One Way (3 page)

“Is that right, Kenzie? You broke up with her, not the other way around?”

“What difference does it make?” my dad wants to know.

“Just asking,” Mr. Grossman says calmly. He waits for my answer.

“Yeah,” I say. “That's right.”

It's what I told my parents. It's what I told everyone. But it's only partly true, and the part that's true is pretty small compared to the part that's not true.

“Okay,” Mr. Grossman says. He gives me his card and tells me to call him if anything happens.

“Can't I just pay the fine and get it over with?” I ask. “I mean, I
was
going the wrong way. I guess it was my fault.”

“Oh,” my dad says sarcastically. “You have two grand stashed somewhere that I don't know about?”

Chapter Four

You wouldn't know it from the way my dad treats her a lot of the time, but my mom's really smart. So what if she didn't finish university and my dad did? Whose fault is that? I mean, she got pregnant— with me. And you know what they say—it takes two to do
that
tango. And so what if, because of that and because she wanted to spend time with me, she doesn't have a great job like my dad does? He's an engineer. Well, sort of. He works for a chain of fast-food restaurants. His job is to do the specs for the new places they build. My mom works as a part-time receptionist at a pet-care salon. She likes the hours and loves the animals, and the animals and their owners like her. Dad, of course, has no patience for either pets or pet owners, which is why I've never been allowed to have a dog.

A lot of people, my dad included (although he'd deny it), look down on receptionists. My mom knows it. She shrugs it off. She says there are different kinds of smart. She says my dad is smart with math and science, but he's not as smart with people. My mom's a people-person. She's proud of it. And I'm proud of her. Unlike my dad, who tells people that she has a “little” job so that she can waste her money on stuff like accent pillows and scented candles, which isn't at all how she spends what she earns. But that's beside the point.

The main thing is, my mom knows people. She can read them as if they were books. And the person she can read best? You guessed it. Me.

The next morning goes like this.

Mom: You're going to be late for school, Kenz.

Me: School? I ache all over! I'm not going to school.

Mom (looking shocked even though she isn't, really): Not go to school? Correct me if I'm wrong, young man, but finals are coming up soon.

Me (groaning): They're a whole month away.

Mom: They're
only
a month away.

Me: Aw, come on, Mom. Let me take just one day off.

Mom: No way, young man.

Me: Please?

Mom: Uh-uh.

Me (kissing her on the cheek): Pretty please?

Mom (smiling): No. Get dressed. Breakfast is ready. I'll drive you.

I have no choice. When my mom says no three times, without any hesitation, it's game over. Believe me, I know.

So I get dressed, groaning loudly the whole time because (a) I want her to feel bad for being so heartless that she's making her bruised and battered son go to school after he landed on his head only the day before and put his ex-girlfriend into the hospital, and (b) every move I make really
does
hurt.

When I get downstairs, I see that my mom isn't completely heartless. She's made my all-time-favorite breakfast—waffles with bananas and maple syrup. My appetite, which I thought was missing in action, suddenly reports for duty. I wolf down the waffles and ask for seconds, which, of course, are warming in the oven.

“I thought I would pick you up after school,” my mom says. “We can go over to the hospital together and see how Stassi is.”

I want to know how Stassi is. I want desperately to know that she's okay. But…

“I don't know, Mom. What if—?”

“I don't know what happened between you two, Kenzie, and it doesn't matter. All I know is you and Stassi were close. Going over to the hospital is the right thing to do. If things were reversed, Stassi would go to see you. You know she would.”

I don't argue with my mom, but I know she's wrong. Before we broke up, no question that Stassi would have been at the hospital. She would have insisted on being there 24/7. But now? After what I did? And I don't mean the accident. I mean before that. But I know my mom won't let me stay away from the hospital any more than she would let me stay home from school. I know that, no matter what, no matter how I try to dodge it or run away from it, it's going to happen. I am going to have to go.

So I say okay, sure.

Mom drives me to school. She has some kind of built-in anti-tardy device, so, like always, we get there well before the bell rings. She waves to me as she pulls away from the curb, abandoning me to the stares of everyone on the sidewalk. They're all staring at me like I'm a pathetic loser. Even T.J., my best friend, shakes his head as he lopes over to me.

“If it isn't Wrong-Way Korrigan,” he says, slapping me on the back. “Oh, sorry, man,” he says when I wince. “I heard you went right over the handlebars and landed on Stassi. Great landing! Wish I'd seen the whole thing.”

“Stassi's in the hospital,” I tell him.

“Yeah, well, from what you've been saying about her, it couldn't have happened to a bigger bi—”

He breaks off when Mandi Fuller butts between him and me.

“Kenzie!” She throws her arms around me, which I hate. She's always doing stuff like that. “I heard what happened. I can't believe she walked into you like that.” She pulls back a little and looks me over. “Are you okay? You didn't break anything, did you?”

Just Stassi, I think.

“Stassi's still in the hospital,” I say.

“I know,” she says.

I give T.J. a pleading look over the top of Mandi's head.

“Hey, Mandi,” T.J. says right away. “Me and Kenz got stuff to talk over. Think you could be a pet and buzz off?”

Mandi scowls at him.

“I'm sure Kenzie would appreciate someone
understanding
to talk to,” she says.

“Actually, Teej is right,” I say. “We have some stuff we have to do. Okay?”

I should just come right out and tell her to get lost, but I can't, not like T.J. can. Sometimes I think there's just too much of my mother in me. Stassi used to say it was one of my best qualities. I feel sick when I think about her. I wonder what's happening with her this very minute. I wonder if she's awake. I wonder if she remembers what happened, if she knows it was me. If she does, I wonder if she hates me more than ever.

Mandi kisses me on the cheek. T.J. snorts. Mandi walks away. I wipe the kiss off my face. T.J. nudges me and gestures with his head. Mandi has seen me wipe away her kiss. Well, so what? Who asked her to kiss me in the first place? Things go okay for a while.

Kids stare at me, but why not? Everyone has heard about my spectacular run-in with Stassi. Most of the staring is just curiosity—I have scrapes and bruises on my hands and arms, and a big scrape on one cheek. I get a few acid looks, but they're from girls mostly, friends of Lacie Bellows, and those looks don't have much to do with my crash. Lacie is Stassi's best friend, and she just flat-out hates me ever since Stassi and I broke up.

I get questions about what happened—who wouldn't, in my place? Things like, What did the cops say? Is it true I might get charged with careless driving? Do I know how Stassi is? It's the kind of stuff I'd ask if it had been someone else who had flown over their bike handlebars in front of school.

Then, at lunchtime, T.J. and I are heading down to the cafeteria when we run into a bunch of girls. One of them turns to look at me, and I see that she's crying. One by one the others turn, and I see that they're all either crying or have been crying—all except one, a girl named Karyn.

“Nice going,” she says, glowering at me like if it was legal, she'd strangle me.

I get a sick feeling in my stomach.

“What now?” T.J. asks. “Did what's-his-name get voted off that stupid talent show?”

Karyn gives him the same look she just gave me and then flicks her gaze back to me.

“Stassi's mom just called Lacie,” she says, spitting the words at me.

I glance at Lacie. Tears are streaming down her cheeks. The girls on either side of her have their arms around her waist.

“And?” I say. I can't stand that she's telling me something but not telling me everything. I'm not an idiot. I know something bad has happened.

“And she said Stassi might have suffered permanent brain damage,” Karyn says. “I hope you're happy!”

What? Happy? Why would that make me happy? What does she think I am?

“What kind of brain damage?” I ask. “What do you mean, permanent?”

“What do you think, Einstein?” Karyn says. “What happened? You saw her with Logan again, and you decided if you couldn't have her, no one else could?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Right,” Karyn says, all snide and sarcastic. “Like you have no idea!”

“I don't,” I say. “I would never hurt Stassi. I love her.”

Karyn snorts. She looks at the rest of the girls, who are all staring at me like I just got caught with my pants down around my ankles.

“She dumped you,” Karyn says. “She dumped you for Logan McCann.”

I love Stassi, and I hate Logan. It never bothered me that every girl in school turns to look at him when he walks down the hall. What do I care how hot he supposedly is? I don't. At least, I didn't until Stassi landed the female lead in the school play opposite Logan. Because I was one of the set guys, I had to watch them rehearse and see the way they looked at each other. At first I thought they were just acting. But after a while I thought, no one at this school is that good an actor—not Logan, not Stassi. So when Stassi started saying she had to meet Logan for extra rehearsals, that he was helping her and she wanted to do the best job ever, that she didn't want to stand up there on opening night and embarrass herself, I didn't believe her.

“She didn't dump me,” I say. And it's true—sort of. I told her that she had to make up her mind. I told her I didn't mind the scheduled rehearsals when the drama teacher was there, but no more extra practices with Logan. She had to stop those or we were through. I still remember the look on her face. I remember how her voice shook when she said, “
You
don't
mind
?” I remember the passion in her eyes when she told me how important this was to her. I also remember that she didn't try to stop me when I told her, “Fine, we're through,” and walked away. I remember that best of all.

I stare at Karyn and the rest of the girls, but I don't know what else to say. I spin around because all I want to do is get out of there—and I slam right into Mandi. I push past her and start to run. I'm halfway down the hall when a hand falls on my arm. I start to jerk away from it. Then I see it's T.J. He leads me outside and finds a corner where we can be alone.

“It wasn't your fault,” he says. “It was an accident.”

I look at the ground and see Stassi's head with a pool of blood under it.

“Yeah,” I say. “An accident.”

Chapter Five

I don't know how I get through the rest of the day. My feet take me to my classes, which I enter without looking at anyone. I sit down and stare at my desk all afternoon. No one says a word to me, but I swear I can feel all those eyes drilling into me, and I imagine they are all thinking what Karyn is thinking—that it's all my fault that Stassi is in the hospital. And they're right. It
is
all my fault.

None of my teachers call on me, not even Mr. M, who always picks on me, even though he knows the chances I will have the right answer are, at best, about five percent. I don't bother to go to my locker after the last class. Homework is the last thing on my mind.

My mom is waiting for me outside the school. I can tell by her face that she's heard the news, and she can tell the same thing from mine. But she doesn't say anything until I'm in the front seat beside her. Then she says, “Oh, Kenzie, I'm so sorry.”

She reaches over and wraps me in her arms. I start to cry.

“I want to see her,” I say.

“I don't know if she's allowed to have visitors,” my mom says. “But let's go and see, okay?”

We drive to the hospital, where it takes forever for Mom to find a place in the crowded parking lot and then to guide the car into it. She hates parking lots. She complains the spaces are always too small. She's afraid to scrape the car, which she did once, last year. Dad has never stopped talking about it. Now she's nervous every time she has to park. I don't blame her.

We go through the main entrance, and Mom asks a woman at the information desk where we can find Nastasia Mikalczyk. We are told the room number. Mom leads me through a maze of hallways to some elevators, and we ride up. She finds the right wing and asks again about Stassi. A nurse points the way.

Stassi is in one of those rooms that is glassed in instead of having real walls. She is hooked up to wires and monitors. There is a breathing tube taped to her mouth. Her eyes are closed, but even with all that, she is still beautiful.

Her mother is sitting beside her bed, holding her hand. She looks up when Mom and I approach, as if she feels us coming. She stands, a stunned look on her face. Her eyes go from me to my mom. Then she looks over my shoulder and her eyes widen, like she is afraid of something.

I turn.

Mr. Mikalczyk is coming out of an elevator holding two cups of coffee. He stops when he sees my mom and me. His eyes zero in on me.

“What are you doing here?” he demands in accented English. His voice is loud enough that a nurse at the far end of the hall turns to look at him.