CHAPTER 45
Maria paced back and forth across the wings, supposedly waiting for her cue. Her mind was nowhere near the show, though. She didn't even listen to the trio singing 'Ya Never Know' with Mark. All she could think about was Michael.
She'd almost felt her heart stop when she'd seen him dart in the path of the falling flats. There had been a particularly nasty thud as a two-by-four struck his head. She'd felt sick at the sound. And then she was on her knees, holding his limp hand, calling his name, as people had pitched in to move the wood panels off of his body.
He hadn't even looked at her. That hurt her, almost more than anything. He could have been seriously hurt, and she didn't even get the chance to look into his eyes and see for herself that he was okay.
Then he was standing, telling everyone he was fine. She knew better. But his panic at the thought of the paramedics was palpable. With an able assist from Alex--god bless Alex--he was out of there.
For a moment she'd almost abandoned everything and run after him, ready to forget all the stupid constraints on her life. To forget his coldness, the rehearsal, the fact that she was grounded, wasn't supposed to talk to him...everything. Just to make sure he would be all right, and damn the consequences. Alex hadn't let her. So she'd done the next best thing; she'd called Max and Isabel. And then she'd hung up the phone and started to shake.
Thank god Kyle had called. They'd been in the middle of a scene when her cell phone rang, and at the sound, she'd abandoned the stage without any hesitation. She'd hoped against hope it was Michael, but of course it wasn't. But Kyle assured her Michael was going to be just fine, so at least Max and Isabel had been able to help him.
On stage, Melanie forgot her choreography again and the music ground to a halt. Maria couldn't blame her. The girl could have been badly hurt, if Michael hadn't stepped in. It was enough to shake anybody up.
And either the incident was affecting everyone or Melanie's abstraction was contagious, because people were missing lines right and left, unable to focus on much of anything. Except for Mark, who seemed to be giving the same strong performance he gave at every rehearsal. Maria could hardly believe he could act like nothing had happened, that for him rehearsal was going on just like normal. She was furious with Ms. Bedinger too. The show must go on, wasn't that the saying? Well, this wasn't even a show. It was just a stupid rehearsal. And Ms. Bedinger couldn't even give them a few minutes to collect themselves? For the first time, Maria felt like she could actively hate this whole stupid theater thing anyway.
The room was silent. Amy watched as Maria, seemingly lost in gloomy thought, pushed listlessly at her dinner with a fork, separating chunks of chicken from the vegetables in her casserole. Feeling her mother's eyes on her, she looked up, a guilty expression on her face. She set her fork down.
"Are you going to tell me what's on your mind?" Amy asked gently. Maria had hardly spoken since she'd arrived home from rehearsal, and Amy was getting worried. It was unlike her chatterbox daughter, who usually had plenty to say about everything.
"I don't think so," Maria answered in a low voice.
"Honey, it's obvious that something's bothering you. I know you're upset that you're on punishment, but I thought we...cleared the air last night. This is something else."
"You don't want to hear it," Maria mumbled.
Amy's suspicions flared up. "Why not?"
"Because it's about Michael," the girl admitted.
A frown crossed Amy's face. "I thought I told you not to have anything to do with him, Maria. I believe I made myself perfectly clear on that point."
She could hear the weariness in her daughter's voice as Maria responded. "You did. And I haven't."
"Well, then--"
"But it's not for want of trying," Maria said hollowly. "It's his choice. He won't even look at me."
Anger at her daughter's actions and relief at Michael's warred with sympathy in Amy's chest. Somehow, sympathy won. Anger could wait until later. Right now, Maria was hurting. She had known that boy would hurt her daughter again. Amy spoke, slowly and honestly. "Sometimes men are like that, honey. You can't count on them." She should know.
Maria shook her head. She didn't speak loudly, but her quiet voice cut through the room, leaving sharp-edged and painful silence in its wake. "He could have died today."
Amy froze. Died? "What?" she finally managed.
Maria kept her eyes on her plate. "He was at rehearsal today. Working on the puppets. And they were putting out set pieces, and...and a stack of flats fell over. They almost hit Melanie Royer. And Michael..." She swallowed. "Michael got there first. He pushed her out of the way, and the flats fell on him."
Amy felt a twinge of alarm. Whether it was due to her daughter's distressed state of mind or to the news itself, she wasn't sure. "Is he all right?" she asked evenly.
"Kyle said they went to the doctor's, and that he's fine. But it could've been so different, Mom. He was hurt, and I couldn't even go check on him." She raised her eyes to her mother's. Her misery was evident to Amy. "He didn't even stop to think about it. He just jumped in there and saved her, no matter what it did to him. It was brave, and selfless. And this is the guy you think is such a bad influence on me?" Maria twisted her napkin. "What did you say to him, Mom?"
An alarm went off in Amy's head. "What do you mean?"
"Saturday morning. After you sent me to the car. What did you say to him?" Somehow Amy couldn't meet her eyes. Maria nodded. "I thought so."
Amy began to defend herself. "I'm only doing what I think is best for--"
Maria interrupted. "I know you are. And I know it's my fault I'm grounded. I can maybe even see why you told me I'm not supposed to see him. But, Mom..." Her voice lowered to a painful whisper. "If something had really happened to him, and he wouldn't even speak to me, to...to say goodbye, because of you...I..." She looked up, a haunted expression on her face. "Mom, I'm not sure I'd ever be able to forgive you."
Amy's face tensed, and Maria continued, "I'm not saying that because I'm angry or upset. It's not some teenage rebellion thing, either. It's how I really feel, deep down. And it scares me."
"Maria," her mother managed.
"I don't know what's going to happen with Michael and me. You can keep us apart, and think this is all just some product of teenage hormones reacting to a cute guy and that what I feel for him isn't real. But eventually, you're going to realize you're wrong."
Amy had never seen her daughter this calm. She was so self-possessed, so sure, as if her emotions weren't getting in the way of her seeing things with total clarity. With a small smile, Maria told her, "I do love you, you know, Mom," and left the room.
Amy sat there, her mind trying to grasp the sudden maturity of her daughter. Her baby was growing up. "You're still grounded!" she called.
Maria's voice held a rueful laugh as she called back, "I know!"
With a groan, Michael Guerin tried to burrow deeper into the confines of his shabby couch. He had absolutely no desire to move, his sleep-befuddled body protesting at the thought. He reached up a hand to rub drowsily at his face. The soreness as his fingers hit his eye roused him, and he blinked against the light shining through the window. Craning his neck slightly, he glanced at the clock. 8:37.
He settled lazily back into his makeshift bed, and then it hit him. It was 8:37 and it was light out. It was morning.
He had slept for more than fifteen hours. And not just slept, but slept deeply, peacefully, with no signs of accusing voices, disappearing corpses, or the terrifying nightmares that had plagued him for as long as he could remember. The realization was enough to bring him completely awake.
Pushing himself to his feet, he padded into his tiny bathroom and splashed some cool water on his face before patting it dry, carefully avoiding putting too much pressure on his eye. With a grimace, he looked into the medicine cabinet mirror. Isabel had been right. The skin around his right eye was turning a lovely greenish-purplish shade, and his temple was red and abraded. Putting a hand up, he gingerly felt the side of his head. Yep, he had a lump the size of a spaceship.
Looking again in the mirror, his eyes narrowed. Something was wrong. He could sense it in his gut. No, not wrong, precisely. Maybe different was the word. It took him a few moments to figure out what it was. He felt kind of...rested.
He wasn't groggy, and he could feel a sense of energy pulsing through him. The bone-weariness that had been his constant companion was nowhere to be found. He felt able to do almost anything. The beginnings of a smile pulled his lips upward slightly. Here he was, looking like the loser in a bar brawl, and he felt pretty damn good.
He took his time getting ready for school. He was already late, anyway, so why bother to rush? It wasn't like he had any pressing reason to actually want to attend class. In fact, he was pretty sure there was a quiz scheduled in his math class. Just another convincing reason not to go rushing off.
But eventually, he walked up West Roswell High's front sidewalk and in the door. He'd managed to time it so that he arrived between classes. Heading towards his locker, he debated whether or not to check in with Max or Isabel at lunch. He probably should; they'd be worried about him. But still...
A few guys dressed in school jackets stopped their conversation and looked over in his direction. He glanced over his shoulder, but couldn't find anything unusual for them to be staring at. And then he realized it was him. He was used to people looking over him, or through him, as if he were too unimportant or weird or scruffy to notice. And that was the way he liked it. But these jocks, who he vaguely recognized as buddies of Kyle Valenti's, were looking at him.
And it wasn't just these guys, either. A lot of eyes were fastened on him. A group of girls started giggling nearby, and he looked up to catch them staring at him too. What the hell was going on? He did a mental check. He was wearing his standard outfit of jeans, T-shirt and jacket, and his fly was zipped, so what was the big deal? Sure, the eye, but they all had to have seen a black eye before.
His unaccustomed good mood faltered, then rapidly shriveled away under the weight of all the interested looks. A scowl crossed his face, and he moved quickly down the hallway, his expression warning them to stop looking.
To hell with this. He'd just hide out in the bathroom until lunch.
Maria bit her lip as she headed down the hall towards her science class. So far, this day had royally sucked. Her mother had been pretty much non-communicative, still seemingly shell-shocked from last night's dinner discussion; they'd had a quiz in French for which she couldn't remember any verb conjugations; and, most distressing, Michael hadn't shown up for English.
Not that he would have talked to her or anything, but at least she would have been able to see for herself that he was okay.
She was just about to round the corner when she felt it--he was nearby. She stopped in her tracks and was almost plowed over by the guy behind her. "Sorry," she muttered, but all her attention was focused on the crowd around her. Where was he? She looked wildly around until a familiar figure came into view. Relaxing, she let out the breath she'd been holding. And then he turned to look suspiciously at a group of giggling girls, and she forgot to breathe.
Kyle had lied.
Michael wasn't okay. The side of his face was red and bruised-looking, and he was sporting a shiner that rivaled the one Terri had given her. Only his wasn't going to wipe off with a little cold cream and water.
She saw him hunch his shoulders forward, scowling at the students around him before moving quickly down the hall. And then his eyes accidentally met hers. Met and held. She could almost swear that Michael--selfless, wounded, stubborn Michael--looked ashamed. And then he tore his eyes away and turned around, stalking away from her.
With a frustrated growl, she collected herself and headed after him. It was about time to give him a piece of her mind to go with the piece of her heart he'd already had for so long. She didn't get very far, though, because as he neared the end of the hall, he swerved into the men's room. Maria hesitated for a moment. Just how badly did she want to see him? She shook her head. Stupid question. Taking a deep breath, she marched up to the bathroom door. Her hand reached out and she was about to push it open...
...only to be stopped by a hand on her shoulder.
"Whoa there, DeLuca," said Kyle. "I know you're easily confused and all, but that's the men's room. The girls' bathroom is down the hall."
In an instant the petite blonde had the star athlete backed up against a bank of lockers, a threatening finger poking him in the chest. "You lied to me!" she seethed.
"Calm down, Maria," Kyle protested. "What are you talking about?"
"Michael! You said he was fine. Well, I just saw him, and do you know what?" She punctuated each word with her finger. "He...is...not...fine!"
Grabbing her hand, Kyle looked around the emptying hallway, then pulled her into a nearby stairwell. "He is fine, Maria. I promise you," he said in a low tone, not wanting to be overheard.
"But his head...his eye..." she protested. "Why didn't Max heal him?" She began to pace back and forth.
"Guerin wouldn't let him," Kyle said.
"What?" Maria exclaimed. "The stubborn, idiotic, selfish fool! When I get my hands on him, a black eye is going to be the least of his problems!"
Kyle laughed, and she turned angrily towards him. He put his hands up to ward her off. "Sorry, but that's ridiculous. You're mad enough that he's still hurt that you're going to hurt him a little more?"
Maria sank down onto the floor and buried her face in her hands.
With a sigh, Kyle looked down at her. "He couldn't let Max heal him all the way. Too many people saw the set fall on him," he explained. "He was just being smart about things, thinking ahead. You have to give him credit for that. And besides, it's not even that bad. I've gotten worse on the football field. He'll recover."
"You're sure?" she asked hesitantly, looking up at him.
"I'm sure," the athlete told her. "So, you want to explain why you went psycho at the idea of him being hurt?" he asked, a quizzical expression on his face.
Her answer was worthy of Michael himself. "No."
"Uh-huh." She flushed, but accepted the hand he held out and let him pull her to her feet. "So can I trust you not to invade the men's room now?"
She flushed again. "Yeah. I just...I have to get to class," she said hurriedly. She took a few steps and then turned. "Kyle?"
"Yes?"
"You'll probably never hear this from Michael, so...thank you for helping yesterday."
The bell rang, and Michael swung himself down from his perch on the bathroom counter. Time to check in with Max and Isabel and then clear out before Maria showed up at lunch. Wouldn't be so bad. He'd probably been imagining the stares and whispers earlier. And even if he hadn't, he didn't really care anyway. He just preferred to keep a low profile, that's all. It was safer. He took a breath and then headed into the hallway.
Putting on indifference like a cloak, Michael moved rapidly towards the cafeteria, ignoring all the eyes that still fastened on him. He breathed a mental sigh of relief as he spotted a tall blonde moving towards a table in the corner. Quickly changing directions, he joined her and carefully took a seat with his back to the room. "Hey."
Isabel studied him carefully before nodding. "Nice eye," she said. Michael shrugged it off. Her brown eyes softened. "How are you really, Michael?" she asked.
He met her eyes clearly. "Fine. Looks worse than it feels."
Isabel gave him a warm smile. "Good." She opened her bag and pulled out a container of yogurt. "I kind of expected to see you earlier today. I was worried about you."
His reply was matter-of-fact. "I overslept."
She looked at him in astonishment. "Really?"
"Yeah. I fell asleep after you left, and didn't wake up until morning."
"Really?" she asked again in excitement. He nodded. "That's wonderful, Michael!" she crowed.
A voice came from behind him. "What's wonderful?"
"Michael," Isabel told her brother, her eyes sparkling. "He slept all night."
Max looked at his friend, who shrugged. "No big deal. It's not like I cured cancer or anything, Maxwell."
"No, it's great, Michael," Max replied with a smile. "You joining us for lunch today?"
Michael shook his head. "No, just checking in. I've got stuff to do."
"Like what?" Isabel asked dryly.
"Stuff."
"You just want to avoid Maria, that's all," she accused.
He looked at her. "You know, I think I liked the other Isabel better, the one from a couple of minutes ago who wasn't on my case."
She didn't rise to the bait. "Look, Michael, just stay and talk to us for a few minutes, all right? When I see Maria, I'll give you enough warning so you can run away."
He glared at her, but didn't leave. The three of them sat in a reasonably comfortable silence for a few minutes, until Alex Whitman strolled over to the table and sat down. He greeted the Evans siblings, then turned to Michael. "So how does it feel to be a celebrity?" he asked nonchalantly.
"What?"
"Your little rescue attempt yesterday is the talk of the entire school. I haven't heard this much buzz since Coach Allen caught Vicky Delaney under the bleachers with Brad Phillips last year," Alex said with a grin. He caught the uneasy glance Michael shot at the others. "What? What's wrong?"
"I don't like it," Michael muttered. "We don't need any attention drawn to us."
"But this isn't Czechoslovakian-based attention," Alex pointed out. "No one has any way of knowing that you're different, except the people who already knew about you guys anyway. This isn't a bad thing, Michael. You may have saved Melanie's life."
Michael abruptly pushed back his chair and left. A puzzled Alex looked after him. "Okay, what did I say?"
Isabel, who'd been watching Michael storm out of the cafeteria, turned to Alex. "He thought it was Maria," she said simply.
"What?"
"He thought it was Maria who was in danger. He's furious at himself for risking being found out for someone who...who is not Maria," she finished lamely.
Alex understood what she meant. "Does Maria know?"
"I don't think so. But she hasn't talked about it much, not to us," Max answered.
Alex looked over to where Liz and Maria were approaching. "Well, maybe now's the time to tell her."
Approaching his History classroom with some dread, Michael debated cutting another class. This whole day had him edgy. People who he didn't even know had been coming up to him, trying to start conversations. In fact, he wasn't positive, but he kind of thought that one girl had actually tried to flirt with him. It all made him extremely uneasy. No, more than uneasy--it made him feel trapped. This sudden in-school notoriety sucked. Sucked buckets. In defense, he'd clammed up even tighter than normal.
At least with Maria around, he'd be in the familiar territory of having her blabbing at him. So maybe he could hack the class after all. He hesitated in the doorway, undecided, until a small hand on the center of his back pushed him gently into the classroom. He turned around with a jerk. It was, of course, Maria.
She searched his face for a moment, her eyes lingering on his bruises. Then she gave him a little smile and headed for her desk, saying nothing, before he could even think about turning away himself.
He knew she was all right, that it hadn't been her in danger, and yet it was still a relief to actually see her. Even if she weren't standing over him, yakking away like she had every other time she'd seen him since Saturday morning. No, she was sitting at her desk, quietly pulling out her notebook and preparing for class. He wasn't getting angry vibes off her any more. He was getting...well, he didn't know what he was getting. But it wasn't what he expected, and he didn't like it.
It was almost a relief when the classroom door opened part way into the class period and Vice Principal Sutter entered. He spoke quietly to Mrs. Lyons, whose eyes flashed towards Michael. She nodded. "Michael, come with me, please," the school administrator told the alien. For the umpteenth time that day, all eyes fixed on Michael as he grabbed his notebook and pen and followed wordlessly in Mr. Sutter's wake.
Shit. What had he done now? The last time he'd been pulled out of class like this, Hank had disappeared, and Valenti had pulled him in for questioning. The Sheriff couldn't be after him this time; he was on their side now. And besides, Michael hadn't done anything. So what the hell was going on?
He didn't lose any of his tension as Mr. Sutter led him into the Principal's office and pointed him towards a chair. Okay, no cops. So this had to be school related. His mind flashed to the classes he'd skipped that morning. Had he pushed his lack of attendance just a little too far?
"Hello Michael," said Principal Bruner as she entered the office. Ms. Bedinger was right behind her. He eyed them warily. "I'm sorry to pull you out of class, but I think we need to have a little talk about what happened yesterday, don't you?"
The halls teemed with students heading to their after-school activities by the time Michael was released from the principal's office. He'd gotten a lecture on listening to teachers' instructions and having more concern for his physical safety, and had to sign a copy of the school's incident report. He himself hadn't contributed much more than a few grunts to the conversation. He'd just sat there, arms folded, letting the sound of the principal's voice wash over him without sinking in.
And now he was free. He decided he had time to check with Max or Isabel on the status of the Maria-and-Melanie watch before he had to head to work. Probably the best place to wait would be by the Jeep in the parking lot. He headed in that direction, uncomfortably aware that he'd have to pass by the auditorium on his way.
And his concerns weren't unfounded, because he didn't make it past the auditorium doors. A hand latched onto his arm and pulled him to a halt. It could've been worse, though. It could've been Maria. But it wasn't.
"Michael!" cried Melanie. "I am so glad to finally see you. I wanted to thank you, you know, for yesterday. You saved my life. So thank you."
Michael nodded absently, his eyes scanning the hallway for a different blonde as Melanie continued talking. He didn't see Maria, and glanced back down to find Melanie looking at him expectantly. She'd evidently asked him something.
"What?" he said, not caring if she realized he hadn't been listening.
"I asked how your eye was," she repeated.
"Fine," he ground out.
"I'm really sorry you got hurt trying to help me," she said honestly. "I wish there was a way I could repay you."
His eyes flashed to hers, then narrowed. "Maybe there is."
Melanie looked nervously up at his cold face, caught under the intense glare of his eyes. "H..how?"
He folded his arms across his chest and stood there adamantly. "You can start by explaining why you've been leaving threatening messages for Maria DeLuca."
TBC...