Chapter 8
Ryan was sitting on the Range Rover when he heard Kirsten approach from behind. He slid off the hood and turned to her. Like Ryan, she looked like she had changed quickly into street clothes. The faintest impression of a handprint could be seen on Kirsten's face. Ryan looked away.
He held out an ice pack he had gotten on the way out of the club. "Alternate with hot compresses for the next 48 hours, but start aggressively with ice for the first 20 minutes."
Kirsten stared at him for a moment. She shifted her gym bag over her shoulder and took the soft ice pack, placing it against the left side of her face. "Thanks. Is this the secret to your magical healing powers?"
Ryan shrugged as Kirsten reached into a side pouch of her bag and found her keys. "Let's go." With an electronic bleat the locks opened. They got into the car.
"I know what you're thinking but you didn't do anything wrong."
"And look at your face now," Ryan replied grimly.
"Let's get out of here, then we'll talk." Kirsten started the car and pulled out of the lot.
Except when she needed both hands to drive, Kirsten kept the ice to her face, juggling it clumsily. As they got onto the freeway she asked, "Are you okay?"
"Sandy's going to be pissed, huh?"
"He knows it wasn't your fault. I called on the way out of the club and explained what happened, and he's just worried about us."
They drove without speaking; the white noise of traffic seemed to lull them quiet. Then Ryan said softly, "Sorry." He nodded toward the ice pack and asked, "Do you need something so your hand doesn't freeze?"
"Good idea. Can you reach in my bag for a towel?" Kirsten set the ice on her lap, lowered her jaw in a stretch, and gingerly touched a finger to her cheek. "My face hurts a bit, but somehow you look worse. Don't worry about me. I'm a tough Newport chick," she said with a laugh. "I was surprised by Dolly's strength. This is her fault, not yours. She's going through a lot."
"If only I had stayed closer by. Now there's no telling what Mr. Moore's going to do." Ryan reached around to the back seat and pulled out a towel from the top of her bag. He handed it to Kirsten.
Kirsten used it to hold the ice pack against her cheek again. "Honestly, I don't know how we're going to handle him yet. But let us worry about it."
Ryan said in exasperation, "You shouldn't have to. Wasting your time and money isn't right. Getting hit because of me isn't right. I can't believe this is happening."
In a light voice that seemed in contrast to the heartfelt words Kirsten replied, "Sandy was right about you; you're worth every hassle. And if you haven't noticed we're not hurting for money."
Ryan fidgeted in his seat and stared out the window. They lapsed back into another quiet until Kirsten pulled into the driveway.
There was a natural pause before either of them opened the car doors. Kirsten looked at Ryan with a wan smile. "We did have fun together in yogalates though, didn't we?"
Ryan fought a smile that crept up his face. "If we kept going to classes together, you wouldn't be keeping that prettiest pony pose rank much longer."
"Ha. You think so, do you?"
"Do," Ryan said confidently.
They entered the front door with Kirsten still laughing.
They made their way to the kitchen where Sandy stood waiting anxiously. He seemed to drink in the sight of Kirsten and Ryan smiling. He reached for Kirsten, folded her into his arms and closed his eyes, rocking slightly. She dropped her bag to the floor, and Sandy could be heard sighing in relief.
Ryan stood by awkwardly considering whether he could get around them quietly. As he took a step, Sandy looked up and took them both into his view again and grinned broadly. "How are my champions of non-violence?" He reached out and touched Ryan's arm. "Good job, Ryan. Good job."
Ryan looked over Sandy's shoulder to see Seth entering from the living room.
"Whassup? Ghandi and MLK in the house! Haaarrr. Haaarrr." Seth cupped his hands around his mouth to mimic rowdy applause. He smiled at his own joke but his face seemed slightly whiter than normal as he stared intently at his mother. Sandy had clearly filled him in on what happened.
At Seth's voice, Kirsten went to him. "I'm fine. I just got in a little tussle; Chester's mom is upset."
"A tussle? Okay..." he said doubtfully. "Welcome to my world full of tussles. Can you inherit tussle magnetism, too? Never mind, you know what? This calls for a group hug." Seth opened his arms wide. Sandy and Kirsten indulgently allowed themselves to be corralled into the beginnings of a hug when the doorbell rang.
Ryan turned eagerly for the door.
Sandy said, "That must be the Chinese food I ordered." He followed Ryan pulling out his wallet.
Ryan returned loaded down with a cardboard box from the deliveryman.
"Chinese? Perfect. Just like we had for Thanksgiving dinner. And just like that day we have lots to be thankful for," Seth said.
"Your mom getting slapped because of me or that Mr. Moore is gunning for me again?" asked Ryan sarcastically.
Sandy interjected earnestly, "I'm thankful you didn't even touch Mrs. Moore or do anything that could be misconstrued so that I'm not bailing you out right now. What you did showed self-restraint, Ryan. I'm so glad you listen to Kirsten. Promise me you'll always think first."
Seth was helping Ryan take out containers of food. He interrupted, "Let's crank it down a mega-watt, Dad. We can be simply be thankful for take-out instead of home cooking tonight."
"Okay. I'm thankful I got out of a group hug." Ryan smiled tentatively.
"I'm thankful I'm not the only one who is a natural yogi in the house anymore. Ryan loved it," Kirsten called from the dining room where she was setting the table.
Sandy and Seth looked at each other, and then at Ryan and said in unison, "Ryan?"
Ryan ignored them. "Who wants eggrolls?"
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"No more yoga jokes. It's old, man."
"As old as, say, my mom's friends that you did your manly 'warrior pose' for?"
"Kirsten told you that? Doesn't your family have boundaries? Not everything has to be shared!" Ryan growled.
"Gawd, did you just say 'boundaries'? After two anger therapy and one yogalates sessions? Tell me you didn't commune with your inner god. Or Marlo Thomas."
Ryan sent Seth his most withering look. They were walking along a pathway onto campus, and paused on a crest. They put their book bags down, and looked onto the student plaza. Groups of self-segregated students enjoyed their morning lattes and conversation.
"What? Phil Donahue's wife, Marlo Thomas, star of That Girl. Also, producer of Free To Be You and Me which was on my desert island album list in my Berkeley years, Ryan."
Ryan glared.
"Okay, forget that. Mom was simply proud of your yogalates prowess." Seth grimaced and said, "Word of warning though: retribution if you beat her in Scrabble is off the charts."
A long-legged, blonde cheerleader noticed Ryan and Seth. She leaned into her gaggle of friends, whispering and furtively looking back at Ryan and Seth. The flock began prancing excitedly in their Prada boots, and their purses flapped against their Juicy Couture as they swiveled quickly to inspect the latest two classmate-victims.
"What? Is my hair is not working today?" Seth patted his curls down. "Oh, oh, I get it." He stuck his tongue out and glared bugged eyed at the girls. They turned away haughtily. "The master race has nothing better to do than revel in others' misfortunes. You know what Ryan? They would use Sponge Bob Square Pants to suffocate Bambi if it meant getting into Bruce Wayne's bank account – sorry for the mixed media. This town sucks, we oughta jet. Start our Kerouac thing."
"Right behind you, man."
But neither Seth nor Ryan moved; they stood staring glumly at their school for a few moments before they threw their bags over their shoulders and trudged on to their first classes.
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Norland took it in, leaning his backside into Ryan, driving for the net. "So you jumped that kid Lester Moore?" Norland managed to ask before he fouled Ryan with an elbow to the gut. He scored on an easy lay up.
Ryan realized quickly that the water polo team was carefully testing the rumors that he wouldn't hit back. They were still scared of his short fuse and quick fists seen at the beach party, the model home, and other Newport events; but if rumors were true, this was too good an opportunity to let pass. Even as Ryan sucked in his breath sharply at the jab, he had wanted to laugh because they were pitiful in their attempts. He had trained under his dad and AJ, Harbor boys didn't rank when it came to getting a rise out of Ryan.
"Stick to the game," Ryan snarled. Basketball was not his thing; sports involving height weren't playing to his strengths. Between the snide remarks and shoves, it was going to be a long day. The game gave him something to concentrate on besides legal problems.
The weather was Newport-perfect for outdoor sports. Most of the class was playing 4-on-4 half-court, but on this last rotation Ryan was unlucky enough to have to go 1-on-1 against Norland because there weren't enough players.
Ryan picked up the ball and took it back to the line. He was too small to dominate the lane so after dribbling for a few beats he faked to the left, spun, and pivoted to the right. Norland was a half a step behind so Ryan had a clear 3 point jump shot. Nothing but net, but as he came down Norland knocked Ryan's legs out from under him. Ryan backpedaled but fell hard on his ass and back, scraping an elbow.
Norland had come into his own now that Luke was dethroned. And since he wasn't creative, the regime change was barely noticed by the plebes- more of the same bullying and verbal abuse. "You fucked up bad, huh? I heard one more fight and it's back to juvie. And Cohen, your butt fuck buddy, will be back in his place."
Ryan, still sprawled on his back, didn't react. Norland's check was way beyond a foul. But Ryan never seriously considered getting Norland back. He knew he could take Norland down with a few well placed blows. With the Atwood luck, he would be mid punch when the Coach decided to return. Besides, absorbing pain was a test he would gladly take if it avoided more trouble for the Cohens.
Norland looked to see what the Coach was doing. He was walking to the lower courts and would soon be out of sight. Norland kicked Ryan half-heartedly in the gut as he pretended to trip by. "Foster freak, remember your place here."
As Ryan scrambled out and away from Norland he said evenly, "They are my legal guardians." He wanted to yell it instead. Foster families were meant to be temporary caregivers who tried to prepare the children to be reunited with their birth families or adjust to an adopting family. He knew the water polo team didn't care, but it mattered to him. Sandy and Kirsten were taking on a huge legal responsibility for him as if he were their natural child, and not just biding time or taking money from the state until Dawn showed up.
Norland's confidence seemed to grow as Ryan didn't retaliate. "Shut the fuck up." He landed a hard punch to Ryan's middle.
Students, realizing excitement was to be had, gathered to watch. A couple of Norland's nameless goons joined in circling Ryan. Ryan danced around trying keep the goons in front of him. But that was impossible with three of them there. Goon 1 punched Ryan solidly in his side when Ryan had looked the other away. Ryan's breath was knocked out of him, but he stayed up and held his arms in a protective boxer's stance. He hopefully glanced around for the Coach. But Goon 2 came at him with a flying kick a la Bruce Lee style. Ryan easily leaned out of the way at the last minute and the force to his thigh was glancing.
Norland gestured to the others to back off before he punched Ryan again in the stomach. Ryan let out a muffled gasp. He looked up expecting to see another punch coming his way. Instead Norland and his goons smiled cryptically and walk away. Students returned to play. Maybe the Coach was returning? Ryan bent down to his knee as he pulled himself together. They didn't touch his face. A good thing since he didn't want to worry Sandy or Kirsten. He would just have to be more careful to stay in the view of the coaches and teachers.
Only as Ryan was straightening up did he think about some of the new techniques he was learning in therapy – counting to ten, morphing your opponent into a silly object, or communicating his feelings. He couldn't imagine Norland shaped as anything but the shallow jock he was, nor could he imagine talking to Norland with "I feel" sentences. In any case, Ryan didn't need any of the techniques; the water polo crowd just didn't scare him. Any incidental bruises were a minor irritation, tangible evidence he could do the right thing and resist violence.
A long whistle blew; the coach had finally returned to the upper courts. "Hey, Atwood," he said noticing Ryan, "Look alive and round up some balls." He threw a netted bag his way.
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Seth was sitting at their regular lunch table when Ryan approached, slightly hunched over with a light tray of food.
Seth poked at his salad. "Do you think it's ironic that the Chef's salad involves very little chef-ing? You cut things up and put it on a plate- not much for a skilled cook to do." Seth looked up as Ryan sat down heavily with a slight intake of breath. "What's with you?" Seth asked.
Ryan gave him a look.
"Oh, right. The beasties are loose and smell blood. Ryan, do they seem unnaturally concerned about our sex lives?" Seth looked seriously at Ryan. "Can you handle them without blowing up?"
"These assholes are nothing I can't handle."
"Great, good for you." Seth picked at his salad some more. "Because if there's any danger of you ..."
Ryan interrupted by asking, "How's it going with Summer?"
"Not a subtle change in topic, but it's a good topic. Summer is ... Ryan, I don't want to jinx it by thinking along this path but do you think she... no, wait. Do you think any person can put up with the pressure of hanging out with a publicly proven wimp and loser? Because you know what, Ryan? I'm not sure I could. And Summer shouldn't have to make that decision."
Neither of them said anything for a few moments. Ryan bit into a bagel he had brought from the Cohen home. It was cheaper than buying from the cafeteria.
"Or will she in fact understand my oath of non-violence and respect my philosophy as profound and wise? Ryan, Ryan, what do you think?"
Ryan opened his mouth to speak but Seth interrupted. "No, wimp and loser, I know. Ryan, you don't get it. I went from random flopper along the shore to determined salmon gliding upstream. I am just hitting my stride. I can't go back," he sighed loudly. "I've tasted the nectar that is Summer and winter is too harsh now."
"What's this about?"
Seth leaned back in his chair, and propped up his feet on the retaining wall. He ignored Ryan's question. "I will have to develop a master plan, that's all."
Ryan stared at Seth's shoes. "Are those my new Nikes?"
"Huh. Yes, I guess I borrowed them out of your gym locker. They're a little small, you might want to bump it a size. Maybe a size and a half." Seth put his feet back under the table and got very interested with his yogurt, humming tunelessly.
Ryan narrowed his eyes at Seth. "Norland?" Ryan watched Seth carefully. Ryan could feel his own blood rising as he saw Seth's face get red.
Seth didn't look up, but said in his best Ryan imitation, "Yo, bro. These assholes are nothing I can't handle."
Ryan gave Seth a sideways glance, unsure how to react to the news that the water polo team had peed in Seth's shoes again. He wanted to be protective without embarrassing Seth.
"I was okay with not fighting back pre-Summer, but now I'm not okay with that circa-Summer because I'm not ready to be in a post-Summer era. What does that even say about me? Am I contorting myself into someone different to have a girlfriend? Because I hate those splineless guys. But letting myself get my ass kicked is another kind of spineless though. I should be secure with who I am and Summer will see that non-violence is the morally correct path." Seth held his hands around his head in frustration. "Aaarrgghh. Who am I kidding? I couldn't defend myself if I wanted to."
Ryan was more miserable than when he was getting beat up in gym class. He was silent. For once his silence was not due to his normal caution but because he had no idea what to say.