Breakaway Page 11

  “I don’t think so,” Larissa says, “but she should see a doctor.”

  “Your dad’s a doctor,” I tell her.

  “Good for you.” She peers into my eyes. “Do you feel nauseated?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “She’s okay then,” one of the guys says. “Let’s go drink beer.”

  “She’s definitely not driving home,” Larissa says.

  “You’re overreacting,” Whitney says. “She’s obviously not hurt.”

  “I’ll take her to emergency,” Liam says.

  “I’m not going,” I say.

  “I’ll call my dad to meet you there,” Larissa says. She puts two fingers against my throat and uses the clock app on her phone to take my pulse.

  “Where did you learn to do that?” I ask.

  She winks at me. “You have a vehicle?” she asks Liam.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “I’ll bring Jessie’s car home tomorrow,” Kathy says.

  “Quit talking about me!” I sit up on my elbows. “I’m fine!”

  “Do you want me to call your parents?” Larissa asks.

  “No!”

  “Jessie should go to the hospital,” Kathy says. “And Liam should take her, right Rooks?”

  The Rookies bob their heads in agreement, just like those little toy dogs some idiots put on their dashboards. It makes me dizzy.

  Liam leans over and slides his hands under my waist and thighs.

  “No way,” I tell him. “I walked in here by myself, and I’m leaving the same way.”

  “Does that mean you’re going to let me drive you to emergency?” he asks.

  “Yes.”

  He removes his arms and straightens. “Let’s go then.”

  I get up slowly. My head does feel better. No nausea. No dizziness. No blurred vision. But my cheek stings like a bitch.

  “If your dad’s not at emergency, I’m going home,” I tell Larissa.

  “He’ll be there,” Larissa promises. “Have you got your purse? You’ll need your health card.”

  “Thanks, Mom,” I say.

  One of the guys shouts from the top of the stairs. “Straight home, MacArthur!”

  – Chapter Twenty-one –

  I don’t talk to Liam during the ten-minute drive to Estevan although he keeps up a steady stream of conversation. He turns west just outside the city limits and takes the back road to the hospital.

  “I’m sorry, but my truck stalls at red lights and stop signs,” he apologizes. “I try to avoid them.”

  He starts to pull up to the emergency entrance, but I point to the visitors’ lot. When I try to open the truck door, I can’t move the handle.

  “It only opens from the outside,” he explains. He gets out and runs around to my side. My head is feeling better as we cross the parking lot, moving towards the main entrance, but I think I have some pulled muscles in my back.

  Inside, I give the receptionist my health card and the info she needs to type up a pink form. I don’t recognize anybody in the waiting room. Just the same, I position myself in my chair so my cheek is facing the wall. I can’t pretend to check my phone because I had to turn it off as soon as we entered the hospital. Liam and I sit there in awkward silence.

  “You can go back to Whitney’s if you want,” I tell him after a while.

  “I’ll wait until Dr. Bilkhu’s checked you over. You’ll need a ride home.”

  “My dad can come get me.”

  “Sure.” He leans forward, placing his elbows on his knees. “Do you want me to go outside and call him for you?”

  Imagine how excited Dad’ll be about that.

  “No, I’ll wait until after I see Dr. Bilkhu.” I touch my cheek for the hundredth time. “How bad is my face?”

  He places his fingers on my chin and gently turns my head so he can see the burn. “It’ll heal,” he says.

  I turn my face away, and he pulls his hand back.

  “Is there anybody else you want to call?” he asks. “Your boyfriend maybe?”

  “No. I mean, not now.”

  We sit in silence for a long time. We pretend to look at magazines. We watch the clock. I try not to think about giving a blood sample.

  He sits back and stretches his legs in front of him, crossing his boots at the ankles. “Can I tell you something?” he says at last.

  “No.”

  “I get along with most people,” he continues, undeterred. “You are a glaring exception.”

  Why didn’t I phone my dad when I had a chance? Then I wouldn’t be sitting here having this conversation.

  Liam takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “Amy thinks you’re awesome. She says you’ve gone out of your way to make her feel welcome on the team.”

  “I like Amy,” I say.

  “Can’t we be friends too?” he asks. “I don’t know what I did to piss you off, but I’d start over if you’d let me.”

  “Why do you want to be my friend anyway?” I ask.

  He smiles. “Remember that time in Grade Eleven when Mr. Lazar had us do math presentations?”

  I nod.

  “Most of them were yawners. I don’t even remember what I did, but yours was on that Greek guy...”

  “Pythagorus,” I say helpfully.

  “The very one.” He smiles. “The girls in that class were determined not to show how smart they were, and there you were, getting all breathless and dreamy about a2 + b2 = c2.”

  “I wasn’t!”

  “Oh yes, you were.” He pauses and heaves a heavy sigh. “And that was the moment I knew.”

  “Knew what?”

  “That I was smitten.”

  I blush, making my cheek burn even more.

  “Jessica McIntyre!” the admitting nurse calls from the doorway.

  The words strike terror into my heart. “Come inside with me!” I beg.

  He laughs.

  “I’m serious!”

  “You’re afraid of Dr. Bilkhu?”

  “No, I’m afraid of those people who take blood samples.” I smile at the nurse, who’s frowning at me, clearly impatient to get my show on the road. “Please come with me!”

  “Only if you’re nice,” he says.

  “I promise.” I get up and move towards the entrance to the emergency ward.

  “Now, I get it,” he says, following me. “You’re on medication for a split personality.”

  A few minutes later Dr. Bilkhu is clucking around me like a mother hen, manipulating my neck and shoulders, dabbing antiseptic on my rug burn, and asking a lot of questions. It’s natural for him to be concerned. Larissa’s at the party I just left, and he doesn’t want her to be his next patient. I give him an abbreviated version of the events leading up to my arrival, leaving out the part about the five guys and the twenty-four-packs of beer.

  He cocks his head as I describe Liam’s role as paramedic.

  “So how did you come to be at this slumber party?” he asks Liam.

  Liam looks at me.

  “I invited him,” I reply. “He’s my...friend.”

  “That’s right.” Liam displays his gap-tooth.

  Dr. Bilkhu smiles knowingly. “Ah.”

  “Not like that,” I quickly add.

  Dr. Bilkhu takes a closer look at my pupils. “No hockey for you tomorrow, Princess.”

  “But I’m okay, aren’t I?”

  “Best not to take any risks within twenty-four hours.” He smiles and pats my hand. “I’ll be watching tomorrow.”

  As we leave the hospital, I realize we never called my parents, which means Liam has to give me a ride home. On the way, he tells me about his older brother Russell, who has Down’s syndrome.

  “As long as I can remember, he’s been there for me,” Liam says, pulling into my driveway. “It feels strange to not have him around the house, but he likes his roomies at the group home.”

  “What does he look like?” I ask.

  Liam describes him briefly.

 
“Yeah, I’ve seen him at Sarcan,” I say. “I’ll say hi to him the next time I’m there.”

  “He’d like that,” Liam says.

  I know I should be getting out of his truck, but for some reason, I don’t want to. “I’m sorry I’ve been rude to you.” It feels good to roll out that apology. “I was angry at myself – if you want to know the truth.”

  “For what?” he asks.

  “For jumping to conclusions at the talent show. And that day at Sarcan, I didn’t know about Russell.”

  “Ah,” he says, in a perfect imitation of Dr. Bilkhu.

  I laugh. “What will you do now? Will you go back to Whitney’s?”

  He shakes his head.

  We don’t say anything for a while. But it doesn’t feel awkward, this quiet. It feels okay.

  “Tell me about high school rodeo,” I ask him.

  The world he describes for me is very different from my experience. In the arena, individuals compete tooth and nail, then bail each other out when equipment breaks or a horse pulls up lame. Liam has dabbled in all the events, with the exception of bull riding, but lately he’s concentrated on training cutting horses.

  “I’d like you to come out to my place,” he says. “I’ll introduce you to my favourite girl.”

  “One of your horses?”

  “You’ll see.” He pauses. “What do you say? No strings attached. Just a friendly visit.”

  “Maybe. Sometime.” To distract him, I ask about football.

  Liam tells me he’s a wide receiver. The camaraderie, the locker-room pranks, the chirping, the roller coaster of highs and lows of football is more familiar territory, although the lingo is overwhelming.

  “But how do you keep track of all those plays?” I ask him. “Our team can barely learn two systems!”

  “Football players have to be smart,” he says.

  “Do you want to keep playing after you graduate?” I ask.

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence, but I don’t have a hope in hell. No, I want to get into veterinary science one of these days.”

  “Good for you,” I say. “I wish I knew what I want to do.”

  “You’ll figure it out eventually,” he says.

  “I hope so.”

  It’s quiet again.

  “Does this mean we’re friends now?” he asks.

  “I guess.” I reach for the door handle and fumble with it.

  “So I can talk to you at school and you won’t bite my head off?”

  “Yes, but please – no more signs at my hockey games. Don’t give people ideas, okay?”

  He looks at me uncertainly and then laughs. “Sure thing, Hockey Girl.” He holds out his hand. “Give me your phone.”

  I pull it out of my pocket. “What do you want it for?”

  He turns it on, finds my contact list, and punches in a phone number. “Just in case you need me sometime,” he says. “That’s what friends are for, right?” He holds out the phone, and our fingertips touch briefly.

  “Right,” I reef on the handle again, then look at him helplessly.

  “Allow me,” Liam says, getting out.

  A few minutes later I stand in my doorway watching his truck sputter and cough as it backs out of my driveway, and part of me wishes we could keep on talking. Wishes I could call his number and tell him to come back.

  What would Evan say about that, my little voice says.

  – Chapter Twenty-two –

  Before Game Two against Swift Current, the girls are smart enough not to talk about the party, the guys, or the beer, but they are clearly hung over. When I tell Bud about my accident, he brushes it off, but Sue looks suspicious.

  “So what was going on at Whitney’s last night?” she asks.

  “Just a post-game meeting,” I reply.

  I hate lying, and I’m also lousy at it. Not a great combination.

  I retire to the stands to watch the game with Amber. Ten minutes into the first period, it’s abundantly clear the Wildcats are going to clutch and grab Jodi Palmer into oblivion and pepper Miranda with shots. She gives up two soft goals.

  Teneil, the usual bearer of bad news, slides into a seat behind me. “So – you fell off your pedestal,” she whispers in my ear.

  “My what?” I don’t give her the satisfaction of turning around.

  She leans ahead and examines my cheek for a long moment. “Oh yeah, it’s true.”

  “What is it I’m supposed to have done?” I ask.

  “Got drunk at Whitney Johnstone’s and fell down the stairs.”

  Amber’s big blue eyes get bigger. “Jessie, you didn’t!”

  “Well, I did fall down the stairs. I told you that already.”

  Teneil leans closer. “I heard you were in no shape to drive, so Liam MacArthur took you to emergency. Dr. Bilkhu had to pump your stomach because you had alcohol poisoning.”

  “Is that all?” I ask.

  She narrows one eye, clearly pissed that I’m not rising to the bait. “Sue benched you and stripped your C. You’re probably going to get cut.”

  I consider how she’ll be circulating through the lobby during intermission, spreading rumours and resurrecting the ugly ghosts of my past. Bud and Sue will hear about it, and then we’re all in shit. Some captain. I never should have let Whitney plan that sleepover.

  I stare at the ice, willing Teneil to leave. When she doesn’t, I start humming “Hernando’s Hideaway.” Courtney skated to the song a few years ago, and it’s the most annoying one I know.

  That gets rid of her.

  Amber places a cool palm on my forehead. “I worry about you. I think this whole AAA thing is driving you crazy.”

  “You could be right about that.”

  I pull out my phone, which has been beeping in my pocket for the last hour. Without looking, I know that the texts will be Evan’s, but I’m not in the mood to read or respond to them.

  An air horn sounds, announcing a Wildcat goal. The Swift Current fans on the other side of the arena cheer while their team celebrates on the ice. I hold up my hand and pretend to squish the heads of the Wildcats between my thumb and forefinger.

  “Jessie, you’re scaring me,” Amber says.

  “Sorry.”

  “You never told me you got benched.” She wiggles closer and puts her arm through mine.

  “I didn’t. Dr. Bilkhu told me not to play, and I’m not. End of story.”

  “Are you sure?”

  It so isn’t the end.

  When the period’s over, I slip down to our dressing room. It’s not a happy place. Everyone’s fine while the coaches are there, but as soon as the door shuts behind them, the bitching and blaming begins. I always thought Carla wouldn’t stand for that kind of talk, but she and Amy just sit in the corner and whisper while the rest of the team tanks.

  “Nobody’s actually trying out there,” Kathy says.

  “You’re saying I’m not trying?” Jodi demands. “Try getting open so I have someone to pass to!”

  I’ve never heard Jodi talk like this.

  As for me, I’m stinging from the “Captain Anal” remarks. I can sit here and say nothing – if that’s what they really want.

  No skin off my ass.

  I sit with Amber for the rest of the game, watching the Wildcats hook and hang on Jodi every time she steps on the ice. They know if they shut her down, they shut us down. One of them crosschecks her into the boards late in the third. There’s no reason for it. They’ve already got the game in hand.

  “That’s checking from behind,” Amber says.

  “Hit her right in the numbers,” I reply. “Good thing she had her head up.”

  But the ref doesn’t call a thing. Kathy skates right at him, arguing. Then Jodi goes after him herself. He skates away, but Jodi keeps chasing him.

  “What’s she doing?” Amber asks.

  The ref ends up giving Jodi two minutes for unsportsmanlike. Then she skates over to the Swift Current bench and starts screaming at their coach.
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  “Somebody needs to rein her in,” I say.

  Carla puts a hand on Jodi’s shoulder and tries to reason with her. Jodi turns and flings an arm out, knocking Carla off balance, no small feat considering the difference in their size.

  “Can you get two for roughing your own teammate?” Amber wonders.

  The linesman escorts Jodi to the penalty box. On the way in, she bangs her stick on the boards and breaks it.

  We lose 7–2. Furthermore, the Wildcats outshoot us 48–14, and that hurts just as bad as the score.

  Bud doesn’t tie into us after the game. He gives us a pep talk, tells us we’ll get back to some basics in practice, promises to help us do better next time. Jodi apologizes to Carla and the rest of the team for her behaviour.

  Sue sits there and dissects each of us with that piercing gaze of hers.

  Only a matter of time before she figures it out.

  –

  That same night while I’m cuddled up on the couch with my calculus notes, I get a text from Jodi.

  U home?

  Yep.

  Comin’ over.

  “Who did you say brought you home last night?” Mom asks from the dining room.

  “I didn’t say,” I reply, willing the phone to ring or the dishwasher to spring a leak.

  “So who was it? One of the girls?” Mom asks.

  “Uh huh.”

  “Which one?”

  “Why does it matter?”

  “Because I want to thank her for taking you to emergency and getting you home safe and sound. It was the right thing to do.”

  Mom always knows the right thing to do.

  I wish that knowledge would rub off on me.

  “It wasn’t one of the girls, Mom.”

  She comes out of the dining room.

  “It was a guy.”

  “Are you involved with him?”

  I think about the drive back to my place, the time we spent in his truck, talking and laughing.

  “I don’t know,” I tell her.

  “Does Evan know you feel this way?” She sits down at the end of the couch.

  “No.”

  “Shouldn’t you tell him?”

  My heart sinks. “I can’t, Mom. Not now. He says I’m all he has.”

  Mom pulls my feet onto her lap, warming my cold toes with her hands. “Jessie, you’re too young for this.”

  That gets me going. “You wanted me to go out with him!”