Don't Stay Up Late (2 page)

“We heard you at the senior talent show last month,” Nate said. “You sucked
then
.”

Isaac shook his head. “We've had a whole month to get even more sucky. It's a horror show, Nate. Seriously. You could put us in your horror collection. Right next to
Evil Dead II
.”

Nate had at least two hundred horror films on DVD. Last weekend, he forced us all to watch
Evil Dead II.
It was his all-time favorite. Especially the flying eyeball scene.

Rachel brought us our cheeseburgers and fries. She started to set down the plates, then stopped. “Who spilled ketchup and mustard on the table?”

“Three guesses,” Saralynn said.

Rachel stared at Isaac for a long moment. She laughed. Everyone likes Isaac. He's short and a little chubby, with a tangled nest of black hair and brown eyes that crinkle up when he smiles. Isaac is always making jokes and interrupting classes with his wisecracks. He says he has a desperate need for attention. I can't tell if that's another one of his jokes or not.

He's very smart. I don't think he studies very hard, but he's a straight-A student. And he learned to speak Mandarin. He says he wants to go to China for a year before he starts college.

Nate says Isaac wants to go to China just to get away from his band.

“Speaking of horror movies…” Saralynn started.

We were all into our cheeseburgers now. Lefty makes them juicy and piles on the lettuce and tomato and pickles.

“I have to do a video for Film class,” Saralynn continued. “And I think we should do our own horror movie. Maybe in your attic, Nate. With all your totally gross horror masks?”

Nate swallowed a chunk of cheeseburger. He had juice running down his chin. I mopped it up with a paper napkin. “Sounds cool,” he told Saralynn. “Do you have a script?”

“I have some ideas,” she said. “But if we could use some of your props and masks and posters … it would be awesome.”

“How about a vampire movie?” Isaac said. “My cousin works in a medical lab. I can probably get
buckets
of blood from him.”

“I'm thinking something more sophisticated,” Saralynn said. “Something paranormal.”

“You'll still need blood,” Isaac said.

Nate turned to me. “Lisa, you want to be in it?”

I shrugged. “Sure. Why not? But you know me. I'm not into horror. I mean, I really don't get it. What's the fun of being scared?”

Nate sighed. “You're hopeless.”

“
Everyone
likes to be scared,” Saralynn said. “It's like a basic human thing.”

“Guess I'm not human,” I said. “I always think horror movies are dumb.”

Nate squeezed my arm. “I'll show you some movies that will change your mind.”

“I'll tell you something scary,” I said. “I sneaked out tonight. I'm not supposed to be here.”

Saralynn set down her cheeseburger. “Lisa, you had to
sneak
out? It's Friday night. Why didn't your parents want you to go out?”

“Because they're jerks,” I said. “I'm supposed to be in my room writing thank-you notes for my Sweet Sixteen party. Like that can't wait till tomorrow. I'm serious. My parents treat me like a total child.”

Isaac pulled the pickles from his burger and jammed them into his mouth. “Wish
my
parents would treat me like a child,” he muttered.

“What do you mean?” I said.

“They don't know I exist. No one ever says, ‘Where are you going, Isaac?' Or ‘What are you doing? What's up?' All they care about is their golf scores and their friends at the country club.”

“You're lucky,” I said. “My parents are always in my face.”

I raised my eyes to the front of the restaurant and let out a startled cry. “See what I mean?”

 

3.

My dad stood just inside the door. He had his shiny blue hoodie open over a Cleveland Indians T-shirt. His wavy brown hair was unbrushed and stood up in tufts on his head. His eyes surveyed the restaurant until he found me. He stomped past some girls waiting for a table, making his way to our booth.

“Dad—what are you doing here?” My cry made some heads turn around.

My dad is tall and good-looking, with reddish brown hair and pale blue eyes in a tanned face. Mom says he looks like a young Clint Eastwood because of the lines down his cheeks and his hard expression.

I look more like my mother. Her parents came from Denmark. We're blonde and pale, tall and kind of bony.

Dad stopped a few feet from the booth. His hands were balled into fists at his sides. He's not violent at all. He does that when he's tense. He had bright red circles darkening his cheeks.

“Lisa, you promised to stay home,” he said. He kept his blue eyes locked on me. I don't think he noticed that there were others at the table.

My heart started to pound in my chest.
Please don't embarrass me in front of my new friends.

“Come on,” Dad said, motioning for me to get up. “Mom and Morty are in the car.”

I wanted to scream. But I forced my voice to stay low and steady. “I'll come home later, Dad.”

He shook his head. “No. Now.”

I pointed to my plate. “I haven't finished my cheeseburger.”

“Hey, Mr. Brooks,” Nate broke in. “I can drive Lisa home right after we eat.”

Dad finally turned away from me. “Thanks, Nate. But we need Lisa to come home now.” He raised his eyes to Saralynn and Isaac. “Sorry to interrupt your dinner.”

He suddenly appeared embarrassed. As if he realized he'd gone too far. He's not a beast or anything. He's actually very reasonable most of the time.

I decided it would be easier to go with him rather than cause a big scene. I
did
sneak out of the house, after all. But I should be able to decide when I can go out with my friends. Like the thank-you cards couldn't wait a day or two?

Muttering under my breath, I squeezed past Nate and climbed out of the booth. I kept my eyes down and didn't look at my father.

“Do you have a jacket or something?” he asked. “It's pretty windy out.”

“You're going to tell me how to dress now?” I snapped.

I waved goodbye to the others. They all flashed me sympathetic looks. They probably thought my dad was weird, following me to the restaurant.

I stormed angrily past him to the door and stepped outside. It was a blustery, cold night. It felt more like March than April. I was wearing a long-sleeved top over a short skirt and black tights. The wind brushed my hair straight back.

I spotted our Camry at the curb near the corner, ran to it, and dove into the backseat. As soon as I arrived, Morty started to wag his tail and pant like crazy. He bounced across the seat to me and began to give my face a ferocious tongue bath.

“Morty—down! Get off me!” I cried, laughing. My face is very ticklish. His tongue felt like sandpaper. “Stop! Morty! Give me a break!”

Morty is a big white sheepdog mix. My parents gave him to me for my birthday. He goes everywhere we go. He thinks he's a little puppy. He's always jumping on me and slobbering his tongue over my face.

I finally pushed him back. I wiped my cheeks with the sleeve of my top.

“I'm very disappointed in you,” Mom said from the front passenger seat without turning around.

“It's not a big deal,” I said. I could feel my anger grow. I had a heavy feeling in the pit of my stomach. Following me to Lefty's was a real invasion.

“I'm not eight years old,” I said.

“Then don't act it.” Mom still didn't turn around. She's very soft-spoken. And she doesn't like scenes.

I'm the one in the family with the hot temper.

Dad pulled the car away from the curb. He still hadn't said a word. He squealed into a turn onto Park Drive and headed for home. We live on the Village Road, about half a mile from the salon where Mom is a hairdresser.

“Slow down, Jimmy,” Mom told him.

“Don't tell me how to drive,” he snapped.

Now we were all snapping at each other. My fault, right?

I heard a pattering sound and saw that it had started to rain. Raindrops sparkled on the windshield in the light from an oncoming car.

“Slow down,” Mom repeated, through gritted teeth. “The road is slippery.”

“Lisa, we have to be able to trust you,” Dad said.

“You
can
trust me,” I said. “You had no right to—”

“How can we trust you when you lied to us and sneaked out of the house?” Dad said.

“I shouldn't have to sneak out,” I told him. “Why did I sneak out? Because you're both impossible. You totally embarrassed me in front of my friends. Did you even think about that?”

“Jimmy, you went through a red light,” Mom said. “Concentrate on your driving. We can have a family discussion when we get home.”

“Oh, no,” I groaned. “There won't be any family discussion. I—”

I stopped. And then I screamed: “Turn around! Turn around! I left my phone on the table.” I pounded the back of Dad's seat. “Turn around!”

Dad spun the wheel. The car swerved.

Mom screamed.

Blinding yellow light blazed across the windshield.

I saw the sparkling raindrops. Like jewels in the bright light.

I felt a hard jolt. It tossed me forward, then back.

I felt the jolt and then heard the crash. An explosion of metal and glass.

In the bright light, I saw Dad's head snap forward. Saw his forehead slam into the steering wheel.

Still swerving. The car was still moving. The light seemed to be all around us, tossing us like on a bright ocean wave.

I saw Dad's head snap. And then I heard a
crack
and knew it was the crack of his skull. I knew it. Knew it.

I heard his skull crack, saw his face split open, saw dark blood rise up like a fountain and then pour down his forehead.

My head jerked to the side. The back door flew open. I heard a powerful rush of wind. I saw Morty leap out.

Morty, come back—

And then the pain hit me. The pain shot down the back of my neck. The pain swept over me. My chest … my legs … my head. Blinding pain.

I'm blind.… No … I'm dead.

The bright light lifted. I sank … sank into a deep blackness.

 

4.

Then the light returned.

Pale, watery light with dark forms floating across it. Moving blurs. Like gazing into a camera totally out of focus.

I heard a murmur of voices, nearby but too soft to understand any words. I gazed up at the shifting light, struggling to squint away the gauzy curtain that kept me from seeing clearly.

As I blinked and squinted, the pain grew stronger. My head throbbed. I felt a painful throbbing at my temples. I tried to turn my head, but a sharp stab of pain forced me to stop.

“Should I increase it?” A woman's voice came from somewhere behind me. “It's already set near maximum.”

It took me so long to realize I was in a bed.

On my back in a hospital bed.

The light billowed and pulsed and began to fade. The tide going out. Evening over the water.

I lay on the shore watching the sunset.

No. That was wrong. I wasn't thinking clearly.

I was on my back, staring up at the circles of light on the ceiling. Yes. I forced myself to focus.

And now I could see the thick orange tube stuck into my wrist. And a narrow window with the blinds half-drawn. My hands at my sides on the white linen sheet.

Ignoring the pain, I turned my head and saw a bed across from me. I gasped as my dad came into focus. Yes. I remembered the accident now. The crash and the shatter of metal and glass and the hard jolt of the collision.

I remembered the accident. And now I stared at my dad in the bed across from me. He went in and out of focus, clear and then a blur. His head—it was slumped forward. Bright red blood poured down his face.

And the steering wheel—

—The shaft of the steering wheel was jammed into his forehead.

The steering wheel poked out of his head. The blood flowed all around it and puddled on the floor.

He didn't move. He just slumped forward on the bed, with the blood-spattered steering wheel stuck deep in his head.

Where were the nurses? Where were the doctors?

I turned away. I couldn't bear to watch. And I opened my mouth in a shrill wail of horror. “Help him! Somebody help him!”

 

5.

My shrill screams made my throat hurt. The room spun crazily around me.

My mother's face slid into view above me. She appeared even paler than usual, as if her skin was white paper tight against her cheeks.

“Mom?”

She blinked several times. I saw tears form in her eyes. “Lisa? You're awake? Oh, thank goodness!”

Lifting my head, I saw a gray-haired man in a green lab coat step up behind her. He had a clipboard in one hand. A stethoscope swung on his chest as he moved.

“Dad!” I screamed. “Take care of Dad!”

Neither of them turned around. They narrowed their eyes at me.

I turned my gaze to the bed across from me. “Dad?”

The bed was empty.

Mom placed a hand on my shoulder. “Lisa, why were you screaming?” I saw that her other arm was in a cast inside a blue sling.

“I-I thought I saw Dad,” I stammered. Again, the room started to spin. “In that bed. I saw him so clearly. He was bleeding. I mean, his head was down and blood was pouring … and no one was helping him. No one.”

The gray-haired man edged my mother to the side. He peered down at me with silvery eyes behind black-framed glasses. He had thick, arched eyebrows that looked like fat white caterpillars. “I'm Dr. Martino,” he said. “Lisa, I'm glad you've come around so quickly. You've been out since last night.”