Undercurrent (4 page)

“Why?” I ask. “Who is she?”

“She’s Neil Parson’s aunt,” the sheriff says. “His legal guardian.”

It’s clearly no coincidence, but it doesn’t explain anything to me. “And?” I ask.

“Neil Parson is missing,” he answers. “And you were the last person seen with him.”

CHAPTER 5

I’m alone, sitting up in my hospital bed. I look to the side table,
where there is a little card with a gold star embossed on it:

CRYSTAL COUNTY SHERIFF’S DEPARTMENT

MARLON PIKE, SHERIFF

It strikes me that I never knew the sheriff’s name until now. Why should I have? I don’t get into trouble. But there are plenty of other kids around town who do.

I read the address of the police station, 608 Clark Street. Below that is the station’s telephone number. The sheriff told me to call if I remember anything more about either my accident or, more importantly, the whereabouts of Neil Parson.

Well, he’ll be waiting a long time. I’ve already told him everything I know. But he doesn’t believe me. It was written all over his cigar-sucking face.

And now I’m getting paranoid. I keep thinking about all the weird things that have happened. First the business with Bryce and then with that nurse, Neil’s aunt. That was news to me—I don’t remember ever seeing her before in my life. And she hates me. Why? Because she thinks I did something to Neil? That’s ridiculous.

And then there’s Coach Keller, coming by with Hunter and Ricky. Another thing I can’t explain.

I get out of bed to go to the toilet. On the way I stop at the door and listen. I feel a jolt of fear as I hear Rose talking to her colleagues at the nearby nurses’ station. She is speaking in a low voice, but it’s clear she’s crying. The other staff members are telling her that everything will turn out all right.

I hear my name mentioned. The voices become angry. At one point a man calls me a little bastard and says I should be strung up and left to rot.

This is getting seriously out of hand.

I take a quick pee and climb back in bed before anyone catches me. Wait—
catches
me? This is ridiculous. I’m thinking like a criminal, and I didn’t even do anything!

A little while later, another nurse comes in with my lunch. I decide to play up my friendliness. I’ll show her what a nice guy I am, and what a great patient.

“Hey, this looks good,” I declare of the meal she lays out on a tray in front of me—a sad-looking ham sandwich with some neon fruit salad and a juice box alongside.

The woman stiffens, avoiding eye contact. She stabs the juice box with a straw and leaves without acknowledging my presence.

Okay, now paranoia completely takes over. I give my lunch a sniff, just to be sure no one has done anything to it. The smell is gross but a familiar gross, like something you’d smell coming from a kid’s locker. Not convinced, I begin conducting an autopsy on the sandwich, lifting up the limp lettuce and the sad piece of ham, making absolutely sure no one has messed with it.

It looks normal. Still, I can’t eat it. I wrap the dissected parts in a napkin and stick with the sealed fruit salad. I then suck the juice box dry.

I’m starting to wonder if I made the right choice by not mentioning what happened with Bryce to the sheriff. The guy did try to kill me, after all—an action police tend to find interesting. But as stupid as it sounds, Bryce is still my friend. I don’t want to get him in trouble, that’s for sure. I just need to talk to him—to find out what the heck is in his head. There has to be a rational explanation for what he did. It must be some sort of weird misunderstanding.

But first I have to find a way out of this hospital. And I’m starting to feel like the only way that’s going to happen is in a mortician’s van. Whatever the word is about me, it’s starting to spread. Everyone who comes in either gives me dirty looks or completely ignores me. I can’t let my guard down for a second.

It’s a relief when my mother finally arrives. She looks very tired and much older, I catch myself thinking. There is gray in her hair that I don’t remember. She is wearing old jeans and a sweatshirt, and she has no makeup on, which is odd.

“Sorry I’m late, dear,” she says. “We’ve just been so exhausted, we overslept. Your father had to go to work though. He took a lot of time off because of your accident, so has quite a bit of catching up to do.”

Mom pulls out a magazine she’s brought me to read, which is great, because I’m bored. But it’s a
Sports Illustrated
—something I couldn’t care less about. I don’t say anything. I can only guess she picked it up by mistake.

“So what’s up with Cole?” I ask, plunking down the magazine on the side table.

“Cole? Oh, he’s fine,” she reports.

“Good for him,” I say.

Mom totally misses my sarcasm. “I know you want to get back to see your brother. And I’ve got good news: The doctor says you can come home tomorrow.”

Good news? This is the worst news I ever heard. “Tomorrow?” I shout. “But Mom, I feel fine! Why can’t I go home now?”

“I know you’re feeling better, darling. But the doctor wants to keep you in another night for observation and do a scan in the morning. Just to make absolutely sure you’re all right. Better safe than sorry, don’t you think?”

“I don’t know,” I answer wearily.

“Just be patient, Cal.”

“Mom, the sheriff came to see me today,” I say.

“The sheriff?” My mother looks surprised for a moment before sinking her face into her hands. “Cal, what did you do?” she asks, looking up with a steely expression.

“Huh?”

“Tell me,” she orders. “Tell me now.”

“Nothing, Mom! Nothing!” I protest. “Jeez!”

My mother frowns. She looks totally unconvinced. And now I’m feeling really offended. For a guy who has kept his nose completely clean up until this point, I’m not getting much benefit of the doubt. “What did he want?” she finally asks.

“He was asking about a kid from school,” I say. “Neil Parson.”

“The missing boy.”

“Yeah. How did you know?”

“It was in the newspaper. The whole town is frantic over it. Maybe the sheriff thinks you had something to do with it because he disappeared around the same time as your accident.”

It would sure explain why so many people are being funny with me. “The sheriff told me I was the last person seen with him,” I admit.

“Well, you should be honest and say what happened.”

“Nothing happened!” But even I don’t know this for sure, because I still don’t remember anything about the day of the accident. “I never hang out with that kid,” I tell her.

“Cal,” my mother says, “relax.”

“How? When everybody thinks I did something I didn’t?”

“Well, then it’ll all blow over,” Mom says. “Maybe he just ran away from home or something. Hopefully he’ll turn up soon.”

“He’d better,” I say under my breath. Mom looks up, alarmed. I suppose it does sound like a threat. But I’m mad. And hurt, to be honest, because I can’t shake the feeling that even my own mother doesn’t believe me.

We sit quietly for a few minutes.

“You’re sure it’s just one more night?” I ask. “And then I can go home?”

“One more.”

“Okay,” I agree, not that I have any choice in the matter. I’ll just have to get through it.

Mom says she’ll stay and read while I take a nap. And since I’m not planning on sleeping tonight, I want to get as much rest as I can. Despite the awful feeling in my stomach, I nod off quickly.

When I wake up, my father is back, sitting in the other orange chair beside my mother.

“Hi, Dad,” I say, yawning.

“How you feeling, champ?”

“Okay, I guess. I just want to get out of here.”

“We’ll get you home soon, Cal. Look, the nurse just brought you in some dinner. It’s probably still hot.”

I have a look at the meal—a tiny piece of meat, some peas, and mashed potatoes. But I decide to pass, even though I’m starving. I’ve resolved to not eat anything that could have been tampered with. So I say I’m feeling a bit queasy and I’m only able to eat the packaged chocolate pudding.

My parents hang out but don’t do much talking, to me or each other. I roll over and try to sleep some more, but I can’t. I just lie there, staring at the wall. Eventually a nurse pops her head in and tells my parents that visiting hours are over.

They both kiss me on the forehead and say good night. I try to smile, but I’m still in a bad mood. Staring out at the parking lot, I see them get into Dad’s van together a few minutes later.

I look up at the large clock on the wall. Man, it’s only nine thirty. This is going to be a long night. I turn on the TV with the remote, but there’s nothing good on, and soon I turn it back off.

Every noise makes me jump. I begin thinking I should be arming myself, but I can’t see anything in the room that would serve as a weapon. The only thing that looks dangerous is the bedpan. I laugh to myself. It would definitely hurt, clanged off someone’s head. But even a crummy fighter like me has to have some sort of dignity. I’ll just have to stick to my fists. I have sharp knuckles, or so Cole has said the few times I managed to hurt him with them.

Bored, I open the
Sports Illustrated
. Since it isn’t the swimsuit issue, it might as well be in German for all the interest I have in it. I drop it into the trash can. But then I start worrying that my mother might notice tomorrow and feel hurt.

So, hanging out of the bed, I try to fish out the magazine. That’s when I hear my door creak. I’m up in an instant, but it’s too late—the person has the drop on me. I whirl around, arms up in self-defense.

“Hello there, sexy,” a dark-haired girl whispers as she climbs under the blankets with me. A mischievous smile full of perfect teeth gleams in the low light. “Miss me much?”

Now there have been some screwed-up things going on, but somehow none of them have been quite as mind-boggling as the moment I realize Ivy Johansen is in bed with me.

Without a doubt, Ivy is one of the hottest girls at school. She has long black hair, an amazing face, and a killer body. Not to mention the fact that she’s a full year older than I am, a star athlete, an aspiring actress, and the school’s debating champion. I consider myself pretty much on par with insects as far as she’s concerned.

But she’s right here in the sack.

I swear, trying to claw my way out of bed. But the sheets seem to have me in a death grip.

“Calm down!” Ivy laughs, pinning my arms. Again she flashes her glowing teeth—it’s like they’re fluorescent—and then kisses me square on the mouth. “Did I
scare
you? You’re such a little chicken. . . .”

Now she’s tickling me! What’s going on? I have no idea. Ivy’s long nails are hurting more than they are amusing me. “Ow!” I cry, struggling so much, it feels like the sutures on my head might pop open again. “Stop it! Please! Stop it!”

Thankfully, Ivy quits, but she clamps a hand over my mouth. “Be quiet!” she whispers into my ear. “Do you want me to get caught?”

Eyes wide, I shake my head.

“I was barely able to sneak in—there are people everywhere out there!” She pulls her hand away. Then, propping herself up on an elbow, she stares at me with a pouty expression. “You could have called me, you know,” she says, sounding miffed.

“Called you?”

“Or at least texted me. To let me know you were okay.”

Ivy leans over my chest and begins nosing around on the side table. Her unbelievably toned body presses down on mine.

“Wait!” she cries, slapping herself on the forehead. She rolls off. “You lost your phone going over the falls, didn’t you? Oh, I’m sorry, Cal. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it sooner. Can you ever forgive me?”

I don’t have an answer. As far as I know, my phone is in a drawer, broken, having been dropped in the toilet a few weeks ago. And even when the piece of crap was working, it never contained Ivy Johansen’s number. Because I don’t know her. Cole does, having dated her just before Monica; but he broke things off pretty quickly, calling her a controlling bitch.

Well, she certainly is in control now, lunging over and pinning my hands under her stomach.

“I waited out there, you know,” she whispers, nodding toward the window. “I sat in the parking lot for a full hour, watching from my car until I knew you were alone.”

“Really?” I feel even more uncomfortable, if that’s possible.

“Yeah. And you know what? I loved it—every second I spent spying on you!” She squeals so loud, my eardrum rings. Then she clamps a hand over her mouth and darts a nervous look at the door. “I actually think I might be some kind of a pervert, you know. . . .”

Whoa, now she’s kissing my neck—something I have to admit feels really, really good, especially after the brutal tickling. But it doesn’t feel good enough to make me forget for a second that not only is Ivy totally out of my league, she’s that psycho Hunter Holden’s girlfriend.

“Hey, what’s the deal?” I manage to get out as she takes a breath.

Ivy stops kissing me immediately. And I can’t help it—I instantly regret saying anything.

“What’s the deal?” Ivy repeats. “What do you think? You nearly died!” She presses her mouth against mine and begins full-on making out with me.

Ivy Johansen is making out with me in my hospital bed. I don’t have a clue how to begin processing this.

Wait—maybe I’ve suffered serious brain damage. That would explain a lot. But brain damage or not, I’m thinking I should just go with this.

At that second Nurse Barbara walks in. Ivy shrieks and ducks under the covers. But there’s no concealing the five-foot-ten captain of the girls’ volleyball team.

“Young lady, come out of there!” Nurse Barbara shouts. “Right this minute!”

Ivy pops her head out. Her shimmering black hair is all in her face. “Tee-hee,” she giggles, like a four-year-old.

“What do you think you’re doing?” the nurse shouts.

“Duh!” Ivy answers, laughing. “What does it look like?”

“Visiting hours are over,” the nurse tells her. “I want you out. Now.”

With a groan Ivy flings back the covers. Realizing my gown is riding up at what couldn’t be a worse moment, I grab the sheet and pull it around myself as she jumps up.

“Out!” the nurse shouts, ushering the girl through the open door.

But Ivy resists, yanking her arm away. “Get well soon, Cal,” she calls to me.