Overdrive (5 page)

“Too bad about that kid, huh?”

“Kid, what kid?” I asked suspiciously.

“The kid in that car…the story's right there in the paper…you read it, didn't you?”

I hesitated. What should I say?

“The kid who crashed his father's BMW. You were sitting here when it came on the six o'clock news, remember?”

“Oh, yeah, that's right.”

“What was his name?”

“Um…Luke.”

“He's sixteen, like you. Do you know him?”

Again I hesitated.

“It said that he goes to your school.”

“He's a grade ahead of me,” I said.

“So you do know him.”

“Yeah. We've been in the same class before.”

“I thought that name was familiar. He ever been to the house here?”

“Before. A long time before, like when we were in grade four or three,” I admitted. Back then we'd been friends, sort of.

“What did it say in the paper about what happened?” Andy asked.

“Why are you so interested?”

He shrugged. “It has to do with cars. Why aren't you more interested?”

“I am interested. I'm just not obsessed.”

“So tell me, what did you read?” he asked.

“It doesn't say much. It just says he was racing…at least, they think he was racing.”

“Of course he was racing. Look at the picture,” he said as he picked up the paper and pointed at it.

I didn't need to see the picture to know what it looked like. I had a clear, vivid picture locked in my head.

“Cars don't get this tangled unless there's a lot of speed involved, and it wouldn't have been coming from that SUV hanging the left-hand turn. The other car just got away, that's all.”

“Other car?” I asked.

“The car he was racing.”

I tried not to show any expression on my face. “Oh, yeah, the police are looking for a white car that was seen driving away.” I paused. “What happens if they catch the guy?”

“He could be in big trouble.” Andy said.

“But he wasn't in the accident. He didn't cause the accident!”

“How would you know that?” he asked.

“Well…I know he wasn't in the accident because there were only two cars, right?” I asked.

“Either way, he was racing.”

“What if he wasn't racing right then?”

“What do you mean?” Andy looked confused.

“Suppose they were racing before the accident…like a couple of blocks before the accident, and the one guy shut it down?”

“And the second guy just kept on racing?” my brother asked.

“Yeah. Exactly. What would happen to the guy in the white car if it happened like that?”

“I'm not sure. Maybe nothing. I don't really know,” he said. “I can't decide if that guy was really lucky or really unlucky.”

“He must be lucky if he didn't get involved in the accident,” I said.

“Or unlucky to be there in the first place.”

I had to admit to myself that I did feel a lot more unlucky than I did lucky. “Have you ever street raced?” I'd never asked him that question that directly before.

Andy didn't answer, but one side of his mouth curled into a smirk.

“Have you?” I persisted.

“This better stay between you and me,” he said as he lowered his voice.

“Then you have?”

He nodded his head. “I've had my share, but I've never been stupid enough to race on a crowded street with people and police all around. That friend of yours—”

“He's not a friend of mine!” I snapped.

“That guy was an idiot for doing what he did. How's he going to live with the fact that he may have killed a kid.”

“A kid?”

“A baby. The baby in that woman's stomach.”

“She lost the baby?” I gasped. I'd read the newspaper article four or five times and watched the news on TV, and it hadn't said anything about her having lost the—

He shrugged. “I don't know, but if she did, how could he live with that…that is if he lives. I heard he's pretty badly hurt.”

The newspaper had said that he was in the intensive care unit in critical but stable condition.

But if he did make it, how could he live with himself if he killed that baby? And more important, how could I live with it? I had to find out more about what had happened. Even if what I found out wasn't good, I had to know.

I walked through the lobby of the hospital. With the carpets on the floor, and stores and coffee places lining the walls, it didn't feel like a hospital. It didn't smell like a hospital either. It just smelled like coffee. I pulled the lid off my coffee—my two-dollar-and-seventy-five cent fancy coffee—and took a sip. I figured that sip was worth about thirty-five cents.

I looked around me. This place reminded me more of a mall than a hospital. I guess if you had to be in a hospital, this was a pretty good hospital to be at. Not that I really wanted to be in any hospital. But I didn't have much of a choice.

I'd started off for school, but I found myself drawn in this direction. Now that I was here, what was I supposed to do next?

I walked up to the information desk. I waited in line as the woman at the desk helped the people in front of me, giving room numbers or directions. Then it was my turn. I hesitated.

“Um, why don't you go first,” I said to the older woman standing right behind me.

“Oh, thank you,” she said as she stepped forward. “Such a polite young man,” she said to the woman behind the counter.

Polite had less to do with it than scared and confused. What was I supposed to say or ask?

“How I can help you?” the woman behind the counter asked.

I looked up. It was my turn. I guessed I could just let somebody else go ahead of me, but that was going to get old fast. I stepped forward.

“I was hoping to get some information,” I said.

“Then you're definitely in the right place. Do you want to know about a patient?”

“Yes, a patient. Luke…Luke Johnson.”

She punched away at the computer sitting on the counter.

“There we are,” she said. “He's in room 2121.” She pointed down at a map laminated onto the counter. “This is where we are, and you follow this corridor, take the elevator to the second floor. You turn left and—”

“No. I didn't want to visit him!” I said, cutting her off.

“You didn't?” she asked. She sounded confused.

“No.” I had to come up with an answer. It did seem strange. “You know, I don't want to disturb him if he's really not doing good. I just wanted to know how he is,” I explained.

“I'm afraid I can't tell you that,” she said.

“But I can,” said a man's voice from behind me.

I turned around. There were a man and woman standing there. “I'm Luke's uncle,” the man said. “And this is his aunt. Are you a friend of Luke's?”

“Um, yeah.”

“You'll be happy to know that he's doing better,” the woman said.

“That's great!” I exclaimed. “I'm so glad to hear he's going to be all right.”

The two exchanged concerned looks. “I think it's still a little early to say that,” the man said.

“He's doing better, but he's still in the intensive care unit,” the woman explained. “At least he's conscious now.”

“Conscious?” I asked.

“Awake,” the woman explained. “He was in a coma.”

“A coma!” That was serious.

“He sustained a pretty bad head injury,” said Luke's aunt.

“And according to his mother—she's my sister,” the man said, “he still has almost no memory of the accident.”

“He doesn't?” That might mean he had no memory of me.

“No,” he said. “Actually, rather than stand here talking, why don't we head for the room? We didn't remember the number, but I overheard the woman tell you it was 2121.”

“Yeah, that's what she said, but I wasn't going to go up.”

“You weren't?” the woman asked.

“I don't want to disturb him, or anybody…you know it's not like I'm family,” I tried to explain.

“You won't be disturbing Luke. He's probably sleeping,” the man said. “That's how the brain heals itself after a bad injury. And I know it would mean so much to my sister to know Luke has such good friends. Not only will it not disturb anybody, I'm sure it will bring comfort.”

“I don't know,” I said. What was I going to do?

“Well I do. I insist you come with us.”

I was going to argue, when the woman took me by the arm. “Come on,” she said. I felt completely helpless to resist. What had I gotten myself into?

As I was escorted along the corridor, I thought I understood how a prisoner felt as he was walking to the electric chair. Maybe I could make a break for it, run out a door or into the washroom or—there was nothing I could do. I could just hope that he was asleep or that I was part of the accident he didn't remember.

“Here we are,” the man said. “Room 2121.”

We walked in the door. Luke's mother—I recognized her from a long time ago— jumped out of a chair, rushed over and threw her arms around them. She was crying. A man who had been standing by the bed came over and shook hands and they all said hello to each other.

I felt stupid standing there by myself at the door. Maybe this was the time for me
to just slip out. “We brought along one of Luke's friends,” the uncle said. “This is… this is…”

“Jake!” Luke's mother exclaimed. “It's been years since we've seen you! It's so good to see you!” She turned to her husband. “You remember Jake, don't you?”

“I think I do,” he said, although the look on his face told me that he didn't. But then again, why should he remember me? I hadn't been over to their house for five or six years, and even back then I didn't go over very often. I was sure I looked different than I had then.

“It's a shame Luke is sleeping,” his mother said. “If you'd been here a half hour ago he was awake.”

“How is he doing?” Luke's uncle asked.

“The broken arm and the face are not serious,” Mrs. Johnson said.

I looked over at Luke for the first time. The side of his face was all raw and bruised and his arm was in a cast. It certainly appeared serious to me.

“The part we're worried about is the head injury,” she continued.

“Head injuries are serious,” Luke's aunt agreed.

“How is he doing?” his uncle asked.

“A bit better. He's still mostly sleeping and his talk is slow—he can't find some words— and he has practically no memory of the whole day of the accident, but the doctor says she thinks he'll make a complete recovery.”

“Thank goodness,” I said, the words escaping my mouth before I'd even realized I'd said them.

“That's what we're all saying,” his mother said. “And that's so kind of you to feel that way, so kind of you to come.”

Kindness had nothing to do with it, but what could I say?

“The doctor said that as his brain heals he might regain full memory of the accident. We have so many questions, so many things that just don't make sense.”

I could probably answer all of their questions right now if I wanted to. I had my own
unanswered question. What would happen if he remembered that I was the guy in the other car?

“You're the only one of his friends to come, so far,” his mother continued.

Unless things had changed dramatically this past year, he really didn't have a lot of friends.

“They'll probably come tonight, after school,” Mr. Johnson said. He then turned to me. “You're not in school today?”

“Um, I thought it was okay to miss a couple of classes,” I said. “A couple of classes won't hurt.”

“You're right,” Mrs. Johnson said. “Or even a couple of days. Unfortunately, Luke is going to miss a lot more than that. It could be months before he can go back to school.”

“Maybe the rest of the year,” Mr. Johnson said. “I think we pretty well have to write off this whole year. He was struggling before the accident, and now?” he said and shrugged. “I think the year is lost.”

I knew that Luke wasn't a great student, but I didn't think he was having that much trouble.

“I think it's premature to look that far into the future, or to think that negatively,” his mother argued. “Maybe the school can give him some extra help and we can hire a tutor and he can get notes from his classmates. Jake, do you and Luke share any classes?”

I shook my head. “Not this year. I'm not even in the same grade,” I said, surprising myself. “I'm still in grade nine.”

“Oh, I didn't know that,” his father said.

“Luke doesn't talk a lot about school or things. Typical teenager,” his mother said.

“It's good to know that if he has to repeat the year he'll have at least one friend in the same grade,” his father said.

I was about to ask who that one friend was, when I realized he meant me. Before I could think of anything else to say, I heard a raspy voice.

“Hi.”

It was Luke! He was awake. They all rushed to his bed and gave him hugs and asked him questions. When he spoke, his voice was hardly audible.

“And look who's here,” his mother said, stepping aside so he could see me.

“Jake?” he asked, his voice soft and quivery.

“Yeah…hi, Luke,” I said. I swallowed hard.

“You came to see me?” he asked.

“Yeah, to see if you were okay.”

He hesitated, and from the look on his face it seemed like he really didn't understand what I'd said.

“I'm…I'm…going to be okay.” He turned his head toward his mother. “I'm going to be okay…right?”

“That's what the doctors all say,” she said and gave his arm a squeeze. “You're going to be just fine.”