Chapter 11

Seth woke up before dawn with a terrible pain in his chest. He groaned and buried his face in his pillow, which did nothing to alleviate his discomfort. He pushed up off the bed and looked down—Captain Oats was crushed against his chest. No wonder he hurt. Seth plucked the plastic horse out from under him and set it on the pillow beside his head.

In the past week, without Ryan around to listen to the near constant stream of thoughts and ideas that bounced around in his head, Seth had turned to Captain Oats for support. With the lights off and the blankets drawn up to his chin, Seth had, on more than one occasion, spoken in whispers to Captain Oats, sharing his thoughts out loud much like other people might write in a journal. Seth wasn't a writer. He was a talker.

Now that Ryan was back, he hoped he wouldn't need Captain Oats as much anymore.

"Sorry, buddy," Seth said softly to the horse, petting it once on the back. "Ryan's a little more responsive than you are. Not much, but a little."

Captain Oats didn't look particularly offended.

Seth rolled onto his back, rubbing at the sore spot on his chest, and glanced at his alarm clock. He didn't need to get up for another hour or so, but he doubted he'd be able to get much more sleep. He stretched, then tumbled out of bed and toward the door. His stomach was already grumbling so he decided on breakfast first, before his shower.

The kitchen was, not surprisingly, empty. Seth grabbed a bowl and spoon, tucked a box of cereal under his arm, and took the milk out of the refrigerator. He was on his way to the den, where he hoped to grab a few minutes of PlayStation time before his mom got up and started lecturing again, when he realized he wasn't alone.

"Hey," he said, stopping on the edge of the den and staring at Ryan.

Ryan didn't say anything, just glanced at Seth and nodded. He sat on the far corner of the couch, already dressed for school, with a mug of coffee cradled in both hands. Seth wondered why he hadn't noticed the smell of fresh coffee when he'd first walked into the kitchen.

Seth was still frozen at the opposite end of the room, entirely uncertain what to do. To say things were awkward with Ryan, now that he was back from juvie, was a vast understatement.

His first thought, upon walking into the kitchen the day before, was that Ryan's face had changed. It looked different. Harder. It was more noticeable in the warm glow of the kitchen than it had been under the bleached light of the visiting room in juvie. His posture was stiff. He'd looked uncomfortable, and even a little dazed, but Seth thought the change ran deeper than momentary uneasiness. The tension between Ryan and Seth's mom was immediately apparent, but Seth had expected that.

What he hadn't expected, though, was that the tension never went away, at all. Ryan had followed Seth to his room, and he'd thanked him, quietly, for the welcome home gifts. And then he'd stood there, silent, near the door to Seth's bedroom. Seth was used to the quiet, from Ryan. Of course, because Ryan was always quiet. It was his thing, or one of his things. But usually when he came into Seth's room he made himself at home, sprawled on the bed and flipped through comic books or sat at Seth's computer and read The Onion. Now, it was like he needed an invitation. But when Seth had invited him in, Ryan had just shrugged, shifting his weight against the door frame.

Then Seth had gone to his stereo to turn on some music, to find anything to break the silence, and when he'd looked back, Ryan had disappeared.

Later, at dinner, Ryan had said exactly two words—"no, thanks"—and that was without Seth's mom around to make the meal especially uncomfortable. It had been just the Cohen men for dinner, Seth's mom having gone to the office shortly after he got home from school. Once Seth and his dad figured out that Ryan wouldn't talk, at all, they'd stopped talking too. Whether that was out of deference to Ryan, or simply because their voices sounded strange floating over Ryan's head, Seth couldn't have said. It had just been uncomfortable, and weird.

But he was determined to make things right again.

"Mind if I, uh…" Seth waved the hand with the milk in it toward the couch. Again, Ryan didn't say anything, but he pushed himself just slightly further into his corner of the couch, and Seth took that as the best welcome he was going to get. He dropped onto the other end of the couch and poured a bowl of cereal, then topped it off with so much milk that the sugary flakes danced precariously close to the rim.

They sat in near-silence for several long minutes, the only sound Seth chewing his cereal, which came out especially loud and made him so self conscious that he barely ate half the bowl before giving up. He dropped his spoon and picked up the remote control, snapping on the TV. He flipped through the stations before settling on Bonanza. It was a favorite of his grandpa's. Seth sat back on the couch and tried to come up with something easy and casual and normal to say to Ryan. Or just, anything.

"What are you guys doing up so early?"

Seth glanced with relief toward his dad in the kitchen. His dad would know what to say, how to break the tension. He poured a mug of coffee, and a moment later Seth's mom joined him at the counter. Everyone was up early this morning. Seth found that realization less than comforting.

"I was hungry," Seth said. Ryan didn't answer the question.

"Well, since we're all up, how about I make some real breakfast? Eggs? Bacon?" Seth's dad started gathering supplies from around the kitchen, banging pots and pans around and piling food on the counter. "Ryan, how do you want your eggs?"

"I'm not hungry," Ryan said. His voice was scratchy.

"C'mon, it's your first day back at school," his dad said. "You need more than a belly full of coffee to get you through the morning."

Ryan didn't say anything, just looked into his mug and took another sip of coffee. Seth's dad shrugged and busied himself in the kitchen again. His mom leaned against the counter, a cup of coffee in one hand, the other hand rubbing her neck. She was doing that a lot lately.

"Why don't you get ready for school, Seth," she said. "You can have breakfast when you're dressed."

"Yeah, all right," he said, even though he'd already eaten, and Ryan knew it. Seth just wanted to get away, and he felt guilty about that, but maybe in the shower he'd be able to compose his thoughts and come up with something to say. He'd find a way to get Ryan back.

Seth stood and picked up his bowl and the milk, leaving the cereal on the coffee table. He'd turned halfway around to leave when a thought occurred to him.

"Hey," he said, "what are you doing after school? Tickets go on sale this afternoon for the Shins, and I'm only grounded for like another two weeks, so we can totally go to the show next month."

Ryan stared at Seth, and his face was hard, like he was hurt or angry.

"Seth…" his mom said from the kitchen, her voice stiff.

"I can't," Ryan said.

"Wha-" Seth stopped before finishing the question. "Shit. Dude, I'm so sorry, I forgot."

He felt like the most inconsiderate moron in the world. Ryan wouldn't be going to concerts any time soon. Hell, he wouldn't even be allowed to leave the house to buy concert tickets—or ride on the pier, or browse at the music store, or hang out at the Crab Shack—any time soon. School and this house. That was it.

Ryan didn't say anything, but he got up from the couch and carried his mug into the kitchen. He set the cup on the counter and without a word or a glance at any of the Cohens, he left through the back door. Seth wanted to crawl under the coffee table and hide. Maybe cry a little.

"Don't be too hard on yourself," his dad said from the kitchen. "It's going to take some time for him to adjust. For all of us to adjust."

Seth nodded and stared out the back door, at the closed blinds of the pool house. He hated adjusting.

He needed a nice long chat with Captain Oats.

Sandy drove Ryan and Seth to school, and on the short ride Ryan tried to enjoy his last few minutes of relative isolation. He was certain everyone at Harbor knew about what had happened to him by now. He'd never been popular, but he didn't care about that. He was used to being known as the kid from Chino who'd been taken off the streets and given a better life than he probably deserved. But now he would be the kid who was so messed up that he couldn't stay out of juvie, who had to be monitored 24 hours, escorted to school, locked up at home. They'd all be watching him.

"You're meeting Dr. Kim first thing," Sandy reminded him as he pulled up to the front of the school.

Ryan nodded and opened the back door.

"Want me to come with you?" Sandy asked. Ryan met his gaze briefly in the rearview mirror and shook his head. "All right. I'll pick you up at three."

Ryan stood with Seth on the sidewalk, squinting up at the school. Classes would be starting in just a few minutes, and students were flooding the walkways, pushing and laughing their way onto campus. None of them seemed to pay him any attention, and Ryan hoped it would last. He knew it wouldn't. He adjusted his backpack on his shoulders.

He was dreading this meeting with Dr. Kim. He knew he was still allowed to attend Harbor, hadn't been expelled or even suspended, but that didn't mean Dr. Kim hadn't tried to kick him out. He didn't know what to expect from her.

The first bell rang. Ryan's stomach clenched and he wished he hadn't finished three mugs of coffee before leaving. But he'd missed the stuff so much in juvie.

"We should probably get going," Seth said. "I know you and Dr. Kim are tight, but she's got that thing about tardiness."

Ryan took a deep breath, and followed Seth onto the campus. In the main quad Seth slapped him lightly on the shoulder and wished him luck, and they split up. Ryan walked quickly across the quad, aware with every step of the bracelet chafing on his ankle. It felt enormous, like one of Seth's Game Boys was taped to his leg, and he kept glancing at his feet to see if it the bulge of it was visible through the bottom of his jeans.

The receptionist in the front office recognized Ryan immediately and nodded her head toward the dean's office. Ryan was relieved he wouldn't have to wait for the meeting. He paused at Dr. Kim's open door and leaned in to knock once.

"Ryan, come in," she said. "Close the door, please."

Ryan shut the door carefully and stopped, waiting for Dr. Kim to finish whatever she was doing. She had her head down at her desk, and seemed to be working through a stack of papers, signing the bottom of each one.

"Have a seat," she said, looking up at him and motioning toward the two tall chairs that stood in front of her desk. He sat and watched her hands as she continued signing papers, until finally she set them aside and directed all of her attention at him. He held his backpack in his lap, gripping the strap in both hands.

Dr. Kim folded her hands on her desk and regarded him. He didn't fidget under her gaze, but he didn't look at her either.

"I assume you know why I wanted to meet with you this morning," she said. "A lot has changed for you over the past week. I spoke with the Cohens about your future here at the Harbor School, and we agreed that it would be best for everyone for you continue your studies here."

Her tone made it clear that she was an unwilling partner in the agreement, and he tried to imagine Sandy fighting to keep him enrolled. Ryan wondered if they'd ever had a kid under electronic monitoring at this school.

"But given your new probationary status, there will have to be some changes, of course," she said. "You will not be able to participate in any extracurricular activities that require after school participation, which means you are off the soccer team. Starting today, you will have a regular gym class instead of study hall."

Ryan should have expected that he'd lose soccer, but he hadn't thought that far ahead. At least it meant he wouldn't have to face the other boys on the team, and the forced detachment from school activities came as somewhat of a relief. The less he was invested, the less he had to lose.

He didn't say anything to Dr. Kim, kept himself from reacting at all, so she went on.

"You will be expected to obey every single school rule, to the letter," she said. "That means no fights, at all. No tardiness, no missed homework, no trouble in the classroom. Detention isn't an option, Ryan. If you're so much as one minute late to homeroom, you face expulsion."

Ryan wondered if she thought the idea of being expelled scared him. It didn't. He would gladly leave Harbor and return to public school. He'd follow Dr. Kim's rules, because that was what the Cohens expected of him, and he owed them that much. But he wasn't afraid. A little intimidated, maybe, but not afraid.

"The Harbor School expects a lot from its students, Ryan," Dr. Kim said, and he sensed she was delivering a veiled threat to him now, something more ominous than just telling him he had to behave himself and finish all his homework. "We expect our students to be productive members of their community, good citizens and decent human beings. There isn't a lot of patience here for students who defy our high standards of ethics. If any of the teachers at Harbor suspects that you are having trouble understanding those moral codes, they will let me know. We'll all be keeping an eye on you."

Ryan wanted to laugh at Dr. Kim's "high standards of ethics"—he knew she wasn't dumb, and that she was probably well aware of the sex and drugs and drinking that blanketed her campus—but he kept his face blank. She was looking for an excuse to kick him out. He got it. He wondered if he'd last the week.

"Do you understand, Ryan?"

He caught her eye, nodded once, and looked away again. She frowned and picked up the stack of papers, shaking them into a neat pile in her hands. She was done with him. He stood up.

"All right then, you may go," she said.

Ryan swung his backpack over his shoulder and headed toward the door.

"Ryan," she said, and he glanced back at her. "Don't forget to get a note from the receptionist. We don't want you to get written up for being late on your first day back."

He clenched his jaw and left the office. The day was only going to get worse from here.

Seth stood in front of his gym locker in the corner of the locker room, searching for a clean shirt. He had to start remembering to take his shirt home to wash. He thought maybe the reason he always forgot was that he blocked gym class from his mind the second it ended. He hated the sweat and the smells and the jogging. Mostly, he hated the locker room. He had too many memories of his clothes being stolen, and his shoes getting peed in, and other stuff that hadn't happened much this year, since word had spread that Ryan had his back. It still wasn't Seth's favorite place, and he still changed his clothes as quickly as possible.

He found a clean, though slightly wrinkled T-shirt, and had just poked his head through the neck hole when he saw Ryan standing next to him, holding a pile of gym clothes and looking nervous.

"Hey, man," Seth said. "I thought you had study hall."

Ryan shook his head.

"What happened to soccer?" Seth said. Then he caught the look on Ryan's face and realized. Soccer was after school. "Oh."

Ryan glanced around the room, then leaned close to Seth and said, "I can't wear this."

He held out the black shorts and maroon Harbor T-shirt.

"I know it's not exactly high fashion, but this is gym class," Seth said. "I mean, it's not that much different than your soccer uniform."

Ryan sighed, and Seth got it.

"Oh," he said. "The shorts. Yeah."

"They're going to see."

Seth patted Ryan on the shoulder. "It's not like they don't already know, dude. People have been talking about it all week."

Ryan looked like someone had slapped him. Seth felt terrible.

"I just meant they probably won't ask questions," he said quietly. "And I mean – they're going to forget about it soon. Somebody will OD or come out and everyone will forget about you. About us, I mean. Because I got arrested, too, and that was a pretty big deal – Seth Cohen in jail. You know?"

But Ryan wasn't biting. He just kept staring at the floor.

"You have to wear the uniform, Ryan," Seth said, getting a little desperate. "And you have to put it on, now, because Coach Bartlett gets pissed if we're late, and you're in enough trouble already."

Ryan looked up at that, and rubbed the back of his neck with one hand. He nodded and bent to take off his shoes. Seth went around to Ryan's other side, to block him from the view of the other guys, and maybe give him a little privacy. Ryan's foot was propped up on the bench, and it was sort of weird to see him wearing a pair of Seth's own Pumas, but they'd discovered that the bracelet didn't fit inside Ryan's boots all that well, and the only other shoes he had at home were dress shoes and soccer cleats. Seth thought his mom would probably go out after work and buy Ryan a new pair of shoes that he wouldn't even want, just because she felt so bad about everything.

"Here," Seth said, when Ryan was dressed, handing him his white athletic socks. "Just pull them up over that thing. That's what you do when you play soccer, right?"

Ryan gave Seth a hard look, but he pulled the socks up as high as he could. The outline of the black bracelet was still clearly visible on his ankle, but at least it was somewhat hidden.

"Ready?" Seth said, and he led the way out of the locker room and into the gym. They were on the late side, but Coach Bartlett was just coming out of his office, so they were safe. They joined the other kids under a basketball hoop, and a lot of them were sneaking glances at Ryan's ankle. Ryan's face was set and blank, but he was nervously rubbing the stripes running down the sides of his nylon shorts.

"All right," Coach Bartlett said, "last week was the last day of our square-dancing unit, so today we're moving on to something else."

There were mock-groans from the other kids, and Seth nudged Ryan. It could have been worse.

"Archery," the coach announced. "Think you kids can handle that?"

He looked around the room with a mixture of contempt and amusement that was familiar to Seth, who'd been on the receiving end of it too many times. It was the look that very athletic adults reserved for kids who were too scrawny, or too clumsy, or too fat, a look that suggested that since they weren't successful in gym class, they'd never make it in life either.

Then Coach Bartlett noticed Ryan. "You transfer to this class?"

Ryan nodded.

"What's your name?"

"It's Ryan Atwood," Seth said. The coach gave him a funny look and squinted at Ryan.

"Soccer?" he said.

"Not anymore," Ryan said, his voice tight.

Coach Bartlett raised his eyebrows, but didn't ask.

"Let's head outside, kids."

They all started jogging toward the door, because Coach Bartlett made them jog everywhere. Seth kept close to Ryan, who jogged with his head bent down and both hands closed in tight fists. They both went slowly enough that they ended up at the back of the group. Which was good, because that way the other kids couldn't stare at Ryan. But the coach wound up next to them, and he was staring at Ryan's ankle, and he shouted, "Atwood!" in a voice loud enough to make most of the class stop running and turn around.

Ryan stopped, too, and looked at the coach warily.

"What do you have there in your sock?"

Ryan's eyes widened and he opened his mouth, then shut it and swallowed hard.

"Nothing," he said softly, and Seth groaned inwardly. There wasn't a teacher on the planet who would accept that answer.

"It doesn't look like nothing," Coach Bartlett said. "Looks like a pack of cigarettes, but I can not for the life of me imagine why you would bring that to gym class."

"He doesn't even smoke," Seth said. The whole class had stopped now, and turned around. Seth thought most of them knew exactly what was in Ryan's sock, but no one was going to admit it. They'd take what entertainment they could get, in the middle of a boring school day.

"Was I talking to you, Cohen?" the coach said. Seth felt the heat rise to his cheeks, and he gulped. He'd always been unreasonably intimidated by his gym teachers. They were like Luke used to be, only adults and therefore more dangerous.

"Atwood, whatever it is, you shouldn't have it in class. Hand it over."

"Can I please talk to you?" Ryan said. He seemed to be having trouble catching his breath. "Alone?"

"I have a class to run," the coach said. The bastard looked like he was enjoying this. He was probably as bored as the students. "And if you keep disrupting it, you're going to land yourself in detention."

Ryan's shoulders slumped, and his head went down, and he looked as if a giant hand was pressing on him from above. He got down in a crouch on the floor, and Seth was pretty sure he wasn't the only one who could see how badly Ryan was shaking—not just his hands but his whole body. He unrolled the sock and looked up at the coach, and Seth wanted to go stand in front of him again, because Ryan actually looked close to tears.

The coach looked confused. "Is that some kind of jewelry?" and that was when Seth finally snapped out of his fear-induced paralysis and went up to the coach.

"It's electronic monitoring," Seth said, as quietly as he could, so the rest of the class wouldn't hear. His voice was shaking, but he was pretty sure it was from anger, not fear. He couldn't remember ever being so furious. "Home detention. Dr. Kim said she'd let all the teachers know."

The coach pressed his lips together and nodded, and it was the first time Seth had seen him look like he felt bad about anything.

"No one told me," he said. "Atwood, it's okay. Pull up your sock."

He raised his voice to include the whole class.

"People, outside! What are you waiting for?"

The other kids turned around and started jogging away. Seth went to Ryan, who had pulled up his sock, but was still sitting on the floor, staring straight ahead. Seth offered a hand to help him up, but Ryan just sat there for a moment, hugging his own knee, before he slowly uncurled himself and stood up on his own.