Smashed (3 page)

I climbed onto my bike and rode away without waiting for him, but Matt followed, pushing hard with his back foot to pick up speed until his skateboard rumbled along beside me. We passed Cassie’s house, then turned onto Main Street, where the store, the church, the town hall, and the post office sat clustered around an island of green and a statue of a Civil War soldier. Five minutes later, we turned down the dead-end road where we lived.

“Katie!” Matt called after me as I sped ahead of him. I’d reached the spot where the road separated our two houses. I stopped and turned to look at him.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s not your fault Alec showed up.”

Matt’s face was grim. I thought about what he’d said back at
the beach, about Scott trying to suffocate him in that snowbank—
his buddy Scott
, he’d said. They were best friends, Scott and Alec, practically inseparable at school. None of us—Cassie, me, Matt—ever liked them. But with Matt, it went deeper. To Matt, anyone who hung out with Scott Richardson was a bully, too.

“It’s okay,” I said.

I looked at my empty house, a small Cape, at least a hundred and fifty years old, paint peeling, windows black against the late afternoon sunlight. A hollow feeling crept through me.

Matt’s eyes followed mine. He knew I hated staying home alone at night, knew I’d rather do anything else—even work—to avoid it. But my night job at the Big Scoop hadn’t started yet.

“Sorry I can’t hang out tonight,” Matt said. “I’ve got to work. . . .”

“I know.”

“Is Will at the McSherrys’?”

“Yeah.” My little brother would spend the night at his best friend’s house again. He stayed there a lot these days. The McSherrys had a barn full of animals and five kids—what was one more? They loved having him. And who could blame Will for wanting to be part of their family?

“Your mom working?” Matt asked.

I nodded. “Then at the boyfriend’s.”

Matt shook his head. “I’ll come over if I get off early, okay?” He reached out, wrapped his long arms around me, and squeezed me tight.

I wondered if he knew how much I needed that.

Suddenly, Alec was everywhere.

That’s how it seemed, anyway. He came to the beach a few more times that week, parking himself next to me in the sand like we were old friends, not two people who had coexisted at the same high school, at the same parties, for three years without speaking three words to each other. He showed up as I finished my last lesson, talked about rebuilding stone walls, and asked questions about teaching kids to swim. And he listened—like he was actually interested in how using a hoop helped get the littlest kids to dare put their faces under the water.

Who
is
this guy?
I thought.

By three o’clock, he’d be gone, his
siesta
as he called it, over, and missing Matt by a half hour.

Now he was at the Big Scoop, his blond hair visible above the crowd, his glance catching my eye across the room as he talked to a couple of my field hockey buddies: Megan, our goalie, and Cheryl Cooper, varsity sweeper. During the school year,
Megan, Cheryl, Cassie, and I hung out, went to the same parties. Megan was the class ringleader—if she hadn’t made the party happen, she was the first one to know: when, where, who. Then she spread the word.

Cheryl was Megan’s silent sidekick. Moonfaced and muscular, with short blond hair, Cheryl was more a presence than a personality. As our sweeper, she stoically defended the expanse of field in front of Megan’s goal and was the last line of defense a player had to get through before she could get at Megan. Cheryl’s steady, reliable, no-flash play caught opponents off guard because she was also fiercely determined—and she
won
. Her dependable defense had earned her the nickname “the Rock.”

“You can’t score without getting past
the Rock
, and
the Rock
ain’t moving,” we liked to say.

Stiflingly hot and packed with customers, the Big Scoop was deafeningly noisy. I leaned my head toward the opening in the glass window, hoping to better hear what the customer in front of me was trying to order. Behind her, I saw our hockey coach, Coach Riley. Her face lit up when she saw me; she smiled and waved. Her skin already tanned, her gray hair cropped short, she stepped up to the counter next.

“You girls should get together this summer and scrimmage,” she said after she’d ordered, nodding toward my teammates. “You’ll be that much stronger come fall.”

We were favored to win our division title this year, and we all wanted it as much as Coach Riley did. “That would be great,” I said. “We just need to figure out a time when no one’s working.”

“It can’t be an official practice or we’re breaking the rules. You girls will have to do it yourselves.”

“We’ll figure it out.” Smiling, I handed her a cone. “I’ll call everyone,” I said—and I would. It wasn’t just the division title I wanted, it was the state title. This was our senior year, and we were going to get it.

*     *     *

That night after work, I drove out to Cheryl’s summer camp on Sunset Lake in Deerfield. Her parents were away for a few days, and cars already crowded the dirt road and tiny driveway near the cabin. A steady thud of music carried from the screened porch out across the lake.

In the kitchen, ice and beer filled the sink. I opened one and took a long pull. With each swig, the tension flowed out of my body a bit more. There was nothing like a beer to end the day. I loved the feel of the bubbles going down my throat, the warmth that spread through my belly.

With each beer, my mind let go a little bit, too, my worries fading away. So what if I went home to an empty house? Who cared if my mother wanted to be with her new boyfriend more than she wanted to be with her own kids? By the third beer, the hollow space in my gut, that space that I dreaded more than anything, had disappeared.

Alec came up behind me, put his hand on my right bicep, and squeezed. “Scooping all that ice cream’s a workout. You should alternate arms—it’s better than free weights.”

“No kidding,” I said, and laughed, heat rising in my cheeks.

“You guys are set up to be state champions in hockey this year,” he said, leaning back against the pine paneling.

“You think?”

“Are you kidding? No contest. Especially with scorers like you and Cassie. Isn’t Yarmouth losing, like, seven seniors from last year? They were your only real challenge.”

“You’re right,” I said. “I can’t believe you know that.”

“I was at all your games last year. You should pay more attention to your fans,” he said.

“I will.” He caught my eye, and I looked away.

Out on the porch, a game of quarters was in full swing. “Martin’s up next,” Megan hollered. “Where’s Katie Martin?”

“Looks like you’re wanted,” Alec said.

“Nah, I’ve got to work in the morning. I shouldn’t even be here.”

“Katie!” It was Megan again.

“What the hell,” I said. “One round won’t hurt.” I moved out onto the porch with the others.

*     *     *

“What
time
is it?” I said to no one in particular, weaving toward my car in the dark behind the camp.

Suddenly, Alec was there again.
Omnipresent Alec
, I thought to myself, laughing silently at my own little joke.

“It’s after one,” he said, falling into step beside me. “What’s your curfew?”

“No curfew,” I said, my words a childish singsong. “Nobody home, nobody cares.”

He took the keys out of my hand. “You can’t drive like that.”

“I can drive fine.”

“I’m taking you. We’ll pick up your car tomorrow.”

I looked at him; I could barely make out his face in the dark. He took my elbow and steered me toward his truck.
Whatever
, I thought, letting him guide me. All I really wanted was to sleep.

*     *     *

The next morning I slept through my alarm. Swinging my backpack over my shoulder, I pulled my bike out of the barn, hopped on it as I ran, and rode off toward the beach.

Stupid, stupid, stupid
, I thought as I wheeled around the corner and down Lake Road. If I had my car, I’d be driving it right now. I loved riding my bike; it was exhilarating, especially in the early mornings. It was great exercise, too—part of my plan to keep in shape for field hockey. But it was too late for even a fast bike ride to the beach this morning. I hadn’t been thinking straight. I hadn’t been thinking
period
.

I glanced at my watch. It was past seven already. Why had I taken this stupid job, anyway? Who gets up at six thirty when there’s no school? The parents who had dragged their kids out of bed for Junior Lifesaving and driven them to the beach at this hour would not be pleased. I looked at my watch again: eight minutes late and counting.

I leaped off my bike at ten past. “Sorry,” I said to whoever was listening.

Will stood among his friends, looking puzzled and then slightly embarrassed. Parents in sweatshirts and shorts sat at
a picnic table, drinking coffee from Styrofoam cups. A couple of them glanced over at me, eyebrows raised.

“Get in the water. Hurry,” I said to the kids. The parents would have to get over it—and so would Will. I’d never be late again.

*     *     *

I pulled down the shades, shutting out the harsh afternoon light. My head hurt, my stomach hurt—every part of me felt like crap. Alec had said he’d stop by the beach in the afternoon and take me to pick up my car, but I’d left minutes after my last lesson. If I was going to throw up, it would be in a cool, dark place of my own.

I had no idea how much time had passed when the phone rang, waking me. Pulling back a shade, I saw the light had faded slightly outside the window; the sun sat lower and to the west. Curled up on my bed, I’d been asleep for four hours. I reached the phone on its fifth ring.

Omnipresent Alec.

I felt terrible turning down Alec’s offer of help, but I couldn’t go get my car from Cheryl’s camp, not now. Matt’s family was expecting me for dinner in half an hour, and I’d promised Matt I’d look through his photographs with him after that. There were hundreds of them, and if he didn’t start weeding them out now, he’d never have a portfolio ready when he needed it in the fall.

“No problem,” Alec said. “Are you working tomorrow night? I could drive you out to Cheryl’s before that. You’d get to work
and have your car to drive home after your shift. I’ll come by at three o’clock.”

“You’re amazing, Alec.
Thank
you,” I said, and hung up.

Had I really just told Alec Osborne he was amazing?

*     *     *

“You look sick,” Matt said. “You should go home.”

“I’m okay,” I said.

“You don’t look okay. Even the twins noticed you hardly ate anything.”

“I’m
fine
,” I insisted, sitting down on his bed.

What else could I say? I could lie and tell him that I was sick—the flu or something—but I already felt bad enough without a lie to my best friend topping off my brilliant last twenty-four hours. But I couldn’t tell him the truth: that I’d been out drinking until two in the morning, that I had the beer hangover from hell, and that I’d been so smashed the night before that Alec Osborne had driven me home—that, in fact, my car was still at Cheryl’s camp.

No, that wouldn’t fly with Matt. Never mind the Alec-driving-me-home part; Matt thought drinking was a complete waste of time. If I told him the truth, I’d have to listen to another one of his drinking-is-for-idiots speeches. Even without a pounding headache, I couldn’t endure that.

Besides, this was important. Photography was to Matt what field hockey was to me—his passion, maybe even his future. He’d been snapping pictures for years, and right from the start he’d had an eye for unusual things. He’d shoot a bug from inches
away, or a crumpled candy wrapper, or a drain pipe that ran down the wall of our school. He’d lie down on the ground and take a picture of the side of the building, looking
up
.

He knew going to art school was probably crazy, that the chances of making a living taking pictures was pretty slim, and that his parents worried about that. But he had to try. Selecting photos for a portfolio was the first step.

I took a sip of water from the glass I clutched and tried once again not to throw up. “Come on,” I said to Matt. “Let’s look at some pictures.”

“This could use a little trim,” Alec said. He was standing on the edge of my overgrown lawn the next day. Neglected for two weeks, the grass had become overrun with hundreds of bright yellow dandelions.

“Yeah, a
little
one,” I said.

He laughed. “You ready?”

Alec’s unmistakable blue and silver pickup truck, lawn mower in the back, sat like a circus elephant in the driveway. I might as well have had a loudspeaker pointed at Matt’s house blaring the news of Alec’s appearance at my house. Matt and his father were not yet home, but the sooner we left, the better.

“Thanks again,” I said as we pulled out of the driveway. “My mom is never around, and I wouldn’t have had any other way to get to work tonight.”

“Where’s your mom?” he asked.

“She’s a nurse in Portland. Maine Medical pays better, especially when she works nights and overtime, and she’s trying
to save for my college. In case I don’t get a scholarship.”

“For field hockey?” He caught my eye. “You’ll get it,” he said, like he knew—just
knew
—I would. Why did
he
have such confidence in me?

It was like he could read my thoughts. “I’ve seen you play plenty of times,” he added. “Believe me, you’ll get one.”

“Anyway, my mom is stressed out about paying for my college.”

“She’s got a long commute.”

“She doesn’t drive it every day. She started staying down there after she met this doctor. We hardly see her anymore.”

“I hope you like him better than I like my stepmother,” he said, turning onto the main road.

“No worries there. I never even met him. A couple years ago, she started going on this dating spree. The guy she sees now is, like, doctor number five or six. I met one of them once—he actually came out here—but then she broke up with him for a surgeon. It turned out later that he was married.”