Goldfish (21 page)

Lav and I get out of the car. Roman and Pete make to follow, but Lav stops them. “We'll go,” she says. “She doesn't know you.” The boys see the sense in that and sit back.

“Be quick, girls,” hisses Dad. “This doesn't feel superlegal.”

“It's OK, Dad,” I tell him. “I watched a lot of TV crime shows.”

We creep across the gravel, Lav holding me tight by my upper arm and guiding me toward the front door. I have terrible night vision, as a rainwater barrel and an upended bike can confirm. I still manage to trip over a couple of tiny statues.

“Stop that,” Lav hisses in my ear. “Not again.”

This tickles me, and we're both snickering quietly when the big wooden door creaks open and Hannah is standing there, silhouetted in the dim light from the hallway.

We stop laughing—she looks bad. This is coming from me, who's covered in scabs and bruises. She
still
looks worse. Thin and pale, with dark circles under her eyes to rival Gabe's. She's buckling under the weight of her bag.

I look to Laverne. I don't know what to say. I am fifteen. This is one of those times when I want to say, “Sorry, but I am a
child
, so I'm going to bed to watch
The Simpsons
and dip some cookies in milk. If I can just leave you guys to tidy up this rather adult mess? Bye.”

Lav doesn't let me down. Her extra year of seniority steps up, and she reaches out a hand to Hannah.

“Han, this place looks lame. How about we go home?”

Han gives a small noise, half laugh, half sob. Laverne takes her bag and I put my arm around her and we all head back to the car. I can see the boys are pretending not to stare. I bet they thought this would be more action-adventure, less emoshe.

As we walk, I can feel how skinny Hannah has become. Dad flashes the car lights at us, and I wave back. He flashes again, more rapidly. Lav and I look at each other and wave at him again. Is he being cutesy? A time and a place, Dad?

He points behind us with big eyes. He's struggling to get his seat belt off. We look over our shoulders and squint to see, running silently over the grass, two
massive
guard dogs.

All three of us jump and scream uselessly, then start running toward the car, but we're running on gravel, which is slow. Lav is carrying a suitcase, and I'm basically carrying Han, who weighs less than the bag but is a more difficult shape, and there is
no way
we're going to make it.

My legs feel like water. Are guard dogs trained to kill? Bite, anyway, definitely, right? Dad's car is now tearing toward us, spewing up gravel as he makes a sharp turn and cuts between us and the dogs.

Roman grabs me by the arm in a familiar grip and bundles Hannah and me into the backseat while Pete shoves Lav in the front and dives in behind her.

Thump.

Thump.

We all wince as we realize that was dog versus car.

Dad pulls the car around in a wide sweep, and we race toward the gates. In the mirror we see the dogs giving chase again and two security guards bringing up the rear.

One of them takes something out of his back pocket and points it at the car. A red dot appears on the rear windshield.

“He's got a gun!” cries Lav, and everyone screams in terror and flattens across their seat. I feel Roman's protective arm over my neck, which is sweet but surprisingly painful as my knees dig into my eyeballs. When nothing happens, I sit up slightly, pushing his arm away.

“He does?” I ask. We all sit up, Dad keeping an eye on the gates but feeling around with one hand to check that everyone's all right.

“No!” says Han with a wobbly little laugh, and we all relax.

“No,” says Pete, “it's a remote gate thing.” We look at where he's pointing, and the massive iron gates, wide open a minute ago, are now closing.

“HANG ON!” yells Dad, flooring the accelerator. The wheels spin uselessly, flinging up gravel behind us, and I feel a moment's concern for the guard dogs, who are having a really bad day at work. Then we suddenly roar forward at a stately twenty miles per hour and burst through the gates, losing both door mirrors in the process.

“Sorry!” Dad yells out of the window as the rest of us cheer and whoop and bang on the roof.

“Can we go back for my mirrors?” Dad asks.

“No,” I tell him, “that's the coolest getaway ever. Let's not ruin it by creeping back, like, ‘Hi guys, did I leave my phone charger behind?'”

“Don't worry, Mr. Brown,” Pete pipes up. “My uncle's a mechanic. He'll hook you up.”

We drive back through the night, slowly because it's dark and rainy and Dad has to lean forward over the wheel to stare intently at the road.

“Hannah, this is Roman and Pete. They're the synchr—the swim team I mentioned.” (I still can't quite call them a synchronized swimming team without imagining them in flowery rubber swimming hats. It would make this “prison break” seem so much less cool.)

Lav calls Mom, Roman and Pete call their moms, and I see Hannah take out her phone and look at it thoughtfully. It has fourteen missed calls from me and
one
from “Home.”

“So … my parents didn't believe you?”

Dad peers even harder at the road. Roman and Pete become very interested in the interior compartments of the car. Pete even opens the glove box with an engrossed air, like, “A box for gloves, eh? Well, this I must see.…”

“Well, they thought maybe it wasn't as bad as it seemed,” I say diplomatically.

“They need their bloody heads knocked together,” says Dad, less so. “Don't worry, Hannah,” he adds, “you can call them in the morning and stay with us as long as you need to. My wife is very accommodating to waifs and strays. Me for one.”

Lav reaches across Roman and pinches my leg.

“Wife,” eh? In-ter-esting …

On the way home we swing into a twenty-four-hour drive-thru. I get a Big Meal and shake my fries into the side of my burger box, then put it over Hannah's lap and mine equally. She doesn't eat a lot, and she chews in a dry-mouthed way. That's OK, baby steps.

I want to talk to her about everything, but not in front of Roman and Pete. I turned up with cool new friends, and I don't want her to think I've told them all about her. She's still my best friend. I squeeze her hand.

I don't remember much more of that night; it's a blur of steamed-up windows, the rumble of tires, and the farty smell of old burger. I remember being helped out of the car and waking up just long enough to check that Hannah was all right. But my head was starting to throb and my aquarium bruises were aching. It was a relief to crawl into bed.

 

chapter 33

I wake up in a strange position on the edge of my bed. I can tell I haven't had enough sleep, and there's a dampness to the air that screams, IT'S TOO EARLY, GO BACK TO SLEEP!

I turn my head slowly and … ARGH! I'm nose-to-nose with Hannah, her eyes shining in the dim light. I laugh silently and she smiles.

“Sorry,” she mouths.

I whisper slowly and carefully, “Are … you … less … crazy?”

That does make her laugh. She catches herself before she makes a noise. “I feel much less crazy,” she says. “Those boys were cool.”

“My boyfriend and my ex-boyfriend,” I explain.

She grins.

“I am offended,” I tell her, “that you didn't believe that for a
second
.”

Lav croaks from the other side of the room, “If you don't shut up, I'm taking you both back to the nuthouse.”

“Sorry, Lav.”

“Sorry.”

*   *   *

Hours later, I wake up with a start. There's movement in the house. I can hear people talking in hushed voices and moving around in the kitchen.

“Want some breakfast?” I ask Hannah, and then wince. Bit tactless.

“OK” she agrees, “but aren't your tryouts today?”

Yes, they
are
. Oh,
that's
why we're up so early! In fact, are the boys still here? I race downstairs to see what's happening and bounce into the kitchen.

Pete and Roman are leaning against the sink, dressed in my father's clothes. It looks like they're heading to a My Dad–themed fancy dress party. Gabriel is sitting at the kitchen table, busy on his phone. He must've just come over. Mom is loading the dishwasher and Dad is loading up the car. How weird. I had a sleepover with Roman and Pete, apparently.

If you'd have told me last semester that this would be in my future, I would've given you a glass of water and made you lie down.

Pete catches sight of me and stares, his jaw dropping. Well, I coiff my big hair demurely, and they
are
nice pajamas. Thanks for noticing, Pete.

“Why are you not dressed and ready?!” he bellows at me.

“What sort of a coach
are
you?” Ro joins in.

“One who had four hours' sleep!” I yell back, but I'm already racing up the stairs.

I'm glad Mom and Dad saw that; after all their worrying about me hanging out with older boys, they can see I've just ended up with three bossy employers.

I jump in the shower and spot Lav's face wash. Maybe I'll make a bit of effort today; we might get on TV! There's a sudden banging on the door. I freeze, midlather.

“Are you using my face products?” comes Lav's voice from the hallway. It's eerie. How does she know? What a useless psychic ability.

“No-ooo,” I lie.

She's not fooled. “Avoid your eyes and pay particular attention to your jawline. I've noticed that's where you get break-outs.” Charming. But I do what she says with careful, unfamiliar gestures.

Showered, I sprint out of the bathroom and into my bedroom, yelling, “CLOSE YOUR EYES, CLOSE YOUR EYES!” as I whip off my towel, pull on my bathing suit, and go to grab some clothes from my drawer. But the drawer is empty.

If Mom has washed the few items of clothes I own
together
, then I'm in my newest nightmare and going to
BHT
with nothing on.

Hannah is lying in bed, watching me panic.

“All my stuff is dirty, but you're welcome to it.” She points at her bag. Creased clothes are spilling out of it as if the bag's puking. That is my last resort.

I run my eyes all over our messy room, vainly trying to find something I own before I have to beg Lav for help. She has been very nice lately, but I doubt she'll lend me something to wear. The last time she did, everything got covered in blood and mud and was cut off me in the hospital.

“Come on, Lou!” shouts Dad from downstairs. Well someone's really getting into the spirit of things—only two weeks ago he was very lukewarm about my swim club.

“INNA MINUTE!” I yell.

“You're not as muscle-y as you used to be,” Han says, watching me.

“Good thing, bad thing?” I ask, because if now is the time for a heart-to-heart about body image, we have to do it
fast
.

“Good thing,” she says, sitting up and pinning back her hair. “You actually look like a gii-iirl.”
Eurgh!
I make a joke-disgusted face and she makes it back. When we were in swim club, the worst thing to happen to a swimmer's times were boobs and hips.

Which reminds me.

“I got my period,” I tell her.

“Oooh.” She looks intrigued. “Was it … OK?”

I pause, thinking about the aquarium, the hospital, and the police. It's probably a story for another time. I'm sure most periods are less dramatic.

“Are you coming to
BHT
?” I ask. “We'll line up for about a hundred hours, so I can tell you then.”

“My life.” She rolls her eyes. “I get to choose between lining up in the rain talking about periods or seeing my parents.”

“Good luck with your parents.”

She makes a jokey grim face and tells me she'll come and meet us afterward. Then she grabs a towel, and heads for the bathroom, walking past Lav, who's standing in the doorway with a pile of clothes in her arms.

“OK,” Lav begins, looking uncharacteristically nervous, “don't yell at me. I kept the receipts, but … I-took-your-money-out-of-your-shoe-box-and-bought-you-new-clothes. Are you angry?”

“No way, I
hate
shopping! Gimme!”

“How can anyone hate shopping?” Lav wonders, as if I'm a constant mystery to her.

I start searching through the clothes. “You haven't got me anything in pink or a
dress
?”

She's shaking her head scornfully. Sure, she's not an idiot.

I put on a pale green shirt; it's crisp and smells like a shop. Then I try to pull on some jeans. Oh, Lav. Skinny jeans?

“You have to lie down and pull yourself into them,” she explains. I give her a hard look, lie down, and haul myself into the jeans. I bet there are bank vaults easier to get into.

“They'll look nice,” she reassures me as I squirm on the floor. “You have a good body.”

“You say that like I found it in a ditch,” I grumble, but finally I'm in my denim prison and racing for the door when Lav slams it shut and positions herself in front of it.

“Two minutes,” she commands, and I'm too surprised to argue. She comes at me with her hands up like a cartoon bear and runs that oil stuff through my hair again. Then she holds me hard by the chin, and a mascara wand is suddenly darting at my eyes.

“La-av,” I whine, “I have to swim.”

“It's waterproof,” she sighs, and finally releases me to race down the stairs.

Mom, Dad, and the boys are waiting impatiently in the hallway.

“Pete's so jittery he's spilled two cups of tea,” Dad says. “So I'm driving.”

“And I'm coming too.” Lav appears behind me. “For support,” she twinkles innocently, and darts a look at Ro. Hmmm.