Goldfish (20 page)

I suggest we train first thing in the morning, too, but wow, if I thought Pete was a grumpy ass normally, that's nothing compared to how he is in the morning. We all agree to never do that again. As Gabe says, bundled up in sweaters and watching from the bench, the routine will look a little off if one of the swimmers has killed the other two.

Pete started driving me home from practice. Dad was skeptical at first, but Pete waits until I get to the front door and then waves before driving off. Dad seems to appreciate the etiquette.

We're just coming back from our last practice when my phone rings. It's Lav. She doesn't bother to say hi.

“Lou, have you heard from Hannah?”

“No,” I say, and then think. “Actually, I haven't—since I asked if I should tell her parents.” I start to feel hot with guilt. “It's just so much has happened—”

“Someone's called the house phone a couple of times but hung up when we answered. Have you got any missed calls from her?”

“No,” I say.
Jus
t as my phone starts beeping with messages. I take it away from my ear to look. Six missed calls from Hannah. Argh. Great timing. We get no reception poolside. “Hold on, let me try her.”

I hang up on Lav and call Hannah, but it goes straight to voice mail. I try a few more times, but either her phone is off or she's poolside too (highly likely). I glance up. We're at my house, and the boys are all looking at me. I briefly explain.

We pull into the driveway and I jump out. To my surprise, the boys follow.

“Can we do anything?” asks Roman, helping Gabe out of the car.

“I don't know,” I say honestly. “I don't know what's going on.” I'm fumbling for my keys. Mom's already opening the front door. “Mom!” I say. “This is Roman and Pete and Gabriel.”

“We met,” she says icily. “At the police station.”

Well,
there's
an introduction. I look back at the boys. Pete and Roman smile like they've been sick in their mouths, but Gabe sways a little and puts his hand on the wall to steady himself. Mom steps forward.

“Come in,” she says, and I think it's going to be all right.

Meanwhile, the Hannah situation is so far from all right that
all right
is just a tiny dot on the horizon. Apparently, she finally spoke when she last called the house phone—she told Mom that she just wants to leave the training camp but doesn't want her parents to know.

“So she's going to run away?” I ask, baffled. “But surely the camp would call her parents as soon as they realized she was gone. And where would she go if she didn't go home?”

“She's not herself,” Mom says. “She sounds completely overwhelmed and panicked. I'm worried she might do something stupid. I'm sorry, Lou, but we need to tell her parents. Your dad's on the phone with them now.”

Poor Han. As soon as my life improves, hers goes to hell, and I'm having too much fun to notice. Bad friend.

Mom makes everyone a cup of tea and forces Gabriel into a couple of sweaters.

We're all squeezed into the tiny kitchen. I'm sitting on the countertop with Lav perched on the fridge while the boys loiter in whatever space they can find. Dad is on the phone, pacing around the living room. I feel reassured with him in control; he's always been good with Hannah's mom. He said his tactic has always been to show no fear and try not to blink.

Mom picks her way through boy limbs to stand next to me. I rest my chin on her head and hug her. She feels small like this, but she still smells of Mom—moisturizer, dry shampoo, and fabric softener.

“I'm glad you're not at the camp!” she says. I give a little shaky laugh. I feel the same.

“Glad I have slow arms?” Debs would have a fit if she could hear us.

“Yes, Goldfish,” Mom says into my hair.

We break apart. Gabe pretends to get sick into his sweater.

Dad has now paced out into the yard. He looks annoyed and is gesturing forcefully. He accidentally deadheads a few roses.

“I wonder if they're angry at us for not telling them sooner?” Mom wonders. “He'd better not punch my geraniums.”

She remembers the boys suddenly.

“You know what you need?”

“I'm OK on sweaters, thank you,” says Gabriel, a little muffled.

“Soup!” she declares, and heads for the cupboard. “Now, if I mix tomato and vegetable, will it be nice?” she muses.

“No,” everyone answers.

Only Mom could ruin canned soup; this is why Dad does all the cooking.

A few minutes later we're all drinking soup out of mugs because there are too many people in here to open the cutlery drawer. When I finish taking another slow sip, I can see Dad hanging up and stomping across the lawn toward us.

“Uh-oh,” I say.

Dad comes through the doorway with a halo of cold air and the smell of grass clinging to him. He takes a deep breath and looks at the phone.

“Hannah's parents think she's being ‘melodramatic,'” he tells us. We all do Big Eyes of surprise at him and then each other.

“What? Did you tell them about the emails?” I demand.

“We sent them over,” Dad says. “They read them while I was on the phone, but they chalked it up to teenage angst and a bit of jealousy on
your
part. Apparently, this is Hannah's chance of a lifetime, and she has to stay there and tough it out. I said I think she's actually quite ill, and if not she will be soon, but they're not listening.”

I thought Hannah's mom and dad would flip out and that I'd be in trouble for not telling them earlier. I should have remembered they're weirdos.

“Then
we
have to go and get her,” I say. It's a crazy plan, but it's the month for that, and of course we have to—we're the only people who will know her mom and dad are officially Awful. “Essex to Dorset isn't
that
far, surely?”

Everyone looks at me.

“Not that far,” I persevere. “I mean, I'm not planning to walk it. I'll need a lift, but…”

Mom runs a finger over her eye. “I don't know what to do that'd be best,” she says, sounding uncertain. Very unlike her.

“I'll drive to Dorset,” Dad declares, “if Hannah's dad won't.” This is very unlike him. Bold, bossy, and a bit competitive. Mom looks gratefully at him. Everyone's gone crazy this evening.

“We'll come,” says Roman unexpectedly.

“Ah, now I don't think that's a good idea after your recent brush with the law, son,” says Dad, not unkindly.

“What if you need some muscle?” says Pete, getting to his feet and looking suddenly very manly.

“That's why I'm taking Louise,” says Dad.

Pete looks stubborn, “I don't want to be in the way, but I'd like to help. After the trouble we've already caused you.”

Dad gives him a nod, and Mom says, “Not Gabe.” Gabe doesn't object. He has dark circles under his eyes and is resting his chin on his hands. Mom will drive him home and explain to his parents where Roman went. She asks if she needs to call Pete's parents, but he laughs at the thought. I can't imagine Pete Senior is a stickler for bedtimes.

Roman, Pete, Dad, Lav, and I all pile into Dad's car and head off down the highway. My stomach is fizzing with excitement. I'm worried about Hannah, but I'm so glad we're finally actually dealing with it—and I can't wait to see my friend.

Plus it is
so cool
heading off on a rescue mission late at night! There's Dad and Pete in the front, with me, Lav, and Roman in the back. Lav's in the middle because she's the smallest. She's sharing a blanket with Roman; they make a really beautiful couple. I catch her eye in the rearview mirror and she gives me a prim face that makes me smile into my scarf.

Plus
we're driving all the way to Dorset. It's like three hours there and three hours back! This is actual vacation driving, and it feels a little like a vacation—everyone's tired and eating sandwiches out of Saran Wrap.

I keep calling and calling Hannah, but her phone is still off. I remember her writing if it weren't for me and Candy Crush, she'd chuck her phone. I feel guilty. I haven't been in touch as much as I should lately. I text her.

Don't run, we are coming for you.

I realize too late that that sounds threatening.

PRISON BREEEAAAK!

After about an hour's driving, we stop at a gas station to grab fuel, chips, and cookies. Within a couple of minutes all the snacks are gone and we're picking the crumbs out of our hair and laps. Roman and Lav are being very helpful to each other with this,
so
predictable. Well, they'd better not come running to me if feelings get hurt.

“Um,” says Pete.

“Yes?” says Dad.

“Is Hannah a … is she … what size is she?”

God, is
everyone
looking to get a date this evening?

“Lou, what would you say?” says Dad tactfully.

“She's like me. Maybe bigger,” I tell Pete.

“Outstanding,” he says. “Because there isn't a seat for her. We brought one too many people for a rescue attempt.”

We all think about this.

“OK,” Dad says finally. “If she's not nuts, we leave her there. And if she's really nuts, we strap her to the roof rack.”

“Dad!” Lav slaps his little bald spot from behind.

“Hey!” he protests. “I'm a hero on a rescue mission. Show some respect and unwrap me a toffee.”

 

chapter 32

We drive for a couple more hours, listening to a lot of songs that only Dad knows. There's a deep sigh of relief when we get near and he turns off the radio “to concentrate.” Finally his GPS says we're there. It looks like a massive stately home. I had no idea the Training Camp was this plush; it looks like Hogwarts! A month ago this would've made me so jealous. I'm glad Hannah was too engrossed in her thigh gap to mention it.

The building is set back from the road, down a driveway with large iron entrance gates open in front of us. Dad hesitates, then turns slowly in. We look around for a security guard in a hut or a sign that says
Reception, Visitors This Way
, but there's nothing.

We crunch up the dark gravel driveway.

“I feel like we shouldn't be here,” I whisper.

“Well, I'm not turning back now” says Dad.

“Should we turn the lights off in case we wake everyone?”

“Good idea,” says Lav.

Dad turns his headlights off and we keep inching forward over the gravel.

“
Now
we look like burglars,” Lav whispers in my ear. She has a good point. I hope the boys aren't about to be arrested for the second time in a month.

There's a sudden clunking noise and the car jolts to a halt. It's really spooky in the car with darkness all around.

Dad makes a puzzled sound and turns the lights back on. Everyone screams with fright at the woman standing in front of our car.

We bumped into a statue. It's a stern-looking woman holding a jug on her head. (No wonder she's moody. In my opinion, she's using all the wrong muscles. Must be agony.)

Dad reverses slowly … and she comes with us! Everyone makes a “Gah!” of shock. It looks like some piece of her is snagged on the front of the car. This rescue attempt is rapidly going wrong.

“Did anyone see that
Doctor Who
episode, ‘Blink'?” Lav asks, and everyone says, “
Lav!
” crossly. Which I guess is a yes.

Pete tuts and gets out to deal with Moody McJug. She's pretty awkward to move, and he obviously doesn't want to break the arms or the jug, so we see him hesitate for a moment and then grab a boob with each hand.

There's a snort of laughter from the car. He gives us a look over her shoulder like, “Oh, grow up,” but NO! Not gonna. Sorry.

Roman gets his phone out and leans forward to take photos. Pete unhooks her from the front of the car with a scraping noise that makes Dad wince. Pete gets back in the car, bringing a waft of cold air with him.

“Did you get her number?” I ask. He gives me a sniffy silence while everyone sniggers. We continue up the driveway. I try calling Hannah again, suddenly realizing that this rescue mission is going to be extremely difficult if our damsel in distress has calmed down and gone to bed.

It rings! She picks up.

“Lou!” she whispers. She sounds like she's got a cold.

“I was so worried. Where were you?” I say. “Have you started running away or are you still there—I mean,
here
? Do you want to come home? You don't have to. We can turn around and go back, but…”

Lav is making “slow down” gestures. There's a silence from the other end of the phone.

“Are you here?” Hannah says as if she can't believe it.

“Yes!”

“With my mom and dad?” she asks, but thankfully she doesn't wait for an answer. “Yes! I want to come home.”

“Can you see us on the driveway?” I'm whispering now too. I can hear her moving, pulling back a curtain.

“That's not my mom's car. Why did you come in a different car?”

Now is not the time to say,
Han. Bottom line, your mom and dad are awful. Sorry. Not all bad news, though, since mine are champions and we can share.

“Um. It's my dad's. Tell you in a minute. Can you come out? Are you going to tell them you're leaving?” I say.

“I'll leave a note.”

“It's not you, it's me?” I suggest, and she gives a little giggle.

Dad's mouthing something at me.

“Han, do you want Dad to come in and talk to your coach or something?”

“I can't face it. I will, but right now I just want to come home.”

“OK. Meet you at the front door?” We hang up.