Dunk (14 page)

“A patrol car came to the house. The cops were looking for the parents of Chad Turner. I just happened to be heading down the front walk when they arrived, so they figured we might be related. They were going to let you sit there until they got in touch with a parent. I had a nice talk with the two officers who brought you here. As far as I can tell, Manetti's not a bad fellow.” He let his evaluation of Officer Costas go unspoken. “Anyhow, I promised to take you home.”

“Isn't that illegal? Impersonating a parent?”

“You're not the best person to be judging someone right now, are you? Besides, I never made any claims. I just let them believe what they wanted to believe. They were happy to find a volunteer to take you off their hands.”

“I can't go home. I have to go see how Jason is.” I didn't want to be with Malcolm. I didn't want to owe him anything. Especially after the way I'd set him up with Stinger in the tank.

Malcolm shook his head. “It's past visiting hours. They wouldn't let you see him. When you get home, you can call the hospital and find out how he's doing.”

I'd get back a lot faster if I didn't wait for Malcolm. I jogged ahead, then started running. Behind me, I heard him call out, “You're welcome.”

I ran until I lost my breath, then jogged, then ran again. I had a long way to go. The police station was far up on First Street. According to the clock I'd seen by the front desk, we'd left there around ten thirty. I figured I'd get home before eleven. After I called the hospital, I could go see if Gwen was still at the Cat-a-Pult. I needed to talk to her right away, before she started dreaming up all kinds of explanations for my behavior.

H
ALFWAY HOME IT STARTED TO DRIZZLE
. B
EFORE LONG THE
drizzle turned into a steady rain. I didn't even bother hunching over. I just let the drops beat down on me and soak in.

By the time I reached the house, it was pouring. Through the curtains I could see Mom at the table, drinking a cup of tea. I stood on the porch for a moment, letting the water drip off me, holding the door open with one hand as I ran the other through my hair.

“You're soaked,” Mom said.

“I'm fine. Just got caught in the rain. Jason's sick. He's in the hospital.”

Mom set down the cup with a clatter. “What's wrong with him?”

“I don't know. He got sick on the boardwalk, then he just collapsed.” I grabbed the phone book from the top of the fridge. The pages blotted up water from my hands and stuck together. Finally, I found the number.

My call was answered on the first ring. “Mercy General. How can I help you?” a woman asked.

“I'm trying to find out about someone.”

“What's the patient's name?”

“Jason Lahasca.”

“One moment.” I heard her put the phone down. A minute later, she said, “He's out of intensive care. They've transferred him to room 387.”

“Intensive care!” I said.

Mom came over and put a hand on my shoulder.

“How is he?” I asked.

There was another pause, filled with the clacking of a PC keyboard. “I really don't have any other information at this time,” the woman said. “I'm sorry.”

“Thanks.” I hung up the phone, then dialed Jason's home number.

After four rings the machine answered. “Howdy,” Jason's recorded voice said. “We're on the beach. Why aren't you? Leave a message at the beach. I mean, at the beep.”

“Nobody's home,” I told Mom. I glanced down at our own machine. There was one message on it. I looked back at the table. Mom had her test stuff spread out. She hadn't even thought to check for messages.

“Well, there's nothing you can do tonight,” she said. “I'm sure he'll be fine. We'll go to the hospital first thing in the morning, okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Why don't you get out of those wet clothes?”

“I will,” I said, though I wasn't ready to do that yet. If I couldn't see Jason, I had to at least try to see Gwen. “You aren't going to study all night, are you? You've got to get up early.” I opened the fridge and pretended to hunt for a snack, though I wanted to run right out the door.

Mom glanced at the clock. “I didn't realize it was this late.”
She finished her tea and went to bed. The instant she closed her door, I turned down the volume on the answering machine and played the message. It was from the cops. I erased it, then slipped outside and ran to the boardwalk. I was so wet now that it didn't matter whether I was running in the rain or swimming in the surf. The water flooded over the curb near the end of the block, washing across the sidewalk, lapping at my ankles.

I hoped I could catch Gwen before everything closed down. But as I reached the top of the ramp, a blast of wind slapped me in the face. With that kind of storm sweeping in from the ocean, nothing would be open.

I looked both ways along the boardwalk, squinting against the stinging force of the rain. There wasn't a person in sight. The wind ripped at the signs hanging over the store entrances, swinging them straight out like wings, and swept the water across the boards in overlapping waves. A loud bang startled me as a standing sign blew over.

I put my head down and pushed through the storm, even though I knew it was pointless to go to the Cat-a-Pult. The games and stores were shut tight. The rides, unlit, rose around me like lifeless metal skeletons. The vacationers were tucked safely in their motel rooms, watching the Weather Channel and arguing about who had picked this lousy week to come to the shore.

I reached Wild Willy's Pier. The Bozo tank seemed as dead as everything else on the boardwalk. Nobody was around to stop me. The cops would be out of the rain, just like everyone else. Did the world look any different from the inside? I climbed into the tank and sat on the ledge, dangling my feet in the water. It was nothing to me now. Just another set of bars. Just more water. Just the same wet, miserable world.

“
Hey, stupid!
” I shouted.

The wind ripped my words away, scattering them like a handful of litter.

“You stupid ass.” This time I didn't shout. I didn't have to. The insult was meant for me. I was the mark. I was the clueless loser who'd left his best friend alone on a bench when he needed him the most. Across the way, a sign on a game said
ONE WIN CHOICE
—boardwalk shorthand for
one win lets you pick whatever prize you want
. Next to it, above a shop entrance, another sign claimed
WE HAVE WHATEVER YOU WANT
.

No you don't
. I grabbed the bars on either side of me. “What do I want?” I said. I didn't know. I wanted Jason to be okay. I wanted Gwen to smile at me again. I wanted Mom to be happy. Those were the things I wanted right now. But what about tomorrow or next year? What did I want? I didn't have a clue. Everyone else knew what they wanted. Everyone. Jason had a goal. Corey had his career all planned out. Mike had the army. What did I have?

A strong gust whipped through the pier, making the poles behind me creak. The rain on the boardwalk crackled like grease in a frying pan.

The faintest sound mingled with the noise of the storm. Laughter. A couple walked by, staying close to the storefronts on the opposite side of the boardwalk, though the overhang gave no shelter against the rain blowing in from the east. The man carried an umbrella that had been ripped inside out and torn to shreds by the wind. They didn't seem to care. They were enjoying the beating that the wind and rain was giving them. Just the two of them.

“It won't last!” I shouted.

The man glanced my way for a moment, but I could tell he didn't see me in the shadows. They walked on past.

Overhead, thunder rumbled. I looked at the iron bars where I clutched them and at the dark water where I dangled my feet, then glared at the sky and shouted, “Go ahead! I dare you!”

But God didn't hurl any lightning bolts to put me out of my misery. He was probably less aware of me than the couple who'd just walked past. I could shout at heaven until my throat bled. It didn't matter. My voice wouldn't even be a whisper in the wind.

After the couple had moved far out of sight, I climbed from the cage. I must have wanted more punishment. I walked on over to the Cat-a-Pult. It was as shut and abandoned as everything else, the prizes packed away, the buckets and sand pit covered with a tarp. The game was dead and dark.

I went back home, dried off, and crawled into bed.

I
N THE MORNING
M
OM DROVE ME THE MILE AND A HALF TO
the hospital. The rain had stopped, but the sky was dark with clouds. “Want me to go in with you?” she asked when we reached the parking lot.

“That's okay. You need to get to work. I can walk home.” I knew she'd already missed the busiest part of the morning shift. Besides, I was worried that Jason might mention the cops.

“You sure? I'd like to find out how he is.”

“I'm sure. I'll call you at the diner as soon as I know anything.” I got out of the car and watched her drive off.

A woman at the front desk told me Jason was on the third floor, in the pediatrics ward. I guess that should have been funny, since he's not a little kid. But right now nothing was funny. Not here. A hospital isn't a place people go to for a laugh.

Jason looked awful. At first, when I peeked into the room from the hallway, I wasn't even sure it was him. All I saw was a pale kid hooked up to a bunch of wires and tubes. His skin had that dead look of uncooked chicken.

“Hi.” I scrunched up my nose. The room smelled almost too clean. He was alone. There was only one bed. But a purse hanging from the back of a chair told me his mom was nearby.

“Hey . . .” Jason gave a weak nod.

“How you feeling?”

His lips twitched in what might have been a smile. “Been better.”

“Chad . . .” someone said from behind me.

I turned to face Jason's parents as they walked in from the hallway.

“What's wrong with him?” I asked.

“The doctors don't know yet,” his dad said. He was clutching a Styrofoam cup in one hand. The rim was jagged where he'd torn off small pieces. I noticed the wastebasket was half filled with shredded cups.

His mother, her eyes red, stared at me and said, “Maybe you can tell us.”

“I don't know what happened,” I said. “Honest. We were heading home. Jason was fine. And then he wasn't.”

She looked at me suspiciously, but Jason's dad said, “Nobody's blaming you.”

“Thanks.” I felt some of the tension drain from me. He'd always been a decent guy. Always treated me well. Even back in freshman year when I'd talked Jason into cutting class. Or last year when we'd gotten caught trying to sneak into a movie. It would be awful if they thought I had anything to do with this.

He wasn't finished. “The important thing is for the doctors to have as much information as possible.”

“Right.” That made sense. “Jason played a lot of volleyball.” I tried to think what else I could tell them.

“Do you remember eating or drinking anything unusual?” Jason's dad asked.

“No.” I thought back. “Nothing.”

Jason's dad lowered his voice. “Maybe one of your friends gave you boys some pills?”

“Pills? No way.” I shook my head. This was getting very uncomfortable. I glanced at Jason for support, but he looked like he was drifting off.

“Just tell me, okay?” his dad said. “You won't get in trouble. But we have to know.”

“We didn't take anything. I swear!” I realized I was shouting. This was crazy. I'd told the truth. It wasn't my fault that they didn't believe me.

“There's more going on here than a couple beers,” Jason's dad said.

Not that again. One morning last summer, on the way to Jason's place, I'd passed a rental house where there'd been a major party. I found half a six-pack on the lawn. I'm not even sure why I picked it up. I don't like beer. The smell reminds me of my dad. But I brought the cans with me. Jason didn't want them, either. We didn't even bother to hide them. I just put them on his desk and we got involved with other stuff. When his mom saw them, she flipped out on us. I told her right away that they were mine, so Jason wouldn't get in trouble. She'd been pretty angry with me, and she'd stayed angry for almost a month.

Jason's dad looked like he planned to keep asking questions. There was no way I was going to hang around while he grilled me.

“I gotta go,” I said. I rushed into the hall and headed toward the elevator.

I hadn't gone more than a couple steps when it hit me. Oh, crap. Now I really looked guilty because I was running off. I couldn't win. If I stayed, they'd treat me like a criminal. If I left, they'd think I'd done something wrong. I turned toward the door, wondering if I should go back.

As I stood there trying to decide what to do, a doctor brushed past me and went into the room. I stayed where I was and listened.

“There is some good news,” he said. “We've ruled out a stroke.”

“A stroke?” Jason's mom said. “He's only sixteen.”

“Some of the symptoms were there,” the doctor said. “The confusion, the partial paralysis. The same symptoms can occur with what we call a transient ischemic episode, where a clot passes through the brain. Those can happen for many reasons. But there's also evidence of an Addisonian crisis. Right now, the numbers for his adrenal hormones—”

“You can make him better, can't you?” Jason's mom asked.

There was a pause. “Whatever is going on, it involves more than just his adrenal glands,” the doctor said. “Other systems seem to be under stress. His lungs are involved. Possibly his kidneys. We'll just have to keep running tests.”

“He's an athlete,” Jason's mom said. “He's in great shape. He exercises every day. He can't be sick. You should talk to that boy he was with. Chad Turner. Ask him. Then you'll find some answers.”