Forget You(27)
Author: Jennifer Echols

I didn’t cross the room and talk to him myself. After sleeping with him on the bus Saturday, I didn’t want to give anyone reason to tell Brandon something was going on between Doug and me. Besides, now that Doug was back at school, I knew I could talk to him during swim practice without so many people around.

And now he’d gone missing. When I’d taken roll at the beginning of swim practice, Gabriel had told me Doug was in Ms. Northam’s class making up the English test he’d missed this morning. That accounted for his absence last period. It didn’t explain why he still wasn’t here after school.

I shivered in the cool autumn breeze that had settled in despite today’s hot sun. We would need to put up the massive dome over the pool this week if the wind kept up. Then I sat on the bleachers, pulled my phone out of my backpack–as always, checked first for a message from my mother–and pressed Doug’s number. Cringed in anticipation of his voice mail announcement, which is what I usually got when I called him about a change of swim team plans. Sighed with relief when his phone rang. Tensed again after the third unanswered ring, hoping he was okay, revisiting thoughts of gangrene. The rest of the swim team splashed back and forth across the pool in front of me. Doug should be in the pool with them.

The wreck hadn’t been my fault. He’d said that himself. So why did I feel guilty?

"Zoey!" he yelled through the phone, and I jumped. "Are you okay?"

"Well, yeah," I said. "Did you think I wasn’t?" He sounded like he was as worried about me as I was about him. But that was impossible. Doug didn’t care that much about anybody .

Static sounded on the phone as he let out a long breath. "I didn’t expect you to call me."

"I wanted to make sure you’re okay," I said. "Y ou’re not at swim practice."

"Oh, swim practice ." The bittersweet sarcasm was back. "Y know me. Normally nothing could keep me from supporting my teammates. But my dad

ou got a charter for the afternoon, and I need the money. I guess I haven’t totally given up on the idea of going to college someday. Hold on." There was more static, and his muffled shout at someone with his hand over the phone. Then he was back. "I need to go. We’re trying to land a marlin."

"Do you plan to avoid swim practice for the rest of the season because you don’t want us to see how upset you are?"

In the background, a man shouted, "Doug! A little help!"

When Doug didn’t answer me, I rushed on before he hung up on me. "Y ou’re overreacting. Yeah, six weeks in a cast is a setback, but you were so far ahead already. College scouts know that you had an injury and that you’ll recover. Y need to come to practice and show Coach how committed you are

ou instead of catching marlins and feeling sorry for yourself. Break your leg, take one day off, fine. Now get back to work." I got more excited and louder than I’d intended. Coach looked over at me from the edge of the pool and gave me a thumbs-up.

"Doug!" shouted the man on the boat.

Without putting his hand over the phone this time, Doug hollered back at the man, "What the f**k? I’m on crutches." Then he lowered his voice for me. "I guess I was waiting for somebody to tell me that. Coach hasn’t told me that."

"How could he tell you? Y didn’t come to practice!"

Silence fell, except for the calls of seagulls through the phone, circling Doug’s boat. Or maybe they were the seagulls swooping above the school. I couldn’t tell.

"I’ll come tomorrow," Doug finally said. "Thanks for calling, Zoey. I’ll see you in English."

"Wait. That’s not what I called about," I said quickly, cupping my hand over the phone. Stephanie and the others were pulling themselves out of the pool to line up behind the block again. There was no reason to keep it a secret that I wanted to see Doug. I needed him for information, to figure out what had happened to me Friday night. But I didn’t want him. Brandon had nothing to worry about. Still, I tucked the phone away behind my hand so the swim team couldn’t read my lips. "What time are you getting to shore? Could I meet you? Maybe take you to dinner? Just as friends. Just to talk."

His voice turned dangerously sweet. "What do you want to talk about? Us?"

"No," I said. Definitely not us. "The wreck. I still don’t remember everything."

"Do you want to talk about your mom?"

I sucked in a breath and held it, my mind reeling, grasping for something to say. He hadn’t brought up my mom all week. He’d lulled me into thinking he wouldn’t.

"That’s why I came to swim practice late every day last week," he said. "I knew you didn’t want to talk about it in public, and I was afraid to call you and make your dad mad and get my brother fired. I was trying to get you to call me."

"Doug!" The man on the boat was cursing at him now.

"I planned to sit by you on the van to Panama City on Saturday," he said in a rush. "But on Friday you turned me in to Coach for being tardy. Logically I knew you hadn’t betrayed me. How could you betray me when we’d never been friends? But that’s what it felt like. I figured you’d go to the football game to see Brandon play. I paced around the parking lot forever, planning exactly what to say to you. And then I came in, and I said the wrong thing, and you mentioned Brandon, and I was an ass."

"Y called me a–"

ou "Spoiled brat," we said at the same time.

"And I apologized for calling you a spoiled brat," he said. "I wish you remembered that."

I clung to the underside of the bench with one hand, trying to breathe normally, refusing to go back to my mother’s bedroom and try to fix everything. It had been a week since I’d found her. I couldn’t melt down every time somebody mentioned her.

"All right," Doug said kindly. "Y Zoey, I would like to meet you after I get to shore, and go with you to dinner, and talk about the wreck, and nothing

es, else."

***

I PARKED THE BENZ AND WALKED around the docks crowded with polished yachts and dilapidated fishing boats until I found the empty space and the big wooden sign for the Hemingway. Taped to the sign, a sheet of green paper advertised the rates for fishing trips. The trip this afternoon appeared in a special box with the caption YOUR HOST BY SPECIAL REQUEST, PEGLEG DOUG.

I glanced at my watch. It was exactly time for the cruise to be over, yet they weren’t here. Maybe a storm had popped up and they’d capsized. What if Doug couldn’t swim with one serviceable leg? What if his cast took on water and weighed him down?

I told myself to get a grip. Friendly white clouds puffed across the hot autumn sky. The Hemingway was running a little late, and why hurry? No one was waiting for it. Except me.