by Diane Hoh
“Deacon doesn’t know about Tabitha?”
Mel shook her head.
“You should tell him. I know he’d understand. He can’t figure out why you go off the way you do, every once in a while. You should tell him.”
Mel nodded. “Maybe I will.” She swiped at her eyes with the back of her hand. “Thanks for listening, okay? I needed to talk to someone, and I know I haven’t seen much of you lately, but I always thought maybe we could be really good friends.”
Nicki felt a flush of shame. She’d been so wrong about Mel. Mel and Deacon. And she hadn’t been a very good friend. At first, because she’d been so determined to make the tennis team accept her. And then, when most of them had, she’d neglected the two people who didn’t care whether or not she played tennis well. Later, she’d avoided them because they didn’t play the game, and she’d been afraid that meant something sinister. So she hadn’t felt safe around them. But she couldn’t very well tell Mel that. Not now. Maybe never.
“I’m sorry about your friend,” she said quietly. “Any time you want to talk, let me know. I promise you, I’ll be around.”
And she meant it.
“I feel a lot better,” Mel said. “Thanks for listening, Nicki. In fact, I feel so much better that I think I’m going to see if I can dig up that new shade of turquoise that my art teacher said is available now in pastels. It’s almost closing time, but we have a few minutes. Meet you at the shuttle if you finish about the same time that I do?”
“Right.” Nicki was anxious to pay for her racket and get back to campus, so she could call Deacon and begin mending fences, if possible.
She hurried back to the sporting-goods store. It was almost closing time, but John would wait for her. He knew she was coming back.
John had already turned off most of the lights.
“Sneaking out early?” she teased, walking over to the circular counter in the center of the store. He was standing at the cash register, adding up the day’s receipts. She stood beside him, pulling the credit card from her wallet. “Weren’t you even going to wait for my money? You must not work on commission.” She extended the card, expecting him to reach out and take it.
He didn’t. He didn’t even seem to see it. He appeared to be completely oblivious of her outstretched arm.
Must be lost in the counting of money, she thought.
“John?” she said inquiringly, “don’t you want my money?”
He looked up. But instead of simply glancing to his right side, where she stood, which anyone else would have done, John turned his entire body around to face her. Only then did he see the card, and reach out a hand to take it from her.
Nicki froze. No. Not John. No.
But … John had turned completely around before he could see what was at his right side.
John spent much of his free time at the tennis courts, around tennis players, because he loved the game and knew a lot about it.
How could John know so much about the game if he’d never played it?
Maybe he had. Once upon a time.
He would know a lot about tennis if he’d played as a child. Especially if he’d been really good. If he’d had the potential to become a champion.
John?
No.
Yes.
When he returned the card to her, he again turned his body completely around, away from the cash register, instead of just reaching slightly sideways.
Because he couldn’t see out of his right eye. Because it had been severely injured six years ago. By a stone tossed up into the air when a racket was thrown to the ground.
Nicki knew with absolute certainty that she was looking at Terry Gideon, all grown-up now.
And blind in one eye.
Chapter 19
NICKI TOOK SEVERAL STEPS backward, away from, the counter. “You’re Terry Gideon,” she said in an awe-stricken voice. She moved a few steps away from the counter.
She expected his face to change, to fill with rage or hatred, now that he’d been exposed.
To her astonishment, he first looked startled and then his broad face eased into a grin, and he said, his voice perfectly friendly, “Hey, how’d you know that? I haven’t used my real name since I got here.”
Puzzled, Nicki stared at him. Why did he still look so friendly? Why wasn’t he coming out from behind the counter, intent on finishing the job he’d started in the locker room? “I … I just realized that you … that you can’t see out of your right eye.”
His hand instinctively flew up to cover the eye. “Oh, that. Geez, you could tell? And I thought I was doing such a hot job of covering up.” He looked at her anxiously. “You’re not going to share the news, are you? God, if there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s pity. Keep it to yourself, okay, Nicki?”
He made no move toward her. The expression on his face remained friendly. His only concern now seemed to be that she might not keep his secret. When, too stunned to speak, she didn’t answer, he continued, “That’s why I don’t use my real name. When people find out I can’t see out of one eye, they treat me differently. I hate that. And there was so much publicity in this whole area when the accident happened, I knew there’d be fellow students who might recognize the name, especially the tennis players. I did run into a few people here at Salem who knew me from high school. But they were cool when I explained what I was doing, and they were nice enough not to pass the info around campus.” He grinned at her again. “The name seemed kind of appropriate. I mean, Long John Silver was a pirate and wore an eye patch, right?”
When she still didn’t say anything, John flushed and said in a different tone of voice, “Nicki, I’d appreciate it if you’d quit staring. You can’t tell by looking, anyway. There’s nothing to see, nothing to give me away.”
“I’m … I’m sorry. That’s not why I was staring. I was staring because … because you’re not mad. At me.”
John lifted his eyebrows. “What? Why would I be mad at you? That’s nuts. I’ve been stared at worse than that before. There was this group of kids in my tenth-grade social studies class who stared at me constantly, trying to figure out which eye it was.”
“No, that’s not what I mean. Not for staring. For …” Nicki stopped, took a deep breath. If he didn’t know, why tell him?
Because she had to.
“You really don’t know who I am, do you?” she said, moving back toward the counter.
“Who you are? Sure. You’re Nicole Bledsoe, tennis champion. Actually, I think I may have played at Forest Hills with you once, a long time ago.” John glanced down at his bulk with amusement. “I looked a lot different then, so I wouldn’t expect you to recognize me. When I couldn’t play tennis anymore, I started putting on weight. I was actually pretty hefty for a while there, until I got my height.”
“I did play in that tournament at Forest Hills,” she said quietly, her eyes never leaving his face. “John, I was the one who threw that racket. The racket that tossed those stones up into the air. It’s my fault you can’t see out of your right eye.”
It was his turn to stare. “You’re kidding, right?”
“No. I’m not. It was my racket. When I heard you scream, I got scared and ran. I just found out how much damage I’d done. My parents never told me. I didn’t know.”
When John spoke again, he leaned his elbows on the counter and said, “It was you? Wow, this is really weird. I’ve been following your career all this time … I was the one who recommended you to Coach, did you know that?”
Nicki nodded. “She told me.”
John kept shaking his head in wonderment. “You threw that racket? This is too bizarre. Your parents paid all my medical bills, did you know that?”
“Yes. I just found out.”
“I never knew who they were. Who you were. My parents wouldn’t give me the name. They said it wouldn’t do me any good to know.”
“I thought you knew it was me,” Nicki said slowly. “I mean, I thought, Terry Gideon knew it was
me. And hated me for it.”
“I did hate you. For a while. I never knew if you were a girl or a guy, I only knew you’d ruined my life.”
Nicki flushed with shame and guilt.
“But it didn’t last,” John added hastily, seeing the look on her face. “Actually, I think when it happened I was already burned out on tennis. I’d already started to gain a little weight, puberty, I guess, and it was getting tiring racing around on those courts. I hated you for a while and then I decided it wasn’t so bad, having more time to do other things. I found out there were lots of other fun things to do, and that was neat.”
Nicki was trying to take it all in. In the space of one hour, she had learned that Mel wasn’t, after all, the Gideon child she’d injured, and that John Silver was. But … John wasn’t acting as if he hated her and wanted her dead.
Then … who did!
She’d thought she had it all figured out.
Wrong.
“You really don’t hate me?” she asked tentatively.
“Did you continue to throw your racket when you lost a match?” he asked, smiling.
“No. Never after that night.”
“Then I don’t hate you.” Then he added more seriously, “Look, Nicki, we were twelve years old. We were kids. I’ve had a lot of time to think about it, and I finally decided that the person who threw that racket down never intended to blind anyone, not even partially. I could have done the same thing. I was pretty frustrated by then, and was tempted more than once to bean an opponent with a well-placed racket.”
She had one more thing to say. “John? I only just found out what I did. And now that I know, I want to tell you that I’m sorrier than I can say. I’m glad you don’t hate me, but that doesn’t change the fact that I wish I had never let go of that racket. I’m sorry I hurt you.”
“Apology accepted,” he said lightly. “Listen, I’ve got to close this place up, or security is going to think there’s a robbery in progress. Wait while I put the money away and deal with the rest of the lights, and then we’ll go back to school on the shuttle together, okay? I’ll lock up. We can go out the back way, from the office.” He frowned again. “I heard about what happened last night. You shouldn’t be going anywhere alone.” He picked up the cash drawer and looked at her. “Oh, geez, I just got it. You thought that was me, in the locker room? Trying to wipe you off the face of the earth?”
“Not you. Not John Silver. Terry Gideon. But I didn’t know if Terry Gideon was a girl or a guy. I … I thought it might be Mel. She’s been acting weird lately. But I found out why tonight, and then I knew it wasn’t her.”
John paused, reading her thoughts. “So … if it wasn’t Mel slamming that tennis racket over your head, and it wasn’t Terry Gideon … me … then … who do you think it was?”
Nicki groaned. “Oh, God, I don’t know. I don’t have any idea. I was so sure it was Terry Gideon, that I never even thought about anyone else.”
John walked to the front of the store to close and lock the doors, then came back to lead the way to the office where he had to deposit the cash drawer. They began walking to the rear of the store. John hit light switches as they went and the huge space behind them disappeared into darkness. But the light in the office was on, guiding their way.
“If it wasn’t you,” she said thoughtfully, “if it wasn’t Terry Gideon, who had every reason to hate me, then I don’t know who it was. Because I don’t know anyone else who hates me. The voice in the doorway at the infirmary said I’d taken something from them. When I found out about you, I figured that meant taking away the sight in your eye. That made sense. I don’t know what else I’ve taken from someone.”
“Well, there’s the scholarship,” John said, opening the office door and carrying the cash drawer to a small safe squatting against one wall opposite the back door. He knelt to open the safe.
Nicki, standing in the doorway, thought she heard a sound behind them, in the darkened store. She turned to look, but could see nothing. And her mind was on John’s surprising comment. “Scholarship? What scholarship?”
“The full tennis scholarship. They only give three. The rest are partials. Libby has one and a guy named Ty has one, and that leaves yours. Which belonged to someone else first semester. I know, because when I recommended you to Coach after seeing you play at State, she said the only way she could offer you a full was if she took it away from someone else. After she saw you, she told me that’s what she’d decided to do. She was going to take it from someone who hadn’t been playing all that well.”
“She took a scholarship away from someone else to give it to me?” Nicki was horrified. No one had told her that. “Who?”
John put the cash drawer in the safe. “She wouldn’t tell me that, and I wouldn’t have asked. None of my business. Look, don’t start feeling guilty. She said she was going to see that they got a partial. That’s better than nothing, right? Some players don’t even have that.”
Nicki heard the noise again, a rustling sound from behind her left shoulder. “There isn’t anyone else in here, is there?” she asked nervously, glancing around again. It was impossible to see anything beyond the office.
“No. Relax. I’ll be done here in a minute. We were talking while I was tallying up the receipts and I see an error here. Hold on a sec.” He reached up to grab a pencil off the desk, bent his head back to the papers in his hand, and began erasing furiously.
So he didn’t see the rear door open.
He didn’t see what came through it … bulky and burly, wearing a hockey uniform complete with enormous knee and elbow pads and a white molded hockey mask on its face. It lumbered into the room and in three, rolling, awkward strides crossed to where John knelt. In one swift, sure stroke, it brought the hockey stick in its right hand down upon John’s head.
There was a sharp, cracking sound, and John crumpled silently to the floor.
The hockey mask turned. Eyes behind the narrow slits stared at Nicki, standing paralyzed in the doorway, her mouth open. Then it came for her.
Chapter 20
NICKI FROZE. SHE COULDN’T think. Couldn’t breathe. Her mind raced, but shock had puddled it into a mass of confusion. Then her instincts took over.
Run.
But where? Where could she run to? The front door was locked, the keys on John’s belt. The monster in the white mask stood between her and John, making it impossible for her to reach the keys or the only other way out, the rear door of the office.
She could only run in one direction. Back into the store, dark now and filled with shadows of mannequins and shelves and clothing racks and equipment displays.
“Get away from me!” Nicki hissed as the white mask advanced toward her. “Stay away from me!” She whirled and ran.
An alarm, she thought wildly, this is a store, it must have an alarm, something behind the counter to trip if burglars come, something to summon the police.
She had no idea what an alarm looked like.
But because it was the only hope she had, she ran as fast as the darkness allowed to where she thought the counter should be.
“Nicki,” a voice behind her whispered, “there isn’t any point in running. The score is forty-love, my favor. I lost to you once. But I’m winning this match. I’ll get my scholarship back. I’ll stay in school.”
Nicki slammed into the counter, wincing as her hip felt the jolt. She rounded the white formica counter and crouched down behind it. A tennis player … John had been right, it was a tennis player, after all. She almost laughed, bitterly, aloud. From the moment she’d created a scenario that starred as its villain the injured Gideon child, she had thought she was safe only with tennis players.
And all the time, it was one of them.
How could she have been so wrong?
It had seemed to make perfect sense at the time. But then, she hadn’t known about the scholarship.
Footsteps thudded across the carpet toward the counter.
Nicki groped a
long the underside of the counter for something, anything, that might feel like a silent alarm. A wire? A cord? A button?
The footsteps stopped. “Nick-ee! Oh, Nick-ee, come out, come out, wherever you are! Admit defeat, like a good champion. Not pouting, are we? That’s not very sporting of you, Nicole.”
The footsteps came closer. Nicki couldn’t stay where she was.
Closer. If she did, whoever it was would make her head into a hockey puck, just as he had John’s.
John. Was he still alive?
Rage welled up inside Nicki’s chest. John hadn’t done anything to anyone. John was a good guy. Even though he had plenty of reason to be bitter and hateful, he wasn’t.
She wasn’t going to let whoever it was win. John needed help. He needed her, alive and in one piece.
On her hands and knees, Nicki began to crawl out from behind the counter. The store was full of things that could be used to defend herself. If she could find, in the dark, the hockey equipment, she could arm herself with her own stick. Then she could fight on equal terms. If she couldn’t find the hockey sticks, then maybe a baseball bat, a ski, something. …
John needed her.
She heard the hockey stick clattering back and forth from one side of the counter to the other, searching for her. She moved faster. She scrambled along the floor, keeping her breathing as quiet as possible, struggling not to bump into a mannequin or a display.
Let me find something, she begged, please, let me find something!
“Nick-ee! Where did you go? Are we playing hide-and-seek now? I don’t know that game. My game is tennis, you know. At least, it was until you came along. I can’t finish school without my scholarship. We had money, once, but my father gambled it all away—everything except my tennis racket.”
The top of Nicki’s head hit something … a leg … a leg in ski pants … a mannequin’s leg in ski pants, and when she lifted her head to look, light reflected from out in the mall shone on the sharp, pointed tip of a ski pole. In the mannequin’s hand.
