grandfather’s truck was on the left side. This was completely different. How could he have been so stupid not to know there was going to be an intercontinental learning curve? At least he wasn’t so naive to think that Blakeley would cut him some slack since he wasn’t a native. “Don’t think I’m going to be easy on you ’cause you’re a Yankee.”
“Actually, I’m from the Midwest,” Michael corrected him, knowing it was a mistake even before the words came out of his mouth.
“I don’t care where the bloody hell you’re from! If you want to drive here in the U.K., you can’t expect leniency!”
The words bounced off the windows and echoed in the car, growing louder and louder until they were replaced by Blakeley’s raucous laughter. Michael’s first thought was that his gym teacher was insane, possibly manic-depressive. He never laughed. He soon discovered that he never laughed while coaching. Sports were serious. Learning how to drive, that was entertaining. “Get it? U.K., you can’t,” Blakeley asked, laughing so hard at his lame joke that he didn’t notice Michael remained silent. “Sorry, Howard, just having a little fun at your expense. Now start her up and let’s get going. We’ve only an hour, you know.”
An hour that I’m suddenly dreading, Michael thought. Regardless, there was no way of escaping, so Michael took a deep breath and started the engine. So far so good. Next he put the car into drive and slowly accelerated down the cobblestone road, thankful that the ancient, uneven pathway made it impossible to drive over ten miles per hour. But all that changed when they reached the Archangel Academy gate. Michael slammed on the brakes, making Blakeley lurch forward in his seat, then hurl back. “Don’t you have to turn off the electronic fence?”
Impressed, Blakeley eyed his pupil. “Already took care of that,” he said. “The fence is shut down on the days I give lessons, but good instincts.” Blakeley waved his hand, giving Michael the go-ahead to drive past the gate and onto the main road, but the car stood still. Michael’s foot wouldn’t move over to the gas pedal. “Don’t wimp out on me now,” Blakeley said in a voice that was frank without being harsh. “You got a lot more courage than that.”
You’re right coach, I do. Pressing down on the gas pedal, he made the Civic hesitantly move forward, and they left the cobblestone path for the slightly smoother road that was the only passageway off school grounds. Gripping the steering wheel tightly and cruising at the incredible speed of eighteen miles per hour, Michael realized that driving on the wrong side of the road wasn’t that difficult after all. It helped that Blakeley looked so relaxed, leaning back in his seat, humming along to the radio, a vast difference from the few times he drove with his grandfather, who criticized his every move while blowing cigarette smoke in his face. Blakeley was the complete opposite. Far from being critical, he praised Michael. But not for his driving.
“I think it’s cool that you and Ronan are so open about your relationship.” The heat started in Michael’s stomach and quickly spread out to his arms, his hands, his neck, until little beads of sweat formed on his forehead. Glancing quickly at his student, Blakeley grimaced. “Don’t be so shocked. Everybody knows about you two.”
Parched, the words came out a bit strangled. “They do?”
Nodding his head a few times before speaking, Blakeley smiled. “Back in my day, I would’ve beaten you up for it, you know, just for the hell of it,” he confessed, but then his smile faded. “But now, well, good for you for being true to yourself.”
The heat in Michael’s body lingered, but now it was mixed with a burst of pride, a much more pleasant feeling. “Thank you, sir,” Michael muttered. If only his father could extend him the same encouragement, if only his father could muster up the same empathy, if only Imogene weren’t standing in the middle of the road. Imogene!? “What the hell?!”
Swerving to the right, Michael careened into the field that bordered the narrow road. He punched the brakes once, twice, but there wasn’t enough traction on the grass, and the car veered from side to side. “Howard! Get control of this bloody car!”
“Can’t you see?!” Michael shouted back.
“See what?!” Blakeley asked, looking all around but clearly not seeing the dead student.
Michael couldn’t remember what he had read in his driver’s education manual about how to control a car when entering into a skid, so he was unable to keep the Honda from spinning on a hidden patch of ice. Without warning, they spun around in a complete circle. The entire time Blakeley yelled and cursed at Michael for his stupidity, but Michael didn’t hear him, he was fascinated by Imogene, who was now floating in midair a foot above the hood of the car, spinning in the same direction, and wearing an expression that was so empty, so lost, that Michael took his eyes off of her only when he saw Fritz a second before the car hit him.
“Fritz!” Michael screamed, hitting the brakes even harder.
Jumping out of the car before it came to a complete stop, Blakeley raced over to where Fritz had fallen, but he couldn’t immediately find him. “Ulrich! Where are you?!”
“Avalanche!”
Moving in the direction of the voice, Blakeley found Fritz lying on the ground, almost completely concealed by the tall blades of grass. “How bad are you hurt?”
“Avalanche!” Fritz cried out again.
“What the hell are you talking about?!”
“His comic book!” Blakeley whipped around to see Amir Bhatacharjee grabbing at pieces of paper that were swirling around in the wind. “ ‘Archangel Avalanche.” It’s the latest issue!”
As the coach bent down to assess how badly Fritz was hurt, Michael scoured the area for Imogene, left, right, up, down, but she had disappeared. Was she trying to communicate with him again? Was there something else that she needed to tell him, show him? For now, any questions Michael wanted to have answered would have to wait, there were more practical matters to attend to, like getting Fritz to the infirmary.
“Howard!” Blakeley barked, his arms positioned underneath Fritz’s armpits. “Grab his feet, but be careful!”
Michael did what he was told, gently taking hold of Fritz’s ankles. Following Blakeley’s lead, he stood up slowly and walked backward toward the car, all the while studying his friend’s face to make sure he wasn’t hurting him. But Fritz looked far from incapacitated, on the contrary, he seemed to be enjoying the ride. “I’m so sorry,” Michael said. “Are you all right?”
“You could’ve killed him!” Amir shouted as he scurried alongside them, picking up the last of the pages.
In midair being transported into the car, Fritz disagreed. “I’m fine! You only nicked me.”
Greatly relieved that Fritz was conscious and seemed to have only a few minor cuts and bruises, the color started to return to Blakeley’s face. However, he wasn’t willing to let Michael off the hook. “You know all those things I said about you in the car?” Michael nodded. “I take every one of them back!”
“Hey, coach,” Fritz said from the backseat of the car, his legs propped up on Amir’s lap. “Seriously, I’m okay.”
Closing the driver’s side door with a loud thud, Blakeley wheeled around and leaned over the seat, his hand gesticulating wildly, the color in his cheeks now a deep red. “Oh, really?” he asked. “Then do you mind telling me what the hell you two were doing out here? And if you tell me you had permission to be off school property, I’ll make you swim a hundred laps every day until the end of term!”
No stranger to run-ins with authority figures, Fritz had learned long ago that it was always best to confess when backed into a corner or when trapped in the backseat of a car. He explained to Blakeley that since he knew the fence would be disengaged, he figured it would be the perfect opportunity to sneak out of school, go into town, and see if the general store would sell his comic books. “The owner let me leave a few copies in the magazine rack, you know, as an experiment to see if they generate any business,” Fritz offered.
“Really?” Michael asked. He was going to ask exactly how many issues he was able to leave, but Blakeley threw him a look that made Michael think it was better to remain silent.
“So if you wanted to,” Fritz said, “you could look at it as sort of an internship.”
“Well, I don’t want to!” Blakeley shouted.
“Sorry, coach,” Fritz said sincerely. “It really was a successful outing and if you have to reprimand me, go ahead, but Amir was only along for moral support.”
He had heard enough. Blakeley turned around and started the car, revving the engine violently, and jerking the transmission stick into drive. “I’ll deal with all three of you later,” he barked. “Right now I want to see what the doctor has to say about that leg of yours.” Speeding back onto the main road toward the entrance gate, Blakeley added, “And so help me God, if he says you need time off from swim practice, I’ll break both your legs!”
