I own nothing except the arrangement of the words.
Collision Course Chapter 4"So, Cohen, I hear Ryan's coming home today, right?" Summer plopped herself down on the bench next to Seth, then waved her hand imperiously in his face when he didn't answer. "Cohen? Are you in there?"
Seth looked up vacantly from his unopened English lit textbook. "Huh? . . . Oh, hey, Summer."
"'Huh, oh, hey, Summer.'," she mimicked. "Don't overwhelm me with your enthusiasm for my company or anything . . . So, have you decided how to welcome Ryan back to Casa Cohen today? Because I have some ideas." Summer smiled and lifted her chin confidently. "And?" she prompted. "You want to hear them, right?"
"Summer, I don't think Ryan's going to want some big surprise party thing."
"Did I say big? Or surprise? Or even party? May I remind you that I am the girl who saved Chrismukkah? I have a sense of what's appropriate for the occasion, thank you very much."
Summer waited expectantly for Seth to agree, but he just kept doodling random shapes on the cover of his notebook. Frustrated, she snatched it out of his hands.
"Okay, Cohen, something's way wrong with this conversation. Listen to it. Who's doing all the talking? That would be me. And you being quiet . . . that, like, signals the end of civilization as we know it. So tell. Come on. Confession is good for the soul. Unburden yourself to Sister Summer. You know you want to. What's going on in Seth Cohen Land?"
Seth debated. Maybe he should tell her. None of his heart-to-heart talks with Captain Oats had helped at all. But his current quasi-friendship, hopefully-soon-to-be-renewed-relationship with Summer was still fragile, and he was afraid that the truth about what he had done to Ryan would shatter it.
Seth didn't think he could survive Summer hating him as much as he hated himself right now. So he just shrugged and answered vaguely, "Nothing. Just, you know, it's been really rough since the accident . . ."
He felt nauseous recalling just how rough it had been.
Seth had exhausted his ingenuity coming up with plausible reasons not to go whenever anyone suggested visiting Ryan. He claimed to have papers to write, projects to complete, or that he'd just stopped in to see Ryan on his way home from school. So far no one had questioned his excuses. Kirsten was still too obsessed with her own guilt to notice; Lindsay believed Seth was being sensitive ("for a change"), giving her time alone with Ryan; and Summer assumed that Seth thought it would be awkward to join her and Zack and/or Marissa.
Seth knew that Sandy had doubts, though.
"Come on, son," he'd urged yesterday. "Come with your mom and me. We're gonna bring take-out, have a family dinner together in Ryan's room . . . You can help me slip all the prohibited food past the nurses."
"Yeah, I would but, Dad, hospital smells? Chemicals and medicine and, just, body fluids? Really not so appetizing . . . You and Mom go. Grab some parental quality time . . . Anyway, I already saw Ryan this afternoon."
Seth wasn't lying--not literally anyway. He had seen Ryan that afternoon. He had gone to the hospital, just as he had every day since the accident, following the strict routine he'd established. First, he would linger for a while outside Ryan's open door, ducking around the corner if anyone appeared who might recognize him and ask questions. He would try to gauge Ryan's mood and condition by what he could see through the window: whether the TV was on, whether Ryan was sitting up, or eating, or reading, or sleeping, or seemed to be in pain. When he was confident that he had something to report at home, Seth would retreat to the cafeteria. There he'd buy a soda, drink it, and pleat the straw until the thin plastic cracked open. Somehow, the complete destruction of the straw became Seth's signal to leave.
So he had seen Ryan. Every day. He just hadn't actually visited him.
Except once, the day after the accident.
"Hey," he'd said tentatively, as he entered the room. "How are you doing, bro?"
Ryan had been staring at the ceiling, but at the sound of Seth's voice, he turned to face the window. Other than that, he didn't give any indication that he'd even heard Seth come in.
"Yeah, that's about how I figured . . . Anyway, I brought you some things. Books, you know, and some CDs. Dad had some picked out, but hey. . . His taste? Highly suspect."
Seth paused, hoping for some response. When Ryan remained silent he licked his lips and tried again.
"And, um, look, Ryan, I've been thinking . . . about the internship . . ."
"I am not talking to you about that," Ryan hissed.
"No, but Ryan, just listen," Seth persisted, elated to have gotten any reaction at all. "See, I figured I could call the people in charge and explain about the accident and . . . well, they'd reschedule your interview."
"Deadline's past."
"But dude, they'll make an exception for you. There were extenuating circumstances . . ."
Ryan still refused to turn around, but Seth could see a muscle throb in his jaw. His words erupted in short, broken bursts. "Except the accident wasn't . . . extenuating circumstance . . . If you get . . . my interview rescheduled . . . your parents will . . . wonder why I didn't know about it . . . in the first place."
"Okay, yeah," Seth agreed slowly. "I can see that. So I guess then . . . we'll tell them. I mean, I will. I'll tell them the truth."
"No."
"But this is all on me, man. And shit, I'm willing . . ."
Ryan shook his head almost imperceptibly. "I don't want . . . your parents to know . . . you'd do that to me."
"Ryan, I'm telling you, I don't mind . . ."
"No? That's . . . difference between us, then . . . I do mind . . . But you know what?. . . Do what you want . . . You always do. Just . . . get out Seth."
Seth had gone. And he had stayed away. Ryan never blew his cover. He didn't ask about Seth or mention that he hadn't been around for days. Seth knew he should be relieved, and he was. Still, the fact that Ryan maintained the fiction of their daily visits disappointed him somehow. It angered him too, and even to Seth himself that reaction made no sense at all.
But now Ryan would be coming home. Seth knew they couldn't avoid each other—hell, it made him sick to think that they'd try--but he didn't have a clue how they could coexist in the same house. Especially in front of Kirsten and Sandy, who still believed that they were friends.
Family, even.
The Cohen house was spacious, but it wasn't big enough to hold the lie he and Ryan had been telling, that nothing between them had changed.
"Cohen!" Summer swatted him hard with his notebook, jerking Seth out of his trance. "Okay, now you're just ignoring me. Which is, like, incredibly rude. Have you even heard one word I've said?"
"Ow, Summer! You know, there are ways to get people's attention without maiming them."
"People, maybe," Summer conceded. "You? Not so much. Cohen, something is going on with you, and you might as well just tell me. Because you know I will find out."
"Yeah? Well, happy sleuthing," Seth muttered.
Summer sighed. "Fine, go ahead and be all Cohen-y. I'll just go plan Ryan's welcome home with Lindsay and Marissa. You know, people who actually seem happy that he's getting out of the hospital today."
She stopped suddenly and narrowed her eyes, fixing Seth with a measuring stare.
"What?" he protested. "I'm happy. I'm just, you know, worried about his rehabilitation. 'Cause Ryan on crutches? Accepting help from people? Won't be pretty."
"And that's it?"
"Yeah. That's it."
"Hmm." Summer pursed her lips, considering. Then she gave Seth a farewell swat, dropped his notebook into his lap and left.
Seth watched her go. He didn't think he could mark this encounter as a positive step on his "Seth-and-Summer-get-back-together" checklist.
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Ryan sat on the edge of his hospital bed, watching Kirsten pack his few belongings into a floral tapestry overnight bag.
"I can do that, you know," he reminded her. "And Kirsten, that bag? It's not exactly me."
Kirsten looked at the small suitcase. "No, I guess not," she agreed, smiling wryly. "Don't worry. I'll carry it when we go out and everyone will assume that it's mine."
"It is yours."
"Yes, I guess it is. Oh, Ryan, I'm sorry," Kirsten exclaimed, dropping onto the bed next to him. "I just grabbed the first thing I saw. But I should have brought your backpack or, well, something more appropriate."
"Kirsten, it really doesn't matter."
"It does matter," she argued. "All of this matters, Ryan." Her gesture took in everything—the wheelchair waiting by the door, the bandage that still covered much of Ryan's forehead, the brace on his leg. "I am just . . . I am so, so sorry." She reached for his hand, blinking back the tears that had spilled over regularly all week.
"Kirsten, don't, Don't cry," Ryan pleaded. He began to pant slightly, as he did whenever he got upset. "I've told you, none of this was your fault. It wasn't . . . You didn't run into me. I ran into you. I wasn't looking where I was going, and I was riding too fast. I'm the one who was . . . reckless and . . . out of control."
Kirsten continued to clutch his hand and take quavering breaths.
Ryan lightened his tone, tried to make it playful and teasing. "You should be mad at me for putting such a huge dent in the Rover. I'll pay for the repairs, promise . . . but you may have to give me ten or fifteen years." When Kirsten didn't smile, Ryan ducked his head, adding in a whisper, "I can't . . . stand it when you cry."
Kirsten bit her lip, nodding. "I'm sorry. I told myself I wouldn't—"
"And you told me that you wouldn't," Sandy declared as he walked in. "We're going to hold her to that, right Ryan? This is now officially Kirsten Cohen Doesn't Cry Day."
"Yeah . . . Could we make that Doesn't Cry Month?" Ryan suggested.
Sandy grinned at him. "Done and done. So, I have officially signed all the official papers I need to sign in order to spring you from this place."
"Sounds like leaving juvie," Ryan observed.
"Yeah, it does kinda, doesn't it? . . . What do you say, kid? Ready to come home?"
"God," Ryan sighed. "I've been ready forever."
That wasn't entirely true. Ryan was eager to get out of the hospital, but he wasn't sure what going home really meant anymore. Seth would be there, and Ryan knew that they wouldn't be able to maintain the safe distance they'd established, not without raising questions neither one of them wanted to answer. So they'd just have to pretend, preserve a façade of normalcy.
Ryan knew that kind of tension and deceit all too well. It had inhabited his family's apartment in Fresno, then his mother's place in Chino, and last summer, it had been right there with him in Theresa's house.
None of those places had been home.
Nowhere filled with lies could ever be home.
Not even the Cohen's.
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Sandy glanced toward Kirsten, who was sitting in the backseat behind Ryan. As he suspected, her hands were knotted tightly, and her face was drawn. Since the accident, she couldn't ride comfortably in a car, and she hadn't driven at all. When Sandy mentioned the fact, she had given a brittle smile, claiming that she just liked to be chauffeured, but her frequent nightmares told Sandy the real reason.
Kirsten caught his eye in the rearview mirror and blanched. "Watch the road, Sandy," she hissed.
"Kirsten? Are you all right?" Ryan asked.
Kirsten forced a small laugh. "I'm fine, sweetie."
"Don't let her fool you, kid," Sandy interjected. "Kirsten is your classic backseat driver. That's why we never let her sit back there."
He smiled reassuringly at Ryan, who still looked worried, then pressed down a little harder on the accelerator. They were still going under the speed limit—he knew Kirsten wouldn't tolerate even one mile per hour too fast—but he really wanted to get them all home as soon as possible.
"Now, see, if Seth were here, he'd keep her quiet, just because she wouldn't be able to get a word in edgewise," Sandy noted. "But he decided to stay home and coordinate the welcoming ceremony."
"The . . . welcoming ceremony?" Ryan repeated, alarmed.
Sandy grinned. "Don't worry, kid. He's grounded for life if there are fireworks."
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"Now, Ryan," Kirsten said anxiously as they pulled into the development. "I know we've had this conversation before, and I know you'd rather stay in the pool house than move inside, but this is just temporary. Just until you're back on your feet . . ."
"Both feet," Sandy interjected. "Not just one foot and a crutch."
"So we've fixed up the guestroom on the first floor for you. Seth has been in there all week getting it ready. I think he's moved down his entire comic book collection . . ."
"God, I hope not," Ryan muttered.
"So . . . here we are," Sandy announced. "And there's . . . pretty much everybody."
Ryan stared, startled, at the group waiting in front of the door: Seth, Lindsay, her mother, Marissa, Alex, Summer, Zack, Rosa, Julie, Caleb, Luke . . .
"Luke?" Ryan asked.
"He flew down for the weekend," Sandy explained, parking the car. "He wanted to see you after he heard what happened."
"And what are Julie and Caleb doing here? They don't even like me . . .Isn't that like the one thing they have in common?"
"Ryan!" Kirsten scolded.
He raised his eyebrows and smirked at her.
"All right, smartass, let's get you out of the car."
Seth, who had just opened the passenger side door, clutched his heart and staggered backward. "Did my mom just say 'smartass?' Dude, what have you done with the Kirsten? And, you know, by the way, welcome home."
Ryan had automatically begun to smile at Seth's theatrics, but his expression froze when Seth reached for his hand and then involuntarily pulled away.
"Yeah, thanks," he said tightly.
"So, do you need . . . any help getting out?"
"He needs this," Sandy said, bringing Ryan's crutch from the trunk. "Here we go, kid . . ."
He leaned the crutch against the side of the car and reached down to help Ryan maneuver his leg in its stiff, bulky brace. Ryan draped an arm around Sandy's shoulder and pulled himself awkwardly to his feet. He kept his head down until the crutch was safely under his arm.
"Remember what the doctor told you now," Kirsten warned, climbing out of the back seat. "Don't put any pressure on your left side. . ."
"Yeah, I know," Ryan assured her. "You can let go now, Sandy. I've got it."
Sandy stepped away and Lindsay raced forward, ready to fling herself into Ryan's arms. At the last moment she stopped and eased in for a gentle hug instead.
"I didn't want to pull you off balance," she murmured into his neck. "Oh, Ryan, it is so, so good to see you back where you belong."
Ryan wondered at those words. "Back where you belong." He repeated them to himself like a mantra as he made his way into the house. There was a chorus of greetings, variations on "Welcome back, Ryan!" "Good to have you home," and, from Luke, "Hey, Chino! Looks like the Rover won that round, man. You should take on something your own size, like, say, a Civic."
Ryan flashed his trademark glare. "Shut up, Luke," he growled, grinning. "I can still take you," He paused, swaying slightly inside the door, adding half under his breath, "I feel like some lame one-man parade here."
"Ah! Lame. Yes, we all get it. Ladies and gentlemen, the Atwood humor is in the house," Seth proclaimed.
He looked nervously at Ryan, but there were too many people between them, all talking at once, for him to tell if Ryan had reacted at all.
"Mr. and Mrs. Cohen, dinner is ready on the patio," Rosa announced through the din.
"Dinner?" Ryan demurred. "I don't think . . ."
"Not for you," Summer explained. "I mean, you're allowed to eat and all . . ."
"Gee, thanks."
Summer ignored his interruption, continuing, "But this is my brilliant plan. We're going to have dinner outside while you get settled. Then when you're ready, we can come in to visit, just two or three of us at a time. That way you'll have the pleasure of our company but we won't, like, overwhelm you or anything." She looked at Kirsten pointedly.
Kirsten smiled. "Thank you, Summer. It's a very . . . sensitive plan."
"See, Cohen? I told you I could do sensitive. Okay, everybody . . . let's go, let's go, let's go," Summer ordered, flouncing outside. "Luke, if you steal that crutch, I swear I will beat you with it . . ."
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For the second time that day, Ryan found himself sitting on the edge of a bed while Kirsten hovered around him. This time he was in the first floor guestroom. With its solid walls, windows that offered no view of the water, and unfamiliar furniture, it seemed worlds removed from the pool house. Ryan looked around, wincing a little. Everything ached. Even worse, he felt displaced, and unnervingly like a stranger—the same way, he realized, that he had felt on his first night in Newport.
"Now you're sure you're all right?" Kirsten asked. "You'll be comfortable here?"
"I'll be fine."
"And you have everything you need?" She scanned the room, sure that something vital was missing.
Ryan gritted his teeth as he pushed himself back on the bed. Then he made himself smile for Kirsten's benefit. "Yeah, everything . . . Plus a few things I'm pretty sure I don't need right now." He nodded toward a corner of the room, where a new bike was propped against the wall.
Kirsten shook her head ruefully. "I thought we should let you choose one yourself once your leg heals, but Sandy wanted to have a bike waiting for you when you got home. . . Why he brought it in here, I have no idea."
"Incentive," Sandy explained. He set down the dinner plate he was carrying on a small table and slid it next to Ryan. "Seeing it will remind you why you need to do all those painful rehabilitation exercises."
"They're not going to be that painful, are they?" Kirsten's voice was worried. "Are they, Sandy?"
"If you make her cry again, you're going to be the one who needs rehabilitation," Ryan warned. He lifted his crutch. "Remember, I'm armed now."
Sandy grinned. "Yeah, but I've got two good legs." He put his arms around Kirsten. "And did I say painful, honey? I meant relaxing . . . A few stretches, some massage, a whirlpool. Maybe even some yogalaties. . . Ryan, you need to eat your dinner, because the natives out there are getting restless. If you keep them waiting too long, I may be forced to entertain them with a few songs."
"Well, if anybody needs to leave, like maybe Caleb and Julie . . ." Ryan suggested hopefully. Kirsten raised her eyebrows at him and he shrugged. "Just trying to be polite."
"Try harder. Nobody's leaving until they get to say good night," Kirsten declared. "Now, did you want any company while you eat?"
"Lindsay," Sandy and Ryan said simultaneously.
Ryan glared at him and Sandy shrugged, laughing. "Hey, lucky guess." He reached down and squeezed Ryan's good shoulder. "We'll send her in. Welcome home, kid."
"Home," Ryan tried out the word, as the door closed behind them.
It sounded right, but it still felt very wrong.
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Lindsay stopped in the kitchen to wash her hands before going to Ryan's room. She jumped a little when Seth rushed in behind her and caught her elbow.
"Hey, Lindsay . . . hey, what's up?"
"What's up?" she repeated incredulously. "You grabbed me, Seth."
"Yeah, not so much a grab as a friendly nephew-aunt greeting . . . I think Maori tribes use it . . . or maybe Inuit."
"Okay, Seth, you're being even weirder than usual, if that's possible. Did you want something?"
Seth shoved his hands in his pockets, aiming for nonchalance. "Not really. Well, maybe. I just thought . . . could you give me a few minutes with Ryan before you go in?"
Lindsay narrowed her eyes and studied his face; sometimes it seemed to Seth like Lindsay studied everything.
"Why?"
"We just need to talk about, um, house rules . . . You know, he was in the pool house before, now he's here, a whole new environment . . . a whole new infrastructure and policy system . . ."
Lindsay sighed. "Weirder and weirder . . . Okay, Seth, have your male summit meeting or whatever. You get ten minutes. But then I'm coming in. I've been waiting all day to talk to Ryan." Her whole face seemed to glow suddenly. "I've got some news to tell him" she confided. "About . . . well, just something."
"That summer internship?" When she stared in surprise, Seth explained, "Your mom . . . my mom . . .The maternal grapevine. . . So, what? Did you get it?"
"I got it!" Lindsay confirmed. Then she clapped her hand over her mouth. "But I wanted Ryan to be the first to know. Don't tell him, okay, Seth?"
"Yeah . . . no." Until that moment, Seth hadn't realized that he'd secretly been hoping Lindsay wouldn't get the internship. It wouldn't change what he had done, but maybe if Lindsay lost the award, Ryan wouldn't mind missing his own chance. Or at least, not as much. "I won't tell him," Seth said flatly.
"I just wish . . ." The excitement drained from Lindsay's voice and she sounded uncertain, even shy. "I wish Ryan had gotten one too. God, maybe I shouldn't tell him. What do you think, Seth?"
Seth busied himself tying his shoe as he answered. "Yeah. You should tell him. He'll be happy for you."
Lindsay's face lit up again. "He will, won't he?" She gave Seth a quick kiss on the cheek. "Okay. Ten minutes and counting . . ."
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Seth raised his hands defensively as soon as he stepped into Ryan's room.
"Okay, I know . . . not the person you expected to see right now. Or wanted to see now . . . Or maybe like ever . . ."
Ryan pushed away his dinner tray and tried to sit straighter on the bed. His head had already been pounding before Seth entered; now an arrow of pain flashed behind his eyes.
"Lindsay was supposed to be coming . . ."
"Yeah, I sort of waylaid her . . . I thought we needed a few minutes . . ."
"We don't . . . Why did you bring these here, Seth?" Ryan's gesture indicated the neat stacks of Seth's comic books. "They're yours."
"I thought you could catch up on back issues. You know, while you recuperate . . . You could read them, or, I don't care, rip them up. Make a giant paper mache voodoo doll out of them. Whatever you want."
"Get them out of here. And you get out of here too."
"Fine, I'll take them, but . . . Look, Ryan, obviously you don't want to, I don't want to . . . but we have to talk here. . ."
Ryan's expression darkened. "I don't have to do anything."
"Okay, I know, I get that . . . But dude, now that you're home, it's going to take the 'rents maybe two minutes to pick up on the fact that . . ."
"We're not friends anymore."
Seth swallowed. "I was going to say that you're mad at me." He picked up a magazine from the nightstand, rolling it convulsively between his hands, and waited.
Ryan pulled the pillow from behind his head, punched it, then clutched it on his lap. His mouth moved, as though he wanted to say something, but he remained silent.
"So . . . that's it?" Seth demanded. "We're just not friends anymore? Period?"
Ryan shrugged.
"Man," Seth protested desperately, "I've apologized like a million times. Well, maybe not out loud, but in my head I have . . . What do you want me to do, Ryan? It's not like there's a break in the space-time continuum and I can go back and undo everything . . ."
"Could you just . . .?"
Seth held his breath.
"Take this food out of here? . . . Send Lindsay in . . .?"
Seth deflated. "Yeah, sure . . ."
He took the plate and turned to go, defeated. But at the door he suddenly spun around.
"No . . . Ryan, if this is how you want to leave things between us . . ."
"None of this is . . . what I wanted," Ryan muttered under his breath.
"What?"
"Nothing."
"Nothing . . ." Seth repeated. "Great . . . Nothing . . .But the 'rents aren't going to buy that, you know. Dad already suspects that something is wrong."
Ryan's forehead furrowed and he tried to push back the pain.
"Just say . . . we had a stupid argument," he suggested weakly.
"Give them a little credit. They're gonna know it's more than that . . . I'll tell them the truth, Ryan."
"No!"
"Why not?" Seth demanded, baffled. He played with the rim of the plate that he was still holding. "You're not making sense, dude. They'll be furious with me. Not you. And if we're not . . . friends . . . anymore, why would you care whether or not I get in trouble?"
Ryan clenched his right fist and wrapped his left hand around it, squeezing hard.
"You don't get it."
"No, I don't. So . . . explain it to me, man."
Ryan closed his eyes. "When your dad . . . found my mom . . ." he began, so softly that Seth had to move closer to hear, "When I asked her why she left me, she told me . . . when I got arrested, she knew she had failed. What I did was her fault." Ryan opened his eyes again, meeting Seth's stricken gaze. "I don't want Kirsten and Sandy to feel that way . . . like they failed."
"So this is about protecting my parents. Not me," Seth concluded slowly.
Ryan nodded.
Seth picked up Ryan's plate and moved toward the door. "Okay, so . . . yeah, fine, we won't tell them. We'll just say we had a . . . stupid argument, that's all." He turned to go, but he couldn't make himself leave.
Seth's stomach was churning, and he realized suddenly that it wasn't just shame or guilt or remorse that he was feeling. They had become familiar emotions. This one was different. It was rage, violent and corrosive. And he didn't understand it, but he couldn't contain it.
He spun back around.
"No. You know what? This is bullshit, Ryan."
"What?"
"Bullshit," Seth repeated.
Ryan's jaw tightened. "I'm trying to make this easier for everyone."
"Yeah, that's Ryan Atwood . . . making things easier . . . always thinking of others." Seth clapped his hands. "Well, bravo," he said sardonically. "A, dude, really. You have got this martyr act down. What's next? Sainthood maybe?"
"Seth . . ."
Ryan's voice was low and dangerous, but Seth ignored it.
"You think what I did was the same as you stealing a car? Hey, what fucking law did I break exactly, buddy? . . . You think I'm gonna make my parents feel like failures, just because you did? . . . I made a mistake, Ryan. That's it. That's all. It was just—a—really—stupid—mistake."
Seth was shaking with fury. He looked down at the dinner plate still clenched in his hands. Then he heaved it across the room.
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Summer led everyone in from the patio to the living room.
"Now, as soon as Seth and Ryan stop talking—or you know, Seth stops talking—Lindsay will go in—"
"No. I'll go last," Lindsay offered. "I mean, I'd rather go last . . . if nobody minds."
Summer batted her eyelashes. "Oh no, we understand. Okay, everybody, Lindsay is last, so she can tuck Ryan in for the night."
Lindsay blushed and tried to hide behind her hair.
"Now," Summer continued, "we just need to schedule everyone else in groups of no more than three. These are five-minute visits, everybody—Kirsten's orders. I have a timer and I'm not afraid to use it."
"Yeah, but do you know how to use it?" Luke asked.
"You'd better be careful, Luke," Marissa warned. "Summer has not mellowed while you've been in Portland."
"What she said." Summer smiled sweetly, smacking Luke with the TV remote. "Now, anybody exceeding their allotted time will . . . "
She stopped abruptly.
There was the sound of glass shattering.
It was coming from Ryan's room.
Kirsten stood up immediately. "Seth must have dropped something. I'll just go check . . . "
But then they heard the shouting and something heavy falling to the floor.
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Ryan's crutch lay out of his reach, where it had crashed as he tried to get out of bed.
"Admit it, Ryan!" Seth cried. "Admit it. It's not that what I did was so unforgivable . . . Man, you forgive everybody. You just don't want to forgive me, that's all . . . And I confessed. Remember that? Fuck, Ryan, if you hadn't stormed off, we could have made this right. We could have called . . . claimed car trouble or, or, something . . . and gotten your interview postponed."
"Yeah, more lying . . . always the way to put things right."
"So? Who's lying now? I was willing to tell the truth after the accident. You're the one . . ."
"Because I didn't want your parents to know . . . "
"Right, you'd rather just be all noble and suffer. And for what, man? . . . It was just a fucking summer internship . . ."
"It wasn't just an internship! You think stealing a car was worse than what you did?" Ryan demanded furiously, his control shattered. "Fuck that, man. I had a chance for something . . . something good that I actually earned . . . and you stole it from me, Seth."
Seth tried to interrupt, but Ryan cut him off. "You don't understand anything. I wanted this, all right! Shit, Seth, I needed it . . . to get a scholarship . . . for college . . ."
"But how the hell was I supposed to know that? Did you tell me, dude? Oh, wait . . . No, no, you didn't. Because you never tell me anything."
"How would you know?" Ryan hissed. "When the fuck do you ever listen?"
"Oh, right," Seth scoffed. "So we're back to that. All those little digs you've been making lately . . . Self-obsessed Seth. Selfish Seth . . . Always talking about himself. Always thinking about himself . . ."
"Well you sure as hell weren't thinking about me when you erased my message."
"I wasn't thinking at all! . . . I just--did it. . . I don't even know why," Seth argued, repeating desperately, "But I didn't know you wanted the fucking interview, man—"
"Oh my God."
Lindsay's voice was barely a whisper, but it silenced Seth.
He spun around.
They were all there, outside the door, listening, aghast. Kirsten's hand was pressed against her mouth, as though she was about to be sick. Sandy was shaking his head, eyes searching Seth's face as if he was trying to find the son he knew, and couldn't.
They had heard everything.