Харлан Кобен - Found

In the end, I hoped and believed that Ema would understand. But I could be wrong about that.

I had not seen Rachel since the day I flew to California, when I showed up at her door and blew her world apart.

Reason Two for the cafeteria silence: Rachel was a popular girl. More to the point, she was captain of the cheerleading team, the hottest girl in school, the girl everyone talked about — you get the drift. People paid attention to a girl like that.

Reason Three: Rachel and Troy had been — I start gagging when I even think of it — an item. Rachel made it clear to me that she’d been young and dumb and that it was way, way over, though maybe she should make it a little clearer to Troy.

Still, I couldn’t help but notice that she wasn’t coming over to say hi to Ema or me. She was heading for Troy’s table. She took Buck’s seat — the one next to him — and forced up a sad smile for Troy.

My face felt hot.

“Stop it,” Ema whispered to me.

“What?”

She just frowned at me and shook her head. “Troy was just kicked off the basketball team. She has to show some kind of support for him, don’t you think?”

I didn’t. But that wasn’t the point. Rachel hadn’t so much as glanced in our direction. Ema wouldn’t understand why. But I did. Uncle Myron had warned me that there would be a price for telling the truth, but how had he put it?

The ugliest truth is still better than the prettiest of lies.

She was avoiding me. I don’t know what advice someone would give me about that. Give her time, probably. I had done that already. Not a lot of time. But enough. Besides, I had learned that “giving time” often meant “time to fester.”

I needed to confront Rachel. The sooner, the better.

I made it my business to walk past Rachel’s locker between classes, hoping to catch her there. Finally, with only one period left in the day, I found her, but she was far from alone. Rachel’s locker was surrounded by cheerleaders and jocks and a potpourri of popular kids, all welcoming her back and showing concern.

I didn’t know them. They didn’t know me.

I was the new kid and so there was some natural curiosity about me. My height also drew attention, I think, and maybe I was starting to get a rep for my basketball. I had, of course, lost a lot of popularity cred by choosing to hang out with Ema and Spoon. So now maybe I was less a curiosity and more an oddity.

Rachel saw me approach and gave a slow shake of her head. I got the meaning. Stay away. I should have respected that, nodded in return and moved on my way.

I didn’t. I stood there and mouthed the word, When?

Her reply was a slammed locker. Rachel shot me one last dagger, turned, and strolled away.

Terrific.

My final period today was health with Mr. Nacht, a class that couldn’t be more snooze worthy if it included Benadryl. When classes ended, I hurried back to Rachel’s locker. No sign of her. I went to my own. I had basketball practice in half an hour, but it would be good to get there early and work on my shooting. I reached into my locker and grabbed my phone. There was a message from Spoon: Got some information on Jared. Stop by tonight.

There was another buzz. Again it was Spoon, the boy who lived for irrelevant factoids: Porcupines float in water.

Good to know, in case I was ever tempted to rescue a water-drenched porcupine.

I was first changed and out on the gym floor. I shot around, enjoying the solo echo of one man dribbling and shooting. The other guys started to sputter out of the locker room. None chose to shoot with me. I was hardly surprised. Normally there was laughter, horsing around, banter, whatever. Not today. The gym was silent as a tomb — or the cafeteria today. The only sounds came from the bouncing balls.

At four o’clock, Coach Grady blew the whistle and shouted for everyone to take a seat. Brandon and some guy I hadn’t met yet pulled out the rickety accordion-like stands. We all climbed up a step or two and found a place to sit.

Coach Grady looked as though he’d aged ten years since last practice. He paced for a few moments. We all sat and watched him. Behind him, Coach Stashower held a clipboard and waited.

“We have our work cut out for us,” Coach Grady said. “As most of you know by now, Troy has been suspended from the team. He has the right to appeal, which he has taken, but in the meantime he will not be allowed to practice or play with the team. Troy had been our co-captain. During his absence, which will last the entire season if it’s not overturned on appeal — and frankly I don’t know anyone who has ever won an appeal — Brandon will serve as our solo captain.”

All eyes turned to Brandon. Brandon kept his head up, his face set.

“On top of that, Buck’s family has decided that he would be better off living with his mother, so he won’t be with us for the season. That means two seniors, both starters and leaders on last year’s team, won’t be playing with us this season. I don’t think I have to tell you what a big blow this is for our program.”

Coach Grady adjusted the cap on his head and let loose a long sigh. “But victory often comes out of adversity. We can give up, or we can rise to the challenge. For many of you, there is an opportunity here to step up. For us as a team, we can either let these setbacks tear us to shreds — or make us more cohesive. We can either come together or come apart.”

He put his foot up on the lowest bench, leaned onto his knee, and took a few seconds to scan our faces. “I believe in all of you. I believe in this team. And I believe we can still achieve great things this season.”

Absolute silence.

“Okay, boys, take three laps and start the three-man weave. Let’s go.”

He clapped his hands, and we were off.

The practice did not go well. If I’d hoped that Troy being vanquished would help me, I was very sadly mistaken. If anything, the rest of the guys seemed extra angry with me, as if it were my fault. They froze me out. They threw passes at my feet. Someone hit me with a dirty elbow. I fought through it and played hard, but part of me wanted to just quit.

When practice ended, I was a sweaty mess, but I didn’t want to hang around these guys one second longer than necessary. I was about to head out when Brandon ran up behind me.

“Mickey?”

I turned toward him.

“We need to talk,” he said.

“Uh, okay. Now?”

He came a little closer. “Let’s wait for the other guys to leave. I don’t want them to see us. Shower, get dressed, take your time.”

So I did. Again everyone avoided me, except to give me death stares. Half an hour later, Brandon and I were the only ones left in the locker room.

“So talk,” I said to him.

Brandon looked left, then right. “Not here,” he whispered. “Follow me.”

“Where?”

“Just follow me.”

He held open the door, inviting me out into the still corridor. I didn’t like it. The players and coaches were gone now. So were all the teachers. Our footsteps echoed down hallway.

“You get what’s going on, right?” Brandon said.

“About?”

“About why the guys on the team are mad at you.”

“No.”

“Think about it.”

I did. I still didn’t get it.

“You join the team,” Brandon said, “and suddenly Troy comes up with a positive drug test.”

“So?” Then: “Wait, are you saying people think I had something to do with it?”

Brandon nodded. “We’ve all known Troy for years. He’s a lot of things. But he’s not a drug cheat.”

“So, what, they think I spiked his urine or something?”