Blocked

by Jennifer Lane

  “Oh my God!”

  I heard a voice from far away but couldn’t see anything.

  “Lucia! Lucia, open your eyes.”

  Who’s talking to me?

  “Call nine-one-one!”

  That’s Allison.

  “I’m on it.”

  And that was Tina.

  My eyes flipped open, and I realized I was on my back. About twenty faces crowded my vision. I had a sudden urge to vomit.

  “Get back!” Tina hollered, then her face hovered over me. Allison’s curly blond hair made an appearance, too.

  “Are you okay, Lucy?” Frank’s widened eyes popped up over Allison’s head. I’d never seen him look scared before.

  It took an inordinate amount of energy to speak. “I’m fine.” I lifted my head an inch, but Tina grasped my shoulders.

  “Stay down, Lucia. It looked like you hit your head.”

  Now that she mentioned it, the crown of my skull did throb with each heartbeat. “Oh.” I lifted my hand to massage it. “What happened?”

  “You collapsed during warm-up. Did you faint?”

  I tried to keep my eyes in focus.

  “Did your ankle give out?” Allison asked.

  I was pretty sure my collapse had nothing to do with my ankle. “Yeah.” I closed my eyes and willed myself to keep speaking. “There was this shooting pain, and then I woke up with everyone hovering over me.”

  Allison nodded, and she and Frank straightened.

  “I’ll go meet the ambulance,” Frank said.

  “Ambulance?” My heart thundered, and I tried to get up again, but Tina held me down. She frowned as she looked into my eyes.

  “It’s protocol when an athlete loses consciousness. Does your head hurt?”

  “Just a little where I hit it.”

  “Headache? Dizziness?”

  I answered no to both.

  “What day is it?”

  “Uh, Monday?”

  “What’s the date?”

  “September seventh. Why are you asking me this?”

  “Standard questions. I’m going to tell you five words, and I want you to repeat them to me.” She leaned forward. “Book, monkey, geology, foot, cat.”

  With her expectant look, I had no choice but to comply by parroting the words. She made me repeat the list back to her two more times before a couple of guys in navy blue uniforms entered my field of vision.

  The process of lifting me on a gurney—those EMTs were stronger than they looked—seemed to take forever and was completely unnecessary. I knew I could’ve walked out of there. Claro, I could’ve rejoined practice if they’d let me. But by telling them my ankle still hurt, I’d shot myself in the foot.

  Coach appeared beside my gurney as they wheeled me toward the exit. I expected him to be angry with me for missing yet another practice, but he didn’t sport his usual frown. “Go get taken care of, and we’ll check in with you later,” he said.

  I nodded, and for some reason his light pat on my shoulder made me want to cry. As sucky as it was to have zero control over my destiny, I felt safe for the first time since I’d arrived at Highbanks. The sheet draped over me was warm, and a gurney felt like the right place to be, given my intense fatigue. Then I noticed Allison talking to her wrist.

  “How ’bout we pull the sheet over her head?”

  I realized she was conferring with Frank over the comm-link. When she exhaled a loud sigh as we neared the door, I asked, “What’s going on?”

  “He didn’t like that idea. He said it would make them more predatory, if they thought you were dead.”

  “Who are they?”

  Allison paused. “I’m sorry, Lucia—we tried to avoid this. But the ambulance chasers are living up to their name.”

  The EMTs pushed open the double doors, and my senses flooded. Blinding sunlight and flashbulbs, jostles and bumps into my gurney, shouted questions in my face:

  “Lucia, why’d you collapse during practice?”

  “Are you sick?”

  “How long will you be out?”

  “What do your parents think about this?”

  I groaned as I imagined my family watching Fox News video of paramedics rolling me out to an ambulance.

  My mother was going to freak.

  Three hours later, when I heard her rapid-fire Spanish from all the way down the hall, I stopped fiddling with the IV taped inside my right elbow. I sat up and looked over at Allison next to the hospital bed. “Uh-oh.” Hurricane Silvia was about to hit land.

  A Secret Service agent I didn’t know stuck his head into my curtained area of the ER a second before my mother rushed in. “¡Dios!” She scuttled forward and cradled my head between her warm hands. “Are you okay, hija?”

  “I’m fine, Mom.”

  “¡Ay! You’re so skinny!”

  I rolled my eyes. Hardly.

  “Are they feeding you?” She frowned at Allison. “I knew you shouldn’t come up here, so far from home.”

  Mateo waltzed around the corner and flashed his shy grin, rescuing me from my mother’s scolding. “Oye, Matty.” I lifted my left fist to give his a bump. “I swear you got taller in just a month.”

  “Not as tall as you.” His shaggy black hair fell in his eyes.

  “Yet,” I added. “Just wait.”

  Allison approached my mother’s agents who stood awkwardly by the foot of the bed. “I’ll give you some privacy with your daughter, Mrs. Ramirez.” Then she ushered them out. My mother assessed me while resting her trembling hand on her heart, and I fought the urge to call for Allison to stay, please. I knew the Mexican Inquisition was about to begin.

  “Why did you faint?”

  I pointed to my right foot. “I guess my ankle gave out. Maybe it wasn’t ready to go yet.”

  “They why on earth did they let you practice? Where’s your trainer? I want to talk to him.” She lifted the sheet and studied my ankle.

  “Tina went to find the attending physician.”

  “But your ankle looks fine. You said on the phone it wasn’t hurting you anymore.”

  I swallowed and shifted away from my mother’s intense gaze. As I looked around the room, I noticed Mateo playing with the heart monitor, which they’d disconnected from my finger a while ago. He certainly knew his way around a hospital. “How’re things going, Matty?”

  He shrugged.

  “Your numbers are okay?”

  “We had a scare last week,” Mom answered for him as she stepped around the bed and cuffed him lightly on the ear.

  He held up his lanky arms to protect his head. “Child abuse!”

  I laughed. But when my mother spun and glared at me, my laugh caught mid-throat.

  “We’re talking about you, not him. And I don’t think this is about your ankle. There’s something you’re not telling me.”

  I splayed my hands out to the side. “I don’t know what to say.”

  “You’ve never fainted before. You’re a strong girl. I want to know why this happened.”

  “The blood test results will explain everything,” Tina said as she stepped into the curtained-off area. She looked at my mother. “Mrs. Ramirez? I’m Tina Young, the athletic trainer for women’s volleyball.”

  “Silvia.” They shook hands, and my mother pointed to my gangly teenaged brother. “This is Lucia’s younger brother, Mateo.”

  Tina smiled at him. “How old are you?”

  “Sixteen.”

  “Do you play volleyball too?”

  “I don’t play sports.” When he stared at the floor, I felt a pang of sadness in my heart. Diabetes had stolen that from him.

  “But he’s killer on the guitar,” I said. I thought I caught a hint of a smile from him.

  Mom butted in. “I want to hear those test results.”

  “And I want to share them with you,” Tina said, “assuming I have Lucia’s permission.” Both women turned to me.

  “Y-Y-You need my permission?”

  “Yes. You’re eig
hteen, right?”

  I nodded. I would turn nineteen in a few weeks. I ran my tongue over my front teeth. “If I don’t give permission, my mom can’t hear the results?”

  Mom’s hands flew to her hips. “Lucia Ramirez, I will not leave this hospital until I know what’s wrong with you.” When I didn’t respond, she added, “And we will pull your father off the campaign trail to talk some sense into you, if we have to.”

  He wasn’t the one I was concerned about. He would be reasonable. My mother—not so much. But I believed her when she said she wouldn’t leave without hearing what Tina had to say. Tenaz, my father had called her. Tenacious. Terca como una mula, Alejandro had said behind her back. Stubborn as a mule.

  “Fine, tell her.” I laced my arms together in front of my chest. “Tell the whole world. I just want to get out of here.”

  Tina glanced down at the paper in her hand. “There’s a problem with your glucose levels.”

  “¡Oh, Dios!” Mom’s hand shot to her ample bosom. “She doesn’t have diabetes too?”

  “There’s a family history of diabetes?” asked Tina.

  Mom and I glanced at Mateo, who scowled.

  “Oh.” Tina nodded. “No, it doesn’t appear to be diabetes.”

  Mom closed her eyes as she blew out a breath. “But there has to be a reason for her weight loss.”

  “There is,” Tina told her, then turned to me. “Your glucose is low, Lucia. So is your iron, and your potassium. Your resting heart rate is only forty-two beats a minute.”

  “But that’s because I’m an athlete.”

  “No, it’s because your body’s trying to conserve energy.”

  My mother shook her head. “Why?”

  Tina stared at me. “How about you tell her.”

  “What?” My heart started thumping, surely faster than forty-two beats a minute. “Tell her what?”

  My athletic trainer gave me a sad smile as she approached the bed. She rubbed my shoulder. “Your ankle’s much better, and I’m glad you’ll be back on the court. It’s tough to adjust to this program—to this school—but you’re doing a great job. I know you’ve been trying really hard.”

  My nose burned as I blinked. I wished she wasn’t so nice to me, because that made it harder to fight her. I was just so tired.

  “I’m on your team, Lucia. I want you to reach your goals.” She rubbed my shoulder some more. “I think you felt like you had to lie to me before practice. There was no sandwich. Right? You haven’t been eating. It’s okay, you can tell me.”

  No! She knew. I couldn’t stop tears from leaking out of my eyes.

  “¡Hija!” My mother came up to the other side of the bed and stroked my braid. “What’s she talking about? What sandwich? You need me to make you a sandwich?”

  As I wiped the traitorous tears away, I noticed Mateo staring at me. Fear filled his deep brown eyes, and his grip on the bed’s railing couldn’t have been tighter. I felt like a total poseur when I realized I was the source of his worry. Here he was, stuck in another hospital he hated, because of me. He had to deal with a real sickness every day of his life, yet I was choosing to do this. My face burned with shame.

  I finally found my voice. “I guess I haven’t been eating enough.”

  Mom gasped as her hand stilled on my head. “The photo in USA Today!” She threw her hands up. “You don’t look like that at all, Lucia. You’re a beautiful girl! Eres bonita. Hermosa.” She pressed the heel of her hand into her forehead. “Oh, this is my fault. You heard me yell at the TV when they made fun of my size. You watched me try to lose weight all my life. But, hija, you have to eat! You can’t starve yourself.”

  “So it’s okay for you to diet, but not me?”

  “You are muscular, Lucia. I am gorda.”

  “Nobody should starve themselves,” Tina said. “It causes low energy, depression, and irritability.”

  “Yeah, Lucy has been pretty bitchy,” Mateo piped in.

  I glared at him.

  “Is that why you stopped eating?” Tina asked me. “Because of that unflattering photo?” She tapped her finger on her chin. “But you seemed lethargic before that.”

  I winced. I hadn’t known anyone had noticed.

  “Wait a minute. Did Wyatt Holter talk to you?” she asked.

  I swallowed. When I nodded, Tina’s face changed.

  “What’d he say to you?”

  “He said…I needed to get fitter if I wanted to be a starter.”

  “I’m going to kill him.” Her eyes flared.

  My mother tossed her hair. “Not if I get to him first. Telling my baby she needs to get fitter?” She gestured to me. “I’ve never seen a girl more in shape than Lucia.”

  If by “in shape” she meant fat, then I agreed with her. “Guys!” My voice came out louder than I’d planned. “He’s my coach—he’s just trying to make me better. Please don’t say anything to him. He’ll never play me again.”

  Tina frowned. “I don’t know…I’ll think about it.” She nodded. “And you’ll talk it through with Whitney and Dr. Valentine.”

  “What?”

  “You have appointments with the sport dietitian and sport psychologist tomorrow.”

  “You can’t make me do that!”

  Tina nodded. “Yes, I can, if you want to play volleyball for Highbanks.”

  “I…” I clamped my mouth shut. ¡Chin!

  “And you’re eating something before you leave this ER. Stay put—I’ll get you some food.” She darted behind the curtain.

  “I like her,” Mom said.

  My throat felt tight. “Of course you do.”

  Mom let out a long breath, seeming relieved that the problem had been identified. “You kids are going to kill me one day.” She sat on the side of the mattress and took my hand in hers. “Lucia, you’re usually so level-headed. I get rattled, go loca, but you…you have your father’s coolness under pressure. This is unlike you to let some coach—and some stupid media hound—get to you like this. Is there anything else going on?”

  I felt tears well up again, and all I could see was Dane’s tanned face, the spark in his sunny eyes when he smirked. I’d only wanted him to be attracted to me, too, and I’d thought losing some inches from my thick body might have made that happen. But I could lose fifty pounds and never be as pretty as Nina. Now that I thought about it, Dane was probably a big reason I was in this stupid hospital—not that I’d ever share that with my mother. I shook my head. “It’s just been hard, Mom.”

  “It is hard, and I’m not even in college,” Mateo offered. “It sucks having agents follow you twenty-four-seven.”

  “Yeah.” I sniffed and smiled at him through my tears. “But you’re handling this better than I am, hermanito.”

  He shrugged. “You’re the one who finally got Mom out of the house.”

  I took that in. Huh.

  “That’s right!” Mom chuckled. “You got me to leave my fortress. And I didn’t even care when those vultures snapped photos of me as I came into the hospital. I was just so worried about you.” She kissed my hand.

  I took a deep breath. Get it together. My family was dealing with enough without me passing out like a weakling on the volleyball court.

  “Dad will shut ’em up when he wins this thing,” Mateo said. “Don’t let those asshat reporters get to you, guys.”

  Mom reached out and lightly smacked the back of his head. “Watch your mouth.”

  “Child abuse!”

  She shook her head as she dug into her massive purse. “Just like I thought.” She scowled at her phone, then shoved it into my hands. “Your father and brother have blown up el teléfono, worrying about you. Call them right now and tell them everything. I mean everything, Lucia.”

  I pouted. Now that’s child abuse.

  Chapter 14

  “GET OUT OF MY GYM.”

  I rolled over to my side and faced the wall of my bedroom. But instead of seeing sage green wallpaper, all I could picture were Phil’s da
rkened eyes and the taut lines of his mouth after I’d pushed Jason.

  “Get out of my gym.”

  I’d never seen my zen-master coach look so mad. And no wonder, with me swearing at him, then manhandling his assistant. Way out of bounds. I was surprised Jason hadn’t taken a swing at me—he’d looked like he wanted to. But he obviously had more self-control than I. And Phil ejecting me from practice…that was much worse than a physical blow.

  He wouldn’t kick me off the team, would he? This was my team, damn it! Phil had told me so. But he’d looked so furious, so…disappointed. My stomach tightened just remembering his face. I wondered how getting booted from the team would affect my mom’s political chances. I flashed back to her campaign speech at Highbanks in the spring, when she’d announced, “I love our state so much I sent my son Dane to play for the Cougars!” The crowd had roared with chants of “Go, Monroe! Go, Monroe!”

  Of course my dad hadn’t been there that day. He’d probably been off with his floozy mistress, soaking up her adoring praise of his precious paintings. How could he have betrayed Mom like that? And how could she possess the strength to run for president when her marriage had crumbled like a stale piece of coffee cake?

  I fought off an image that invaded my consciousness, but it wouldn’t go away: a woodsy path, the canopy of trees, my dad looking to the sky. “What a relief to get that off my chest.”

  Thanks, Dad. I’m so glad you’re relieved now. My hands tingled with the urge to shake him.

  I pushed off my bed and stalked out of the room. Brad lounged at the kitchen table reading some papers, but I ignored him as I walked by and headed to the fridge. I shoved aside some protein shakes and cans of soda and hunted around for several moments, but I couldn’t find what I wanted. “Where’s the beer?” I yelled.

  “Uh, that.” Brad grimaced. “Frank said our boss stopped by for an inspection last night. He went apeshit when he found alcohol in the presence of minors.”

  I gasped as I clutched the fridge door. “No.” In a few strides I made it to the cabinet next to the sink, and my stomach sank when I found it empty. “No, not the liquor, too! Christ.”

  “You’re nineteen,” he said.

  As if that matters. I straightened and glared at him.