Drummer Girl (16 page)

“Nurse? “ she called loudly. A woman at the nursing station raised her head. “I think Tay needs some medicine or something.”

The nurse was instantly on the move. Her rubbed soled shoes squeaked on the gleaming linoleum. As she passed Sid who had pressed herself against the door frame, she said, “There is a call button at the bed. Shouting can upset our other patients.”

She fussed around Taylor for a few minutes, adjusted some drips, tucked and straightened his bedding, took his pulse again. Sid had eased toward the bed and now stood at its foot.

The nurse skewered Sid with a sharp glare. “Visiting is very tiring for someone in his condition. His medication has been cut back to every four hours and he isn't due for more yet. It's easier to control pain when you're resting peacefully. You should leave now and let him do that.”

Sid's fingers tapped against her thigh in a rapid paradiddle rhythm. “I won't talk, okay? I promised Mr. Janzen I'd stay 'til they got back.”

The nurse gave her a skeptical glance and double-checked the drips. She paused by Sid on her way out. “Not a word.” She walked out of the room. Crisply. Without a backward glance.

Sid inched around to Taylor's left side. She was going to whisper something to him about the nurse being one tough bag, but his eyes were already starting to close. Before they did he managed a barely audible whisper. “Be you.”

The Janzens gave Sid another bedside shift in the afternoon. He slept. She held his hand and tried to decide if their short conversation meant that Taylor forgave her. He hadn't actually said so, but at least they were talking. As for the rest, she guessed Taylor couldn't or hadn't decided if he preferred girls or guys. She didn't much care. He was still Taylor; she was still Sid. And if she had anything to say about it, they were still friends.

When the Janzens relieved her, Sid made her way home on the bus. She walked from the bus stop, head down, shoulders slumped, every step an effort. The image of Taylor, tethered in his bed by tubes and slings, pulsed in her mind, accompanied by the monotonous beat –
beep, beep
– of a hospital monitor.

Jean-clad legs and feet blocked the front step. Sid raised her head. “Brad? What are you doing here?” It came out wrong: accusatory when she was relieved. Surprised, but relieved.

“Is it true?” He pushed his glasses up his nose and stared.

A bass drum started booming in her stomach. “What?”

“That you and your boyfriend had a fight, and that's the only reason you even looked at me at the wedding.” Brad joined her on the sidewalk. “That he had some kind of accident and you've gone running back to him.”

“Taylor's a friend. That's all he's ever been, Brad. I just spent all day at the hospital, watching my best friend, bruised and broken and eaten up with pain – and you think...”

Jumbled emotions paraded across Brad's face. His eyebrows lowered to hide behind his glasses. “So what I heard was a lie? And I shouldn't believe that there's a video with you Frenching with some band guys...and other things.”

“Shit.” Had it gone viral that fast?

Brad made a disgusted noise.

Sid grabbed Brad's forearm. “I was set up. And I swear I didn't do any
other things.
Please say you believe me.”

“Why? Because we have such a long and trusting relationship?”

“No! Because...” James pulled into the driveway, beside Brad's jeep which she hadn't even noticed before. From behind the wheel he watched them and radiated fury. “Look. Heather must have told you all those lies. Believe me because I like you. Has Heather
ever
been nice to you, Brad? Even once? Was she being nice to you when she told you all that crap?”

For a second he looked like he wanted to believe her. Then he pulled free and walked away, brushing by James without a word.

James blocked her view, scowling as they both listened to the jeep's engine whine in reverse, then rev as it accelerated down the street. “Do you mind explaining to me what he was doing here when I thought you were at the hospital?”

“Yes, I mind. I mind a lot.”

25 |
one hand crossover

Jazz sashayed through Sid's headphones and into her fingertips. She was using brushes instead of sticks, working to control the flow so her drumming slid under the music wafting through her mind and buoyed it up instead of drowning it. She started the song over again, for the umpteenth time, then the thought of those jerks flung her into an angry fill, a crash of bass and cymbals. She threw down the brushes – they didn't work at all for venting.

Sid found a Rush song on her
iPod
and lay on the rug, listening to it over and over as she worked out drum tabs for it, then returned to the drums and attempted to follow Neil Peart's lead. He was a tough one to keep up with. On the sixth go through, when she was starting to feel like she was making some headway, movement on the stairs made her pause. She didn't look, decided to keep going and played the song a seventh time before she let James interrupt her. He was being very patient.

When the song finished, she laid her sticks on the snare and removed her headphones.

Brock sat on the third step up, wearing a red golf shirt and jeans with a hole in one knee. She'd never seen him in such casual clothes. He clapped slowly. “I have no idea what song you were accompanying, but it sounded good from here.”

“'Workin' Them Angels.'”

Brock smiled. “One of the newer Rush
cd
s. That's a good song.”

“You listen to Rush?”

“Sometimes. They've been around for a long time.” He leaned against the wall and propped one foot on the bottom step. “So are you?”

“What?”

“Working them angels? You know, your guardian angels?”

“If I ever had any, they've moved on to an easier gig.”

“Tough week.”

“Why are you here?”

“Your dad called this morning, pretty choked you were skipping, so I asked him if I could come over this evening. I needed to talk to you anyway.”

“Losing sleep?”

“Actually, yes. It took me three cups of coffee to get moving this morning.” He didn't change position, but Sid noticed new alertness in his body, as if his casual pose hid his readiness to spring into action. “You need to know what's been happening, Sid. It's getting way bigger than either of us could have predicted.”

“I don't know what you're talking about.”

“Yes, you do. I need honesty, Sid. And I need you to hear me out. A friend of yours came into my office last Wednesday, forty minutes after class ended. I was packing up to go home.”

“Taylor?” No. That would have been around the time they had been arguing, just before he took off on his bike.

“Narain. He was shaking he was so upset. Gave me a copy of a photocopied poster that had been plastered all over the school. So I booted up my laptop and searched out the video. Narain defended you loudly, said that wasn't your style. It certainly looked to me like Rocklin forced his attention on you. And that editing at the end was totally unacceptable. I'm really sorry they subjected you to that, Sidney. I tried to talk to you about it on Friday at the hospital but I'm afraid my approach was a bit heavy-handed. Like a cop, I think you said.”

The back of Sid's eyes started to sting. Narain had stood up for her? What a stupid thing to want to cry about. She should be happy. Instead she felt even more miserable. She moved to the sofa and curled up on one end.

Brock crossed the room and sat on the floor at the other end of the sofa. “Is that why Taylor had his accident? Because he was upset about the video?”

Sid nodded. A few tears slipped down her cheeks. She wiped them away with hasty swipes. She hated crying, and in front of someone was the worst. “At first he thought it was true. Yesterday he told me that his ride had cleared his head. Until that car...” More tears. “Shit.”

“It's okay, Sid. Tears are a release, not a sign of weakness.”

She still gulped them back, forced herself back into a semblance of control. When she felt like she could speak, she said, “Other than my life being shot to pieces, what's so big about this?”

“Isn't that enough?” He rested his forearms on his upraised knees. “I went around and removed any posters I could find. But
vp
Finning had gotten a hold of one. She called me at home on Wednesday night and it spiraled from there. Those boys were smart enough to keep their faces off camera, but their voices were easy to identify. I really want to say that Rock cracked like a piece of thin shale.” He paused.

Was he waiting for Sid to smile at his bad pun? She sniffed loudly and hugged her knees closer. Brock continued, “Han admitted who was involved. All four boys are suspended until Wednesday. There could be further disciplinary action.”

“A longer suspension?”

“No, Sidney.” Brock shifted so he was facing her. “I mean that
vp
Finning is furious that this happened on
her watch,
as she put it, and she's pushing this as far as she can. She has called in the police.”

26 |
right hand lead

Sid gaped at Brock.

He glanced at his watch. “An officer will be showing up any minute to get your statement. We might want to head upstairs. I can stay during the interview if you want.”

“Statement?” she squeaked.

“Yes. They've already interviewed all four guys, and got a copy of the video off Wes's computer. They're part of a special liaison unit working with the schools. Mostly they try to educate, but in serious cases like this they will investigate.” He stood up and brushed off. “You'll be happy to know that Wes's parents made him take the video down. I have the feeling he might not have Internet privileges for a while.”

“But the police?”

“After they get their statement from you, they'll decide how to proceed.”

“Meaning?” Sid followed when Brock headed toward the stairs.

He spoke over his shoulder as he ascended. “Meaning they might want to press charges.”

Sid absorbed that thought in silence as they walked into the kitchen. Charges. Did that mean court, a trial? If Wes was the ringleader he might get nailed. He had screwed up her life in so many ways she had lost count. Now...

Something inside gave a victory shout.
Payback time.

James stood at the sink, back to the room, downing a glass of milk. Sid saw the open bottle of antacid tablets on the counter. Victory burned to ashes in a flash of guilt.

“I had to tell him,” Brock whispered. “It should've been you, Sidney. You should've let him know what was happening.”

She almost dropped the F-bomb, something she'd promised James she'd never do. He hated that word above all words. She glared at Brock. “Did he see it?”

He shook his head. Sid's relief was short-lived.

The doorbell rang. James turned. “I'll let you get that, Sid, and since you don't seem to want to keep me informed, I'll be in my office.”

“Dad...” He strode past her without looking. “Dad!”

He hesitated by his office door. “You're right, Sid. I'm never around for you lately. This promotion has consumed my life and I let my job become more important than my family. But this... I'm sorry. I can't listen to you tell a police officer what you wouldn't tell me. That probably makes me a lousy dad. I think I already was one.” He disappeared into his office.

Sid swore in her mind. Her mouth was so dry nothing came out.

Brock said, “Do you want me to stay?”

She nodded. She didn't want to face this alone.

Brock laid his hand on her shoulder. It was the first time he'd ever touched her. “I like you, Sid. I like your dad. The pair of you need to work out some stuff, but I'm sure you know that. I run a private practise on Tuesday and Thursday evenings and I'd really like to counsel you together. Think about it, okay?”

Sid moistened her lips. “Dad'll never agree.”

“Actually, he already has, but he's leaving it up to you.”

Talk about dropping a bomb. Sid frowned at him. “Yes, no, maybe, I'll think about it.”

“Well, that about covers it. Bad timing, I know. We'll talk in a week or two.”

Officer Downing was about the same age as Brock, or a few years younger. And female. That made things easier. They sat at the kitchen table and Sid outlined what had happened. The officer wanted to know what had led up to this incident, so Sid found herself having to tell all, starting with the party and the audition and how trying to change her image blew up in her face. On one level it was humiliating, but on another, Sid felt a lead weight lifting. She was finally getting to talk to someone. She almost forgot Brock was there, taking notes in his mind.

When she was done the officer threw another curve ball at her. “You realize, Sidney, that this might be more serious than cyber bullying, as if that weren't enough.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, if things happened as you claim, then we're talking alleged sexual assault.”

Sid gaped at her. “When Brock mentioned charges, I thought he was talking about posting the video on the ‘Net.” She squinted at him. “Did you know about this?”

“I thought it might be a possibility.”

“But...it was just a kiss.”

“No,” the officer said. “You're talking like it was a peck on the cheek. His tongue was down your throat. A very sexual act. The video clearly shows that. And if it was forced as you allege, that makes it sexual assault, which is very serious. Criminal code. You need to decide if you're going to press charges.”

Sid was silent as Brock showed the officer out. She tried to wrap her mind around everything that had been said. She drifted to the front entrance.

“Sidney,” Brock said, as he slipped into a jean jacket, “take one more day of grace if you like, but you have to come to school on Wednesday. Without fail.”

That cleared the mist from her thoughts. She bit her lip, then made herself stop and said, “Do you have any idea how crappy that day will be for me?”

“Way crappier than you know.”

“Meaning?”

“I mentioned Officer Downing is part of a police-school liaison team. She and her partner will be talking to the whole student body in an assembly.”

“About the video?” Sid's voice cracked.

“Yes. And about the lies and manipulation and sexual harassment.”

“I have to sit through that? Even if they don't name names, everyone will know it's me.”

“I think you should hear it, but I can arrange for you to be backstage.”

“And the guys?”

“They'll be there. Right after, the police will meet with them and their parents.”

“I still don't see why I have to be there.” She forced bravado into her voice, but inside felt sick at the prospect of even accidentally coming face-to-face with those guys. Especially Rocklin. Just thinking of him made her want to gag. The coolest guys around had talked to the police because of her, might be facing charges because of her. What was she supposed to do?

Taylor's accident had given her an excuse to hide from the whole mess, and she realized now that she had done just that. She really wasn't sure she could go through with Wednesday. But she realized that to not go through with it was to face another day just like it when she did return.

“I'm starting to think that dropping out is a better and better idea. Or home schooling.”

Brock smiled, unperturbed by the suggestion. “Only if you want to spend your life being afraid, Sidney. And you don't strike me as the type who likes to do that.”

“I've been doing it.”

“And how do you feel?”

“Like I want to hit something.”

Brock laughed. “Pretty normal reaction, I'd say. Make sure you tell your dad what's happening Wednesday. He needs to know. And you've got a lot to think about. I'll leave you to it.” He handed her a business card. “If you want to talk, call my cell. Any time. Okay?”

“3 a.m.?”

“I'll probably be awake.” He winked and walked out the door.