chugged off. From my spot hugging the wall just outside the library, I‘d watched the players trickle off the upper field to the locker room and then emerge again, heading for their cars, shouting insults at one another.
And. No. Mom.
She‘d never been this late before. The store closed at 9 P.M. on weekdays, but since I‘d started school, Mom let Evan close. So, figure she got delayed and left at 7, or even 7:30. A half hour max to get from A to B. If there‘d been an accident or traffic jam, maybe longer. Maybe that‘s what had happened.
Or . . . could she have forgotten me? How do you forget your own kid? There had to be a simple explanation. Things had been crazy at the store. She‘d gotten wrapped up in her work and I‘d completely slipped her mind. Maybe she was on autopilot, already halfway home and still thinking about what had to be done before the big party. I bet any second she would remember. She was probably looking for a place to turn around.
But what if she‘d gotten into an accident?
Shivering, I hugged my knees. Tomorrow would be October, and this being Wisconsin, the air was already crisp and very cool. I tried to think of what to do. Call her?
Regardless of his motives, I should‘ve taken David up on his offer. I‘d been so stupid to wait here, wasting time when I could‘ve used his cell or found a phone somewhere. Maybe the office, or something. Or maybe there were pay phones down by the field? I clambered to my feet, brushing off my hands on my jeans. I would go down there and see if maybe I couldn‘t find—