Twist

by Roni Teson

  I take a bite of my steak and slowly chew. Then I eat some potatoes. I feel like I’ve missed every beat in Luke’s borrowed skin.

  Dad waits for me to respond and the waiter checks on us—we send him away. “Look,” I say. “I still feel like I’m misplaced. I want to see B. I think she’ll help. If you can arrange that, than I’ll talk to the guy from USC. Or whichever school is the closest.”

  Dad slams his beer down. “What is this obsession with Bea?”

  I don’t even flinch. Instead I casually say, “Does B look like Abby?”

  “See what I mean,” Dad shakes his head, clearly aggravated and then catches a glimpse of the game again. “No, throw the ball you dumb f—”

  “Well, does she?”

  “You remember Bea, what do you think?” he says, keeping his eyes on the game.

  “I want to see her in person,” I say. “I’ll call Charlotte myself.”

  “Might be better if you let me talk to George,” he says. “Let me find out what happened, then you can call Charlotte. But first, let’s quiz your mom.”

  I take another bite of my food. “That’ll work. Can we do this tonight?”

  “Yes, and on Saturday you’ll talk to the USC scout?”

  “Deal.”

  Mom is on the phone when we get home, so I pace, waiting for her to hang up. She notices, mouths What? Then she says, “I’ve got to run, Charlotte, the boys are lurking.”

  And Dad and I say, “Wait!” as she hangs up.

  “What is it with you two?” she says as she puts her phone down.

  Dad tips his head toward me. “You ask her.”

  “When did B finally get here and what’s wrong with her?” I say. “Did you refer her to Abby?”

  “Yes, she’s had a rough time,” Mom says. “She didn’t want anyone to see her that way.”

  Dad looks genuinely surprised. “Why didn’t you say something to me?”

  “Because no one is supposed to know.” Mom walks into the kitchen and puts her wine glass in the sink. Dad and I trail behind her. We’re standing so close to the sink, the water splashes us. “Back up,” she says.

  “What’s going on?” Dad asks.

  “I don’t know all the details,” she says. “And I’m supposed to wait until she’s better before I tell you what I do know.”

  “You can’t stop there,” I say.

  “Beatrice had some sort of inoperable brain lesion. With medicine and therapy they expect her to return to normal.”

  “Therapy?” I ask.

  Mom’s face goes limp, and the tears roll. “It’s a lot like what happened to you, Luke.”

  “Can she walk?” Dad says.

  Mom sobs and says, “It’s so hard to talk about because of Lucas.”

  Dad puts his arms around her—and I stand there like a big dummy. After she cries for a while, she says, “She was paralyzed on her right side. I told them about Will, too.” Dad rubs Mom’s back and then a whole new level of crying ensues.

  “Did she have a stroke?” Dad says.

  Mom puts a tissue up to her eyes. “I’m not sure.”

  “Does she remember me?” I ask.

  “Don’t know the answer to that either. But the similarities to your recovery are uncanny.” Mom blows her nose.

  “I need to see her,” I say. “Simon and I drive by there all the time. The house looks so . . . dead. Where is she?”

  “Lou, that’s stalkerish,” Dad says.

  “But she’s the only thing I remember.”

  Mom hugs me. “Charlotte just told me Beatrice is getting better. Maybe it’s time.”

  Dad grips my shoulder. “See, it’ll all work out.” He taps my chest. “USC.”

  Chapter 36

  I become a push-up monster, throw in some sit-ups, an hour using my hand weights in my room every night—and Luke’s body becomes Lou’s. I walk across the quad tall and lanky, trying not to think about B.

  I grin when I step into the pep rally and everyone starts chanting, “Lou, Lou, Lou!”

  Simon, Tate, and Murphy high-five me as I squish into the bleachers next to them and right behind Brad and the guys on the team. When the hollering subsides I hear someone shout, “Who knew you had this in you, Drake.” I look back and Wind is sitting with leather guy several rows back, and they both flash a big number one.

  A girl sitting directly behind me says, “Everyone knows you, Lou.”

  I do a double take because at first I don’t recognize her—until I see the birds on her wrist. She was the stoner girl from study hall, but she didn’t look like a stoner any more. “You look great,” I say.

  She tucks her lips in, and looks away.

  I reach around and touch her calf. “Seriously, whatever you’re doing, it’s awesome.” Soft dark wisps of hair encircle her pixie face. It’s like slow motion when her long lashes operate in unison to lift the covers off of her soul-piercing eyes. “Your eyes are . . . stunning . . . intense.”

  She giggles nervously. “Thank you, I think.”

  Simon softly says, “That’s Isabella, the girl from third grade.”

  “The one you threw spit wads at?” I ask.

  “I’m right here,” she says. “You both did that because you liked me.”

  “She’s right.” Simon laughs and then he turns to her. “You look brighter, you know, cheerier, just . . . better.”

  “A real Romeo.” She nudges him.

  When the microphone makes a shrieking noise, we know the rally is about to begin. Isabella puts her hands on my shoulders and a rush of warmth spreads down my spine. “I’ve been watching you practice. You’re good,” she whispers. “I’m going to the meet on Saturday.”

  My entire skeletal system stiffens. “A . . . a . . . great.”

  “Let’s go for coffee some time,” she says. “I want to talk to you.”

  Simon whispers, “She’s a cutie.”

  “I’d like that,” I say to her. I want to ask, can Simon come along, because he knows Luke better than I do. But the cheerleaders take over and we’re engulfed in yelling drills from the stands.

  Finally, Coach Hammond wraps up the rally with a speech and then he calls the swim team to the front. “I bet you can’t recognize these guys with their clothes on!”

  The crowd roars.

  “Lou Drake has set a school record,” he yells.

  “Lou, Lou, Lou.” The gym floor rumbles with foot stomping.

  Coach Hammond puts his hands up for quiet. “Saturday is a big meet. And we are so fortunate to be alive, and a part of this wonderful experience.” He’s looking right at me. I’m so grateful that he doesn’t mention my name again. It’s like he just wants me to know the words are for me, and then he’s done.

  I weave my way through the exiting students, passing snarky Erica, who I try to avoid. I find Simon waiting for me with Isabella outside the gym. “You should tell him,” he says.

  “Tell me what?” Pink splashes cover Isabella’s face. She shivers, so I take off my sweatshirt and put it over her shoulders. “Now I’m real curious,” I say.

  Her tiny fingers cling to my jacket as she pulls it around her, blanket style. “I like you, Lou.” Then she looks away and says, “I figured if you could transform yourself, so could I. Besides, I couldn’t remember what I was so angry about all the time. Anything would set my temper off, and for no reason. So I’d get high and not deal with stuff.”

  Then she makes eye contact and says, “I didn’t have to relearn how to walk and talk. I’ve been a spoiled brat my whole life.” She sniffs. “My dad lectures me on this sense of entitlement. I never thought that walking and talking would be something any of us took for granted.”

  I wrap my arms around her and my eyes water. But I swallow a few times and hold on to her for longer than I should because I’m thinking about B. Simon and the guys disappear, so Isabella and I walk together. I’m afraid to speak. If I open my mouth I think I’ll start bawling and want only to go back to that moment wi
th B. The one thing I can fully remember of Luke.

  “Lucas Drake was selfish, thoughtless, and arrogant,” she says. “I’m sorry, but that wasn’t as noticeable until I met Lou.”

  I grunt.

  “But we didn’t talk or hang out much,” she says.

  “When did you . . . change?” I stammer and feel so lame.

  She chuckles. “The last time I got stoned was the day I saw you in study hall.” We stop and she turns to me. “I’m a work in progress, but gosh, life is so much easier when you don’t fight everything.”

  I hug her again.

  “Drake, what’s with this touchy-feely crap?” she says.

  “I’ve been hating Lucas Drake for all the wrong reasons.” I gaze at her and say, “I’m glad you took out the nose ring.”

  “Ha! So was my mom.”

  I like this girl! “You are simply—”

  She puts her hands up and jokingly says, “Don’t even start with me. As much as I’d like it to go that way.” And then she chuckles.

  “Friends?” I say.

  “Of course,” she says. “But no more spit wads!”

  Chapter 37

  I’m as high as the Matterhorn when I get home. Best mood in months, until Dad stomps through the door. “Let’s go,” he says. “Gotta fix George’s sink.”

  You can meet his niece. She’s cute. C’mon. C’mon. C’mon . . .

  I clap my hands over my ears and land on my knees. “Aaaaaa!”

  Mom slams through the kitchen door. “What’s wrong?” She’s next to me on the floor. “What’d you do to him, Kyle?”

  “Nothing!” Dad snaps.

  “Don’t just stand there, help me put him in a chair!” she says.

  I pant like the wind was knocked out of me. “I can’t . . . breathe.”

  Mom gets me water and says, “Relax, Lou.”

  My body’s ablaze. I guzzle the water. Memories trample through my brain like shoppers at a Wal-Mart on Black Friday. “I remember,” I say.

  Dad gawks at me. Mom puts her hand on my forehead, “You’re kind of clammy.”

  I push her hand away. “After everything we’ve been through, that’s all you have to say?”

  Dad says, “Well you’re fine. We just are used to —“

  “Now you’re used to Lou?” I say.

  “No. You’ve always been our son,” Mom says. “Don’t be silly. Whether you remember or not.”

  “Yeah,” Dad says.

  I pull my hair and don’t know what to think. I am who I am—such a stupid revelation. Now I feel like I need to prove it to them. “You dropped my birthday cake, it was a traumatic childhood incident.”

  “Are you going to bring that up again,” she says, but it looks like she’s actually holding back laughter! “You were eleven, it happened! We put it back together . . . the parts that didn’t hit the floor were edible.”

  Dad snickers.

  “You’re not innocent here.” I point at him and his smile disappears. “‘Mister, I’m not going to make you go to that little girl’s party at the zoo, but don’t tell your mom.’”

  “Oh, I remember that,” Mom says. “Fourth grade! But . . . you never went?”

  Dad shrugs.

  “I whined,” I say. “So he took me to the horse races instead. How do you like that?”

  Dad puts his hands on my shoulders. “Luke’s a good guy and so is Lou. Always have been one and the same.”

  Mom puts her arms around me. “I’m proud of you, Lou. Or is it Luke now?” And she chuckles, and so does Dad.

  “Is it funny?” I say. “What’s going on with you two? You were preying on me for so long. I thought you’d be grateful that I know who I am!”

  Mom pinches my cheek. “You have demonstrated such great character. I knew you’d be fine, no matter what. Lucas Drake, you’re a wonderful human being. I’m elated.” She points at her face with a shaky finger and her voice ripples. “Tears of joy.”

  Dad is beaming. “Ditto.”

  We stand in a huddle, both of them gazing at me, until Mom sniffles and says, “I’m going to call the doctor and make sure this is normal.”

  I stretch my head to one side and wiggle my arms. “I actually feel better. We knew this might happen. I do remember that conversation. Don’t make me go see the doctor again,” I say.

  “Let’s make sure,” Mom says as she picks up her cell phone and punches the doctor’s speed dial number.

  I hear her going back and forth with the nurse. When she’s on hold, I ask, “Can I go with Dad to fix George’s sink?”

  Mom shakes her head and then walks away, talking into the phone.

  Dad says, “Wait and see what your doctor recommends. George can be without a sink for a day. Let’s just settle down.”

  “I don’t want to settle down,” I say.

  Dad gives me a stink eye look, but I ignore him. My memory is wide open now, like the flea market on first Sundays. I can find almost anything I want as soon as I scan the aisles. I remember when Bea showed up at school a few weeks before I officially met her. I looked for her after that, but didn’t see her again until Charlotte’s house, when she made my insides feel like I was carving a perfect wave in the best billabong on earth. I shiver, thinking about her skin touching mine. “What exactly is wrong with her?”

  “I don’t know,” Dad says. “But I hear she sometimes has a twisted recollection of things. Maybe even hallucinations.”

  “An inoperable brain lesion,” Mom says as she enters the room.

  “I know that, but how?—where’d it come from?” I ask.

  “Don’t know,” Mom says.

  I remember Dad telling me on the very night I met Beatrice about her Mom. His words bounce around my skull. Grace had some type of brain disease. She literally went mad. So I say, “Is Bea’s sickness like her Mom’s?”

  “What do you mean?” Dad says.

  “You told me about the crazy brain disease.”

  Dad turns to Mom and she looks down. “I don’t know,” she says.

  But something rings true in what I’ve asked, because Mom won’t look at me. She’s doing that parent thing, guarding me from the truth. I can tell because I feel supersonic. I’ve got my strong powers of observation back now, and a nice guy like Lou on my side.

  Dad and Mom have a conversation, but I don’t listen because my mind’s strolling down memory lane. Simon was right! I had a lot of girlfriends, that’s for sure. Had is the key word here, because Bea is the one for me.

  “Answer me, Lou.” I look up and Mom’s looking at me. But I have no idea what she asked. “Are you dizzy? Do you feel like you’re going to vomit?”

  “No,” I say.

  “We’re going to stay close to home tonight. Keep an eye on . . .”

  “Me?” I say. “We can do that anywhere. This is bullshit.”

  “Watch your mouth,” Dad says. “We’re just following the doctor’s orders, which is to take it easy.”

  I stomp off to my room and call Simon. “I need a favor.”

  Ten minutes later I climb out my window and sneak down the block around the corner. When Simon rolls up to the curb, he asks, “When you going to get a car? You’re Dad’s going to kill me if he finds out.”

  I jump in the front seat. “Don’t tell him then, because I’m not going to.” I don’t even bother sharing with Simon that I’ve remembered everything. I just want to see Bea.

  “Go away, young lad! Conquer thy woman,” Simon says with the worst fake accent and then he slams on the brakes a few houses before the Hoffman’s.

  “Watch it!” I say, because it was so unexpected my entire body lurched forward and there came the dizzy spell. Crap!

  “You can walk a few steps. I’m not your Taxi service?”

  “The jolt, not the walk. Idiot! I told you I’d give you ten. Here it is,” I say, handing him his money. “Don’t answer your phone if my dad calls.”

  I stand on the curb and gesture for him to leave.
/>   Simon yells out the window as he screeches away. “You’re welcome, douche bag! Enjoy the walk home.” I hear his laughter as his car zips away.

  The house is dark, exactly like the few times I convinced Simon to drive by. I knock. The door swings open and George is standing there. He looks me up and down. “Swimming looks good on you.” Then his eyes look out at the street. “Where’s your dad?”

  “He’s on his way.” I lie. “Simon dropped me.”

  Charlotte comes at us from the back part of the house. She squeezes me. “I knew your hair would lighten up. You look handsome.” She touches my arm, as if to see if I’m real.

  I peek into the living room but I don’t see Bea.

  “Sit down,” Charlotte says.

  “Can I see Bea?” I ask.

  “She’s having a bad day. The headaches are less frequent, but when they happen it puts her in a mood,” Charlotte says.

  “I really want to see her.” I plead with my eyes.

  Charlotte nods. “We told her you might be stopping by.”

  On the way upstairs, I ask, “What about school?”

  “I’m homeschooling her for now.” She grunts and adds: “Though she could homeschool me. Smart girl.” Charlotte points to the door. “I’ll leave you two alone.”

  I tap on the door.

  “Come in,” Bea says.

  My scalp tingles at the sound of her voice. As I open the door I have the strangest sensation in my body, it’s as if my skin peels away and I’m part of a giant rainbow, radiant and shining. My pulse is off the charts. I try to walk slowly to her bed and stay calm but all I want to do is scoop her up and yell Hallelujah!

  I hear a dorky voice say, “Hey.” And I can’t believe that’s all I say and in that wimpy tone!

  “Hey,” she says. She has a TV remote in her hand but her sparkling blue eyes are examining me.

  I feel breathless as I sit in the chair next to the bed. “I’ve been asking to see you for weeks. How are you feeling?” My voice is wobbly.

  “You’re so familiar,” she says. “Are you . . . famous or something?”

  “I’m Lucas Drake,” I say. “Call me Lou.”

  “You can call me Trish.”