Collision Course
Chapter 2

"So, Ryan, big day tomorrow, right?"

Ryan jerked, startled, and his thumbs pressed two crescent-shaped scars into the hamburger bun he was holding.

"Big . . . day?" he echoed warily.

Sandy turned around from the grill and set a platter of burgers on the patio table. "Seth has been going on and on about it. The great video game extravaganza."

Ryan relaxed. Sandy wasn't talking about the interview. Of course not, because Ryan hadn't been invited to interview, and the Cohens didn't know anything about the internship anyway.

"So I gather this video test-marketing deal is some sort of dream activity. Sort of like attending a fantasy football camp."

Ryan raised his eyebrows, incredulous. "Seth? Compared it to football?"

"Nah, that was me," Sandy laughed. "So, are you as excited as he is?"

"Nobody's ever as excited as Seth," Ryan observed dryly.

"Truer words, kid . . . Hey, Kirsten, Seth, dinner is ready!"

Kirsten emerged from the kitchen balancing a bowl of salad in one hand and a tray of condiments in the other. Seth followed, empty-handed except for a bag slung over his arm. He was holding his fists in the air and flexing his thumbs rapidly.

"I thought you were bringing the drinks. Seth. And what are you doing?" Kirsten demanded as her son slid into a chair.

"Conditioning exercises, Mom. My thumb muscles and reflexes have to be primed and ready-to-play tomorrow."

"I'll get the drinks," Ryan offered.

"Mountain Dew for me, man. And hey, Ryan, you should do a little practicing yourself. Develop some speed and endurance for tomorrow. I'd hate to see you fade before the finish."

Ryan rolled his eyes and went to get the drinks. When he returned, Kirsten and Sandy were staring at Seth's plate, which was loaded with potato salad and a tower of five hamburger buns.

"Carbo-loading," he explained. "An athlete prepares. Or, wait, maybe I should be concentrating on protein. That might be better for hand-eye coordination." Seth slid his plate over to Ryan, sending hamburger buns skidding off the table. "Here, dude, have some starch. Dad, could you pass me the tray of burgers? . . .. . . So, Ryan, I've made a mix of travel music for us. What do you think?"

Ryan looked at the CD that Seth handed him. "I think these are all your favorite songs."

"Yes, true. But it's all in the arrangement, dude. See, the way I've done it, the songs build in intensity. We start slow and easy, go through some mid-tempo numbers, and end with a few that, I admit, are thisclose to serious heavy metal. By the time we get to Santa Monica, our adrenaline will be flowing, and we will be pumped, my man."

"Just like football players charging onto the field," Sandy offered.

"Yeah, whatever, dad. Also, Ryan, because I know that you're never happy anymore unless you have homework, I've prepared a little light reading for you tonight." Seth dug into his bag and handed Ryan a folder. "Inside here you'll find information on all four companies that are going to be presenting tomorrow. Previous products, target audiences, marketing schemes. I figure the more we know about them, the better feedback we can give, the more impressed the manufacturers will be with us. See the strategy, dude? We could come out of this with endorsement deals."

"Yeah, because we're so famous and the world so cares what games we play."

"Not the right attitude, Atwood. Just listen to the master, all right? Read, study, learn. There will be a quiz tomorrow over breakfast . . . Oral, not written. Don't worry, buddy. An hour or three burning the midnight oil and you can ace it."

"You don't have plans with Lindsay tonight, Ryan?" Kirsten asked.

"Yeah, kid. I expected her to join us for dinner. Who's going to eat the veggie burgers I made?"

"The garbage disposal?" Seth suggested.

Ryan lowered his gaze and poked patterns into his tomato slices. "Lindsay's going to bed early tonight. She's . . . got a busy day tomorrow."

"Good thing you have one too then, right, dude?" Seth glanced across the table at Ryan. He swallowed and added uncertainly, "I mean, unless something's come up? If you have something better to do and want to cancel . . ."

Ryan cocked his head, lifted his shoulder in a half-shrug. "Nah, I told you buddy, I'm in."

"Great. Because trust me, Ryan, this is going to be a day to remember—a classic Seth-Ryan road trip."

"God," Sandy groaned. "I hope not."

"No, no, not Tijuana/Palm Springs/L.A. classic," Seth promised. "More like Vegas classic, without the trucker hat." He flashed Ryan a conspiratorial grin, but Ryan was still examining his salad.

"I'll be . . . back in a minute," he said suddenly and left the table.

"Is something wrong, Ryan?" Kirsten called, but Ryan merely waved back at her. He didn't answer.

"Nervous about his skills, that's all." Seth nodded sagely. "He's just afraid that he'll be shown up by superior talent tomorrow, like that of, oh, Mr. Seth Cohen. Dad, would you pass me the mustard? Mustard won't kill the protein effect, will it?"

--------------------------

Inside the pool house Ryan leaned against the door and took a heavy breath. His hand automatically reached for the phone to call Lindsay, but then he dropped it back onto the nightstand.

If he called her, he'd just upset her, and Ryan didn't want to do anything to ruin her chances at the interview tomorrow. It had been hard enough to persuade her to go through with it at all.

"Why should I?" Lindsay had raged that afternoon in her bedroom. "I don't even want it now . . ."

"Yes, you do," Ryan argued. He caught her arm as she paced and pulled her down to sit on the bed with him.

Lindsay grabbed a fistful of his shirt and pressed her face into the curve of his neck. "I don't," she insisted, and Ryan felt tears running into the hollow of his collarbone. Her voice became high and erratic. "It's meaningless now. If the selections committee isn't even interviewing the best candidates . . . "

"They are. They're interviewing you."

"They're not interviewing you. I hate them."

Ryan made a sound, almost, but not quite, a laugh, and Lindsay repeated fiercely. "I do. I hate them. But you know what? I am going to go to that interview. I'm going to go and I'm going to tell the panel that . . . that their selection process is laughable . . . and their internship is worthless, and that they can just . . . they can just . . . just "

"Lindsay . . . " Ryan brushed her hair back from her face. With his other hand, he cupped her chin, rubbing his thumb along her jaw line. "Don't cry," he whispered. "Please? I don't want to spoil this for you."

Lindsay kissed his palm, then nestled back against his shoulder. "But Ryan, this doesn't make any sense. It just doesn't. Your grades are as good as mine. Your letters of recommendation were better. And your application was . . . it was amazing. They have to see that you're brilliant."

Ryan chuckled, warm and low. "Brilliant, huh? 'Cause I seem to remember when we met . . . "

"Don't remind me." Lindsay shuddered. "I was such a bitch. I'll never understand why you forgave me."

"You apologized. Besides, I had . . . other reasons." Ryan began to trace small circles on Lindsay's waist where her top had ridden up. Gradually, he let his fingers inch higher.

"And now you're trying to distract me."

"Among other things."

Lindsay leaned into his kiss, but when she looked up, her eyes were still brimming, tear-bright. "I mean it, Ryan," she whispered. "I really don't want to do this without you."

It had taken another hour, but Ryan finally convinced Lindsay that she owed it to herself to go to the interview and win one of the internships. He was afraid that if he called her now, he'd say the wrong thing, or else she'd hear the wrong thing—the misery in his voice—and she'd back out after all.

"Ryan? Hey, dude!" Seth called. "Your drink's getting warm and your burger's getting cold. Get out here and finish eating. I'll meet you in the living room. We can play some of those soon-to-be-obsolete games to warm up for tomorrow."

Ryan pressed his the heels of his hands over his eyes, inhaled deeply, blew out the air, and went to rejoin the family.

---------------------------------

"Hey, Seth. You and Ryan call it quits for the night already?"

Sandy dropped unceremoniously onto the couch next to his son and picked up the abandoned joystick.

"Well, Ryan did," Seth said vaguely. He didn't take his eyes off the mayhem he was creating on the television screen.

"Mind if I play? Your mother's deserted me to run some errands, and I'm trying to avoid reading some deadly dull legal briefs."

Seth shrugged and reset the game.

"So, you guys all set for tomorrow? You have the directions? The car's gassed up?"

"Yes, yes, and isn't gassing the car the owner's responsibility?" Sandy raised his ample eyebrows and Seth amended, "I mean, yeah, gassed, washed, lubed, whatever."

"Don't say 'lubed', Seth . . . " They played in silence for a few minutes. Then Sandy observed, "I'm glad you and Ryan are going to spend some time together tomorrow. You've seemed a little . . . distant . . . with each other lately." He kept his tone deliberately casual. "Your mom and I thought we've picked up some tension. We've been . . . well, not concerned, exactly. Just . . . curious."

Seth dropped his joystick and sat up. "Okay, see. You noticed it too." He sounded triumphant, even though onscreen his player died a grisly death. "I was right. Ryan hasn't been himself. He's been, like, totally off lately."

"That's not exactly what I said . . . "

"The guy's stuck in some kind of nerd-rut, dad. He studies, he hangs out with Lindsay, he's all about school. He hardly ever wants to talk about anything that matters to me, and he's got like a million better things to do whenever I make any plans. I mean, even tomorrow . . ."

Seth broke off abruptly. He felt twin stabs of shame and guilt, remembering that Ryan didn't know he had something else to do tomorrow. Maybe not something better, but still . . .

For the thousandth time since he had left the pool house the day before, Seth wondered what the hell had happened in there. He hadn't intended to delete the message, not consciously anyway. His hand had just seemed to move automatically, disconnected from any decision Seth made.

Mentally, he kept replaying details of that moment: his finger pressing, the delete button clicking, the accusing silence that followed. He knew he had made a terrible mistake, but no matter how hard he tried, Seth couldn't figure out a way to confess. Well, no, that wasn't true. He could imagine himself confessing; but Ryan would expect an explanation too, and then what could Seth say? "My evil doppelganger did it"? "I had a sudden muscle spasm and accidentally erased your message"? Even Captain Oats hadn't bought those excuses. And facing Ryan without being able to offer some justification . . . Seth shuddered.

Their friendship wouldn't survive, even if Ryan didn't care about the internship.

Not "if", Seth corrected himself. Even "though" Ryan didn't care about the internship.

Because he didn't. Seth was sure of that. He hadn't actually asked, of course. He had been stealth, offering Ryan dozens of chances to back out of their trip, tossing the words "interview" and "intern" into their conversation just so Ryan could pursue the subject, even musing about possible summer plans, and . . . nothing.

Ryan had said nothing. So Seth concluded that was exactly what the interview must mean to him: nothing.

"Seth?" Sandy snapped his fingers in front of his son's face.

"Huh? . . . Oh. Dad. Sorry. So, what? Want to play again?"

"You know, son, when you zone out like that, son. I'm always afraid I'll wake up the next day to find llamas grazing in the yard or something."

"Llamas? Dad, c'mon. I am really not into animals that chew cud. Whatever cud is."

"Good to know. So, you were saying . . . about tomorrow?"

"Oh, yeah, that." Seth fidgeted, trying to regroup. "It's just, you know, another example of what I'm talking about. Me, having to make all the plans, Ryan being all reluctant and glass-half-empty about them. Plus, the guy almost never laughs at my jokes anymore, and dad, that? Is a serious warning sign. Because if nothing else, I am funny, right?"

"I think we would all agree that you're funny, Seth," Sandy said dryly.

Seth nodded with renewed animation. "So, I mean, who is this guy? Because it's not the Ryan Atwood I know. It's like he's become some kind of Stepford Friend. Maybe, you know, it's time for a parental sit-down. Find out what his problem is . . . work through his issues . . ."

"Seth," Sandy interjected, "I'm not convinced that Ryan has a problem."

Seth stared at his father skeptically and Sandy explained, "Think about it, son. Of course he and Lindsay hang out a lot. When you and Summer were dating you did too. . . You spent as much time with her as Ryan spends with Lindsay."

"That was entirely different," Seth argued.

"Because you were the one doing it."

"No. I mean . . . no." Seth floundered and concluded weakly, "It just . . . it wasn't the same."

"And Ryan took his schoolwork seriously last year too. Maybe he's a little more intense about it now, but that's probably because he's starting to think about college. You know, Seth, Ryan probably never considered college a real possibility before."

"Yeah . . . but it's not like he has to work all the time," Seth muttered. He grabbed a handful of chips and bit into them viciously, sending crumbs flying everywhere.

Sandy moved the bowl out of Seth's reach. "This year's been pretty rough for you hasn't it, son?"

"Okay, dad, now you're changing the subject. Sure, you're changing it to talk about me, so you think I won't mind, but . . ."

"All right, maybe 'rough' isn't the right word. But I know it's been something of a letdown . . ."

"Letdown? No. Come on, dad . . . I'm just, you know, pacing myself. I don't want to peak at seventeen and show up on some 'Where Are They Now' list when I'm twenty-one."

"Last year was pretty exciting," Sandy recalled. "Ryan comes to live with us. You gain a best friend, a whole new social life. You have two really hot girls vying for your attention . . . "

Seth choked. "Vying? Who says vying? And Dad, the word 'hot'? Really should not be part of your vocabulary unless you're talking about the weather."

"I know a hot girl when I see one, Seth. But I'm just saying that it's natural if you're a little disappointed with how things have turned out this year. So you overcompensate . . ."

"That's not what's going on," Seth insisted. "It's Ryan who's different, not me. Come on, dad, tell the truth. You don't think Ryan has changed?"

"I think," Sandy said slowly, "that Ryan seems happier. He's settled here now. He's more secure. He's not constantly looking over his shoulder and second-guessing himself. Those are good things, right, Seth?"

"Yeah . . . I suppose."

Sandy patted Seth's shoulder sympathetically. "People don't stay the same, son, not even when we want them to. They grow, they change. That means relationships have to change too if we want them to last. You and Ryan . . . you have a pretty special friendship. Just hold onto that, okay?"

Seth nodded tersely. "Hey, I'm trying," he muttered.

"You two guys have fun tomorrow," Sandy urged. He stood up, ruffling his son's hair. "Make sure you call when you get there . . . And son . . . don't leave this place a mess when you go to bed, okay? Good night."

"Yeah. Night," Seth said as Sandy left the room. He started to put away the game, then threw the joystick down in disgust.

Somehow the prospect of Seth-Ryan time the next day had lost a lot of its appeal.

---------------------------------------------

Kirsten poured herself a drink, ready to turn out the lights and join Sandy upstairs when she noticed the pool house door open and then close. She watched as Ryan slouched down on the edge of the pool. He pulled up the legs of his sweatpants and dropped his feet in the water. Then he leaned back, braced on his arms, lifting his face toward the moonless sky.

Kirsten debated, wondering if this was one of those times when Ryan wanted privacy. She could usually intuit his mood, though, and tonight, he just seemed . . . lonely. She decided to join him; if he didn't want company, she would just say a quick good night and go on up to bed.

At the last minute, before she went outside, she poured out her wine and grabbed a couple of soft drinks. More than once, she'd noticed Ryan watching her when she drank. He never said anything, but Kirsten sensed disapproval behind his veiled eyes, and the shadow of memories that she really didn't want to dredge up for him.

"Hey," she said quietly as she sat down next to him. "This seat taken?"

Ryan blinked at her in surprise, then smiled and shook his head.

Kirsten slipped off her shoes, easing her feet into the water.

"Caffeine-free," she observed, handing Ryan a can of soda. "Looks like you're having enough trouble getting to sleep."

"Nah . . . Well, maybe a little. I just thought I'd come out here, clear my head."

Kirsten wanted to ask what was keeping him awake, but even though Ryan had become more forthcoming lately, she knew that sometimes a circuitous approach was the best way to reach him.

"It is nice, isn't it?" she said. "The breeze, the silence, the smell of the ocean . . . Those were some of the things I missed when I wasn't living here."

Ryan nodded. His voice was so soft Kirsten had to strain to hear it. "I missed them too . . . last summer."

She was surprised. He almost never mentioned the time he had spent away from them in Chino. "And we missed you. Last summer was really hard for all of us. I wasn't sure we'd ever find our way back together. But we did."

"Yeah." Kirsten thought he sounded uncertain. "I guess."

"So you and Seth . . . you two are all right?"

"Yeah . . . We're fine. Why? I mean, I sort of blew him off the other day. . . Did he say something?"

"No." Kirsten skimmed her fingers over the surface of the water. "You just don't seem very excited about this video game thing he has planned for the two of you."

"Extravaganza."

"What?"

"With Seth, it's an extravaganza. Anyway, no, it's great. I mean, it'll be fun . . ." Ryan's voice trailed off, and he busied himself drinking his soda.

Kirsten waited for Ryan to continue, but the silence stretched on between them, so she tried again, a different route.

"I stopped over at Lindsay's house tonight to give her a blouse I bought for her. It's such fun to pick out things for a girl. No offense, but your style doesn't give me a lot of options, Ryan. Now, with Seth, I can be a little more imaginative . . ."

"Seth lets you pick out his clothes?"

"Actually, no. Not since he was twelve," Kirsten confessed. "He just lets me pay for them."

Ryan gave her a sympathetic glance. "Did she like it? Lindsay, I mean. Did she like the blouse?"

"I think so. She didn't really say too much. In fact, she seemed a little distracted. Maybe she's nervous about tomorrow." At Ryan's sharp, questioning look, Kirsten explained, "Her mother told me that Lindsay has an interview tomorrow for some summer internship. Did you know about that?"

Ryan dropped his gaze again. His eyes were hooded. "Yeah. It's a pretty big deal, six weeks on campus this summer, working with the physics department there. "

Even in the dark, Kirsten could see that Ryan's jaw had tightened.

"I'm little surprised that you agreed to go to the video thing—excuse me, extravaganza--with Seth. I would have thought you'd like give Lindsay moral support. . . Is that it?" Kirsten asked. "You'd rather go with Lindsay? Because I'm sure Seth would understand if you cancelled."

"I'm not," Ryan said under his breath, and then added, just loud enough for Kirsten to hear, "It's okay. Lindsay's mom is going with her."

Kirsten nodded. She kept her voice neutral. "I'm surprised you didn't apply for the internship yourself, Ryan. It seems like something that would interest you."

Ryan leaned forward, elbows on his knees. He bowed his head into his clasped hands.

After a long pause he whispered hoarsely, "I did. I did apply."

"Oh . . . "

"I was going to tell you . . . if I got it. But they didn't invite me to interview."

"Ryan . . ." Kirsten began, but it seemed as though, having made his confession, Ryan needed to explain everything.

"I shouldn't have expected it . . . But things have just been going so well for me this year. And I've been working hard, so I thought I had a chance. I thought I could do something . . . to make you and Sandy proud. You know, glad that I came back, and not just . . . that I brought Seth home."

Kirsten caught her breath. "God, Ryan . . . Is that what you thought? Oh, sweetie, no. Sandy and I were more than glad that you came home. We were overjoyed. And we would have felt exactly the same way even if Seth hadn't come with you." She clasped his hand until Ryan raised his eyes to hers.

"You're Ryan," Kirsten said firmly. "We see you, not Seth's shadow. And you never have to prove yourself to us, or justify your place in this family."

Ryan gave her a small, shy smile. "Thanks."

Kirsten leaned over and kissed his cheek. Then she pulled her feet out of the water, lacing her arms around her knees.

"I know how you feel," she told him. "About the interview, I mean. I went through the same thing."

"You did?"

Kirsten nodded. "I was a junior in college and I had a chance to go to Paris to study the grand masters. But there were only half a dozen slots in the program. Oh, Ryan, I wanted one of them so much. I slaved over my application. I even wrote my essay in French to impress the judges."

"Didn't it? It would have impressed me."

"I think the judges just considered it pretentious. Maybe it was. Anyway, I never heard from them. Not one word. Not even a 'thanks, but no thanks.'"

Ryan shook his head in disbelief.

"So . . . do you think any less of me now that you know?"

"What?" Ryan's voice was startled. "No. Of course not."

"Well, I don't think any less of you either. It took courage just to try, Ryan. And, sweetie, you'll have other opportunities, and when you do, I want you to be just as brave and. . ."

"Try, try again . . . ?"

"Exactly." Kirsten got to her feet and brushed off her skirt. She took Ryan's hand, pulling him up. "And now, young man, time for bed. Get some sleep. You're spending the whole day with Seth tomorrow. You'll need your strength."

Ryan laughed. Then, shyly, he brushed his lips against her cheek in a fleeting kiss. "Good night, Kirsten," he said. "And . . . thanks."

-----------------------------------------------

Seth paused outside the pool house, juggling his backpack, a small cooler, a CD case, and a bag of miscellaneous supplies as he tried to reach the doorknob. That morning he had decided, metaphorically, to lock away those nagging imps of guilt and self-recrimination. He and Ryan were committed to this outing, and Seth decided that they would do it in full Cohen style.

"Hey, Ryan," he called. "A little help here . . ."

Ryan opened the door. "Lewis and Clark traveled with less," he said wryly, catching the bag before it fell to the floor.

"You mock me, but you'll be grateful later on. I think you'll find that I've anticipated our every need."

Ryan took a magnifying glass and a combination flashlight/radio/CD player out of the bag. "And we'll need these . . . when exactly?" he asked.

"You never know. But when we do, I'll have them. So . . . " Seth looked around. "Where's your stuff? Aren't you ready to go, bro?"

"Not quite." Ryan picked up his wallet and shoved it into his jeans pocket. He grabbed his black hooded sweatshirt and put it on. "Now I'm ready."

"And again he mocks me. Well, fine. See if I share my Oreos with you, dude."

"Why did you bring all this stuff in here anyway? Why didn't you just load it into the Rover?"

"Now see, that's what I had planned to do. But then Mom said she needed to use the car to run a ten-minute errand, so I decided to be generous. Even though it puts us ten minutes behind schedule."

"You decided to be generous. Letting your mom use her own car."

"Right. And now she's been gone, let's see, six minutes, so we might as well get everything organized outside."

As Seth bent to gather all his supplies back together the phone rang. He groaned.

"One minute," Ryan promised.

"Okay," Seth conceded, "but only because we're Mom-delayed anyway."

Ryan picked up the phone. Seth drummed his fingers on the table, humming tunelessly. "So I don't eavesdrop . . ." he explained, when Ryan glared at him.

"Would you just be quiet so I can hear?--Hey, Lindsay . . . I thought you'd be on your way by now . . . No, I'm fine, really . . . I'm great. . . Just concentrate on the interview . . . You'll be terrific. . . Lindsay, I want you to get it. . . Really. . . Okay, well, Seth's waiting . . . I've got my cell. Call me and let me know how it goes . . . Yeah. Me too. Bye."

Seth watched him hang up. He saw how Ryan blinked and bit his lip before grabbing the cooler; he heard the hoarse urgency in Ryan's voice when he said, "Let's just get out of here, okay?"

"Yeah, sure," Seth agreed. Then, in spite of himself he put his bags back down and asked, "You okay, Ryan? What was that all about? Because you look a little . . . upset."

"No . . . Well, yeah. Your mom knows, so I suppose I might as well tell you too." Ryan paused, twisting the strap of the cooler.

"Ryan . . ." Seth prompted. He shifted from foot to foot, suddenly apprehensive.

"Lindsay and I . . . we were both nominated for science internships at UCLA this summer. Final interviews today, and Lindsay got one. . which is great. I mean, I'm happy for her . . ."

"So this . . . is what happy looks like?"

"No. I . . . didn't make the cut, that's all. And it . . . sort of sucks. But hey." Ryan's mouth twisted in a parody of a smile. "I'll get over it."

Seth tasted something rancid and he swallowed hard. "This internship? You really wanted it? 'Cause you never mentioned it, dude."

Ryan shrugged. "I guess I thought I'd jinx it or something . . . Come on, Seth. Or we won't have time to stop for pancakes on the way."

"Yeah, really not so hungry now. This internship . . . it's pretty major, huh?"

"It would have been, but it's just not happening. Seth, drop it, okay? I really don't . . . even want to even think about it . . . So here's the plan. I'll drive, you navigate. You talk, I'll listen. Classic Seth-Ryan time . . . It's just what I need today—"

Ryan reached for the door but before he could open it, Seth grabbed his arm.

"Ryan . . . Wait—" Seth's fingers tightened involuntarily, and Ryan winced.

"What the hell, Seth?"

"You got an interview, Ryan," Seth blurted. He dropped Ryan's arm and retreated a step, shielding himself with his backpack.

Ryan shook his head. "What are you talking about?"

"They called. Well, some woman did. She said you had an interview today. At 9:30, maybe 9:45, I think. In some room at Hayden Hall." Seth's voice was desperate and imploring.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Ryan repeated thickly. "I never got a call Seth."

"Yeah, you did. Thursday . . . You weren't home. I was in here looking for . . . I don't remember what I was looking for. Anyway, this woman left a message saying that you should come for an interview today."

"You talked to her?"

"No, the answering machine picked up. I just heard the message."

"But I never got a message." Ryan's eyes darkened with simultaneous comprehension and disbelief. "Seth . . . You . . ."

"I deleted it," Seth whispered. He heard the sharp intake of Ryan's breath and saw his fists clench. "Ryan, man, we'd already made our plans for today," he explained frantically. "And you never mentioned anything about an interview—not one word--so I figured it wasn't anything important."

"You figured . . ."

"How was I supposed to know this was something you wanted? You never told me! Ryan, come on, man, I'm sorry. It was just . . . okay, it was a shitty thing to do, and I'm an ass, but look, now you know, right? I mean, I told you the truth—"

"Yeah," Ryan agreed coldly. "You told me the truth. I guess I should thank you for that. So thanks for telling me how you screwed me over, Seth. Thanks a fucking lot."

The pool house rattled as Ryan slammed it open. He grabbed his bike, yanking it so viciously that it overbalanced and fell. Ryan picked it up and threw it down again before he fumbled to set it upright, his knuckles white on the handlebars.

"Ryan, wait a minute. Stop, okay? . . . What are you doing?"

"Oh, right. I forgot. You're in charge of my life," Ryan sneered. "I'm going to see if I can make it to the interview. 'Course, I won't be on time, I won't be prepared, I sure as fucking hell won't get the internship. But at least they won't think that I just didn't give a shit."

"Man, this is crazy. You can't bike all the way there. Listen, mom will have the car back in a minute. Let me drive you," Seth pleaded. "Come on, Ryan."

"I am not going anywhere with you."

"Then I won't come. You take the Rover. Just wait for Mom. Please, Ryan . . . We'll call. We'll say you're gonna be late . . ."

Ryan pushed off. Seth grabbed his skateboard and followed.

He was falling behind by the time Ryan neared the entrance of the development.

"Stop, man!" Seth yelled. "Ryan, would you just wait—"

Ryan kept riding, but at the sound of Seth's voice he spun around.

And then Seth's world imploded.

Everything happened in an instant, but Seth saw it all in slow motion, each detail knife-sharp.

His mother's car pulling around the gatehouse. His mother glancing toward Tony, the guard who on duty, waving her usual greeting.

Ryan looking back over his shoulder, hand raised to fend Seth off, snapping, "Stay the hell away from me, Seth. We're done."

His own hands, flying up, trying to grab air and pull Ryan back, as he screamed out a warning.

Kirsten's face snapping forward, her smile twisted into a rictus of horror.

Ryan's bike plunging forward, towards Kirsten's car, slamming into it like a fist. Ryan pitching over the handlebars, his body shoved violently across the hood, into the windshield, then off the side, where it crumbled onto the cement drive. And lay still.