Twist (21 page)

Dad jumps over the railing and he's slapping me with a high five. And I've amazed myself. It's several minutes before everything simmers down and we're able to finish the final events. But my heart doesn't slow—that was the best swim ever.

By the end of the meet, we're ten points ahead as a team. I've won two races, with one record, and we came in second for the relay. What a day!

“I bet those scouts want you now,” Coach Drake says on the way to the locker room. “Your Dad's invited me along, but I want to make sure you're good with that.”

“Absolutely,” I say. But I think,
Why bother. I'll never qualify with this brain
.

I get dressed and step outside the locker room. The local news team is standing there waiting for me!

“Can we ask you a few questions, Lucas Drake? It's for the KTLA evening news.” A short blonde woman pushes some people out of the way and primps her hair. She doesn't even wait for me to answer. She stands next to me with a microphone. “Roll 'em, Mac,” she says in a gruff voice. Then she puts on this fake smile and says, “We're here with Lucas Drake at Sage Creek High, where he's just broken a state record in the two-hundred-yard freestyle. How does it feel to be a record holder?” She shoves the microphone under my chin.

I dip my head down to it and say, “Great.”

“Keep it rolling, we'll edit,” she says to Mac. Then she whispers in my ear, “Don't bend your head, just talk.”

“Like I should be going to Disneyland,” I say with a bigger fake smile than hers.

“
The miracle here is that Lucas Drake was beaten and left for dead a few months back and took up swimming as part of his rehabilitation program. How does your family feel about your newfound success?”

And like a pro I say, “They're proud, how else would they feel? But I've always been a swimmer. Usually in the ocean with a surfboard.”

And that was the end of the interview. The woman says some more things into the microphone and when Mac the cameraman put everything away, my friends that were still standing around clap. I wave and bow toward my teammates, and all the people left in the stands give us a big round of applause.

“You're a natural, Luke,” the woman says. “See you next time.”

As everyone clears away, I spend a few minutes with the scout from USC, as promised. His name is John Davis. We walk slowly around the edge of the pool. He wants to know what my major is going to be. I say, “I don't know.” And that's because I don't know if I can even go.

We chat for a little while about swimming and the USC campus. I tell him, “I have to get going.” And then I hand him off to Dad.

“Finished already?” Dad asks.

“Yes,” I respond, and then I hold my breath, hoping he'll forget about my punishment from yesterday. “I'm going with Simon.”

“What about dinner with John and Coach Hammond?” Dad says.

“You guys go. I'm sold on the school. Get me the scholarship,” I say, because I don't want to ruin Dad's dream and I know he's forgotten all about yesterday—at least for now.

“
Are we out?” Simon asks.

“Let's go.”

“Where are you going?” Mom says.

“Hanging with the guys.” I hug her.

“Home by midnight.” Mom grabs my arm and adds, “Be careful.”

And I take off after Simon before she can say anything else.

We walk through the school and I tell Simon that I remember. It's like these guys forget that I forgot. “Oh, good,” he says.

“That's all you got? You hated me.”

“No,” he says. “I didn't hate you. I just didn't care for you. You were a jerk, at first.”

“Mom and Dad were the same. Like, oh—well, good . . . no big deal, Luke's back. What's with you people? I can't please you either way.” I grab Simon's neck and smack his head.

We laugh and stumble to the car. A couple of strangers congratulate me as I open the car door. Simon looks at his reflection in the mirror. “Let's go to the party in the Heights,” he says. “A lot of cute girls there.”

“Actually, I want you to drop me at Bea's.”

He puts the car in gear. “Dude, we're too young to be tied down.”

“You need my help at this party or something? 'Cause I'm not into it right now,” I say.

He turns on the radio and taps the steering wheel. “I'll drop you. But you're on your own after that. I'm going out.”

“
That's all I'm asking. Really appreciate it,” I say.

“You ought to consider Isabella as a backup.” Simon keeps tapping to the song. “She's a hottie.”

“Backup? What's wrong with you?” I smack the dash. “How mean is that to Isabella . . . ‘Excuse me, Bella, can you be my maybe someday girl.'” I hear the shrillness in my voice. “Not cool, guy.”

“She's just cute. But if you don't want her, can I have her?”

“Really?” I say. “
Have
her? You might want to talk to Isabella. Isn't that her decision?”

“Technically she's slated for you, because she likes you.”

“Ask her out,” I say. “She's not slated for anyone. You're being a jerk.”

“Whatever,” he says.

He slams the car into park when we get to Beatrice's house. “You going to be okay in there with the espionage family?”

“Of course,” I say.

“Glad your back, Luke!” Simon puts his knuckles up and we slam fists. “Take it easy, speed racer.”

Chapter
40

Simon turns his radio to full volume and leaves me standing on the sidewalk. Charlotte pokes her head out the front door. “Luke?” she says. “What are you doing here?”

My limbs go numb because she might not let me in the house. I walk a few steps toward her and say, “I broke a record today. USC wants me. I thought I could tell Bea about it?”

“Well, that's great news. I wasn't able to go.” She gestures for me to come in. “Did you see George there?”

“No. But there were a lot of people.” Remembering the meet, a rush of energy passes through my body. “Charlotte, you should have seen it. I was in the zone. I swam my heart out.”

“I bet your mom's so proud.”

I'm wearing a grin wider than the Arctic, and I can't tame it if I try.

“Well, go up there and tell Beatrice. She'll want to know.”

I take the steps two at a time. I knock on her door and she says, “Come in.”

When I enter, she's dressed and sitting in the chair. “Hey,” she says. “I thought you were George. How'd it go?”

I can't help myself. I kneel down and kiss her, and her lips are soft. We're electrical together. She's wraps a hand on my neck, like we do this every day. “Mr. Drake, what happened at the swim meet?”

“
I broke a record, two-hundred-yard freestyle.” I stare at her because she looks so normal. “You look sweet, I could . . .pinch you.”

“I'm having a good day. You'd never believe it if I told you about this treatment. It sounds unreal.”

I sit on the floor at her feet. “Tell me. I want to know everything.” I touch her ankle and it's so delicate; I run my hand up her calf. My fingers twitch as my mind undresses Beatrice—our skins touch. I shake the image away and rest my hand on top of her foot.

“Well, first, you know that infection ate holes in my brain, right?”

“No way,” I say. “You don't look like you have a holey brain.”

“Oh yes, this is no joke. So—”

“Is that the reason for the headaches?”

“I guess. But then my dad developed this drug, or I should say reengineered the medicine.”

“Your dad?” I say.
Here comes the wacky again
.

“Yeah, it's all hush-hush. But this drug activates the neurons in my brain, across every bit of gray matter. So I can relearn what I need to, using other brain parts, and then I get to keep the super smarts that are left behind.”

“I'm lost.”

“My brain has holes that don't grow back. The infection ate it away. The drug helps the other parts of my brain take over. Fully loaded, enhanced brain tissue.”

I lift her foot onto my lap and rub the sole. “So why was he on the FBI's Most Wanted list?” I'm sad because my girl sounds like she's a bit insane. But I can live with
this.
It's not like what Mom thinks.

“They wanted this drug. A weapon of intelligence.”

“What?”

“Oh yeah, it makes you really smart. But Dad wouldn't give it to the government because it was still in development. And the U.S. Government thought he was selling it to another country. That branch of the NSA, Sanctity, made up false charges and the FBI didn't know, so they did whatever they could to find him.”

Her imagination makes me smile. “Bea, when you mentioned that your dad was dead, what did you mean?”

She shifts her body, pulls her foot from my grasp, and props her butt on the edge of the chair. “He's dead?”

“No. You said your dad wasn't Teddy,” I say.

Beatrice exhales. “Don't scare me like that, Luke.” Then she relaxes into the chair. “When I get those headaches and take pain medicine, I say stupid things that don't make sense.”

“Are you on pain medicine now?” I ask.

“No, why?”

“Because it doesn't seem real,” I answer.

“I agree.” She snorts. “The last few months have been ridiculous . . .” She hesitates. “Never mind the details, it will really make your head spin.”

“Do you think your dad did this to me?”

She stares at my forehead, because that's where I'm pointing. She has a confused look on her face.

“
My head. I have brain damage,” I say.

Bea slips down to the floor next to me. She puts her hand on my cheek and gazes into my eyes. “You're talking about the beating?”

I shut my eyes because I feel like she can see how slow I am. “Yes, the beating.”

“I think the NSA did it.”

I open my eyes and see my reflection in her pupils, that's how close our faces are.

“Your brain is damaged? It doesn't seem like it,” she says.

“Not with you, either,” I say.

“I'm having a good day, my neurons are crackling. I can tell the difference. Everything is clear.” Her head shifts to the side and she squints her eyes—examining me. Her hand is in my collar at the back of my neck, playing with my hair.

Fireflies spin in the center of my being. I put my arm around her and lift her onto my lap. My nose is in her hair and the smell of her shampoo is sweet. I sniff and push my face into it.

She grabs onto my shoulders. “You're even stronger now.”

I want to kiss her, but we just sit in this wonderful embrace. “Me, muscle man. Lean swimming machine,” I joke.

She tosses her head back and laughs. And then she gets real serious. “Are you sure your brain is damaged? Did they tell you that?”

I swallow. “They don't have to tell me, I remember what I was like before. I can't even calculate minor mathematical equations any more. It's like I get disoriented. The heavy thinking gets muddled.” I lift her off of my lap and we both stand. “Simon helps me a lot with my homework. I'm kind of dumb now.”

On
her desk is a pile of syllable cards. I stare at the deck and say, “I was confused when I first met Abby because you two resemble each other.”

Bea puts the back of my hand against her cheek and cuddles it. “Don't change the subject. We're talking about you. But I do love my Abby.”

“Your Abby?” I say.

Beatrice's fingers trace down my forearm. The hair on my arm prickles. It's a goose bump moment. “What if I told you my medicine will help?” Her fingers move to my head and she massages my scalp. “Would you try it?”

“Maybe—I can't stand this slowness. Now that I remember what it was like to be fast.”

“Might be why you like to swim so fast,” she says.

I put my arms around her because I can't keep my hands off of her. I rub her back and my hands rest on the curve of her waist. “I can't get enough of you. Do you remember our time at the beach?”

She pulls away and says, “You know the FBI had still photos? And a video!”

“I heard it was on the Internet for a short time,” I say.

“Who did that?” she asks.

“Whoever wanted your dad to attack me or get blamed,” I say.

She tucks her hair behind her ears and says, “I've thought about you a lot since then.”

I wrap my fingers around her hands and kiss her knuckles. “From day one you've captured my heart.”

“
You're so cheesy, Lucas Drake,” she says, pulling her hand away, giggling. “Dork.”

I've got this crazy grin on my face when Charlotte taps on the door, then pushes it all the way open. “Come down and have some dinner.” She's glancing from Beatrice to me. “What are you two doing?”

“Talking,” Bea says, keeping her eyes focused on me.

“Let's get you out of this room, Bea.” Charlotte motions for us to follow.

Downstairs we eat pasta, and George shows up in the middle of the meal. He cracks open a beer and pulls up a chair. “Lucas, that was dynamite.” He takes a big swig from the can. “Beatrice, you should see this kid swim. He is fast, fast, fast.”

I want to say I'm making up for my lack of brains, but I keep quiet. My eyes lock on Bea's and she has a touch of sadness there, as if we both know the cost of that race.

When Charlotte sets a plate of pasta in front of George, it's funny because he looks at it like it's going to bite him. But Beatrice nods at him and then she yells toward the kitchen, where Charlotte went. “This pasta sure is good, Aunt Charlotte, where'd you get it?”