Defining Gravity (Defining Gravity Series Book 1) Read online

  “Okay.” I gulped, fighting back tears of humiliation. Just when I’d thought Thomas might actually be interested in knowing me better, something like this had to happen. He must think I was a complete idiot.

  “Listen,” he said quickly, shooting a look upward at someone standing behind me. “You can’t tell anyone about the punch, Astrid. Quinton could lose his place on the team if he gets in any trouble and my parents would kill me if they knew we were drinking. You understand, right?”

  He looked into my eyes intently, his perfect brow crinkled unhappily.

  “Um, okay,” I whispered. It wasn’t like I was the type of person to go around blabbing anyway. I liked to keep my head down and stay out of trouble. And of course, my dad could never find out about it, either.

  “Great,” he said, breaking into a relieved smile. “That’s my girl. I owe you, Astrid. Maybe we’ll see you around this summer. You play badminton or something, right? We should play a game sometime.”

  “Archery,” I murmured. “I’m an archer.” But he didn’t hear me. He’d already turned away.

  A high-pitched scream exploded next to my ear, followed by words firing rapidly in Cantonese too fast for me to comprehend. Susan and Thomas’s mother was having one of her famous meltdowns. I didn’t blame her; not only was she a very strict, conservative lady, but her husband worked for my dad, which was guaranteed to be a stressful way to make a living. I could only imagine how Mr. Ling would attempt to explain me almost dying at his kid’s party.

  “Ma, calm down.” Thomas’s usually smooth voice rose angrily. “Dad already called the ambulance. Of course, we weren’t drinking. It was just an accident.”

  There was another bout of yelling in Cantonese followed by Thomas’s raised voice.

  “How should I know about the punch? Am I supposed to guard the drink table all night? Maybe someone smuggled something in. Maybe she brought a bottle herself. I don’t know, I’m not a babysitter.”

  A spurt of helpless indignation rose in my chest. All I could do was lay face down on the grass and try not to mortify myself further. I started to shiver and pulled my head underneath the blanket, curled inside like a turtle in its shell.

  I must have passed out because the next thing I knew the jostling and barking orders of the EMT’s woke me up.

  “We’re going to lift you onto a stretcher,” a man’s voice said very clearly in my ear. “It might hurt.”

  I yelped when they lifted me onto the board, but it was a relief to be inside the privacy of the ambulance. The last thing I saw before the doors slammed shut was Miranda’s pale, terrified face peering in at me. Her cheeks were blotchy with tears and I wished she would ride with me, but before I could call out to her she’d disappeared into the crowd.

  2

  The ride to the hospital was very anticlimactic. They didn’t even turn the sirens on. The ambulance guy who rode with me told me a few lame jokes to try and cheer me up. Then he bundled me under a heavy blanket and went on filling out his paperwork. He didn’t ask questions and I was able to just lie there sniffling and feeling sorry for myself.

  The nurse who checked me in at the hospital was not sympathetic at all. She had bottle-red dyed hair and stared down at me over a pair of tiny glasses, narrowing her eyes suspiciously as she took down my information.

  “We need to X-ray your arm,” she said brusquely. “But there’s a line-up right now, so you’ll have to wait. Get out of those filthy, wet clothes and put on a gown.”

  She turned her back on me abruptly, marching from the room without saying anything else. I whimpered miserably and, clutching my hurt arm to my chest, painstakingly shimmied out of my ruined dress. The muddy, wet bathing suit clung to my skin like glue and it took all my strength to peel it off and crawl into the thin blue pillow case thing that she’d called a “gown.” Finally, I could lie back on the bed, exhausted.

  The room they’d wheeled me into on the rolling cot was a private room, which was nice. The waiting room I’d been taken through had been packed full of people. Some had just looked sick, but one man had a bloody bandage wrapped around his head and wild rolling eyes that scanned the crowd suspiciously. When his eyes locked on mine, I’d turned my head and pretended to be sleeping until we’d reached the safety of my room.

  It wasn’t until my X-rays were done that anyone showed up for me, and then it wasn’t my dad but my step-mom Marion who appeared at my bedside.

  “Astrid,” she said quietly, reaching a hand out to smooth the muddy, tangled hair back from my forehead. She looked down at the smear of dirt on her hand and wrinkled her nose in distaste. “I came as soon as I could. Poor girl, are you hurt?”

  Her kindness undid the cold knot in my throat and I started to blubber, trying to tell her everything that had happened. But before I could get a coherent word out, that same grumpy nurse banged into the room with a clipboard in her hand.

  ‘The doctor will be in shortly,” she said, eyeing Marion with a frown. “In the meantime, I’m supposed to go over some literature and let you know that there are support groups available to help underage drinkers. The Young Addicts group has been particularly helpful in managing difficult teens.”

  That stopped my crying. I gaped at her with my mouth open, shaking my head when Marion shot me a questioning look.

  “There must be some mistake. Astrid is far from troublesome. And she would never drink,” she answered in her soft, firm voice.

  The nurse pursed her lips into a tight line. “Yeah, that’s what they all say. This young lady smelled clearly of alcohol. She was barely coherent when they brought her in. There was a fire down on First Street tonight and some of the firefighters were injured. Those men were real heroes who could have been brought here faster if an ambulance hadn’t been tied up driving to a house party way out on Horne Lake road to deal with a spoiled, drunk teenager who fell into the lake.”

  She paused to pull herself together. “I will leave you some pamphlets to read and let you and your husband decide how to best handle your daughter. Hopefully, for her sake, you do something before it’s too late.”

  She swept out, leaving me and Marion staring at each other in stunned silence.

  “It’s not true,” I whispered urgently. “Marion, I swear I only had a few glasses of punch, that’s it. I didn’t know it was spiked. I’m not an addict. I’ve never had a drink before in my life. You can’t tell my dad.”

  “Astrid.” She faltered. “You know how your father feels about drinking, after what your mother—”

  I didn’t want to hear it. My mom had been the worst kind of alcoholic, the kind that abandons her family and then slowly kills herself one drink at a time. My father was rabid on the subject of alcohol. I’d never even seen him sip a beer and our condo had always been a drink-free zone. He would literally kill me if he thought I’d broken his most obsessive rule.

  The door opened and a grey-haired doctor breezed into the room, all smiles. Brown eyes sparkled behind his glasses. He wore his long white lab coat over jeans and on his feet were a pair of bright yellow running shoes.

  “Ladies,” he said with a smile. “I looked at the X-rays and the good news is that there is nothing broken. The bad news is that you’ve injured that shoulder quite badly; there’s a lot of soft tissue damage. You’re going to have to keep your arm in a sling for a few weeks and then take it easy for the next two months while you go through physiotherapy. That shouldn’t be too much of a problem for a pretty young girl like you; spend the summer shopping at the mall or lying around on the beach. Doctor’s orders.”

  “What?” The word felt sharp in my mouth.

  His smile fell as he took in my suddenly stricken face. He turned to where Marion sat equally frozen on the plastic chair beside my bed. Her skirt, jacket and even her hair were the same unassuming taupe as the walls. If it weren’t for a slightly warm splash of pale, pink lipstick she could have been another piece of furniture.

  My chest was so tight I couldn’t br
eathe; it was like drowning all over again. I counted the months rapidly in my head, not able to believe the disaster unravelling in front of me like a long, dark road. I’d been so busy feeling mortified that I hadn’t even thought about what would happen tomorrow or the next day. Now, the utter awfulness of my situation sank in. I would miss the tournament on Sunday and the entire first part of summer training camp. I had a summer full of competitions planned. Worst of all, my dad had planned a trip for just the two of us to see the archery at the Nadaam Festival in Mongolia in July. He would lose his mind when he’d found out what I’d done.

  I sank into my pillow, my whole body shaking so hard the bed rattled. I put a hand over my mouth to keep back the sobs but it was no good. I choked and snuffled, tears running down my face.

  “She’s an archer,” Marion said quietly, reaching over to put a hand on my good shoulder. “She has a whole schedule of training and competitions coming up. Is there really no way she can compete this summer?”

  The doctor frowned and shook his head. “I honestly don’t think so, not without doing long-term damage. The physiotherapist might have a different assessment after a week of rest, though. Don’t make any big decisions until you’ve seen him first, right?”

  After he left, I could practically see the wheels turning in Marion’s head. “Astrid, your father flew out to the Vancouver office this afternoon, but he’ll only be gone a few days. You have to stay here at the hospital tonight for observation, and I’ll leave you at Hilary’s place for the weekend. I think it’s wise for me to break the news to your father gently before you come home; give him time to adjust. All right?”

  I nodded gratefully. Some people complained about having awful stepparents, but Marion was fantastic. She was always on my side, or as much as she could be in the face of my father’s contempt. She might come across as stuck up and prissy, but she’d been nice to me since the moment she entered our lives. Over the past four years, she’d become a necessary buffer between me and my dad’s ever-increasing anger.

  Archery was the only thing my dad liked about me and I wasn’t sure what he’d do if I couldn’t compete.

  “Marion,” I whispered tearfully, finally gaining control over my voice. “I am so sorry. I’ve wrecked everything.”

  She took a deep breath. “Astrid, no matter what your father thinks, you’re not an Olympic athlete yet; you’re a child and children do foolish things. Your father will understand. Eventually.”

  I slumped back on my pillow, not thrilled about being called foolish and a child in the same sentence. Still, it had been pretty childish to have drunken so many cups of that stupid punch. Why on earth hadn’t I realized right away that the drink was spiked? Mr. and Mrs. Ling might be as strict and straight-laced as they came, but Thomas was certainly no angel, even though he looked like one. I’d overheard plenty of stories about him from Susan. Why hadn’t I used my head?

  The whole party came flooding back to me. I vaguely remembered someone laughing about taking a video of me vomiting all over Quinton’s feet. I’d bet there was more than one video. I’d bet that every one of my classmates had their cell phones out taking pictures or videos.

  “Oh no, I left my purse and phone at the party, and my shoes.”

  Marion reached down beside her chair handed me my purse. “Miranda and her mother dropped your things at the hospital front desk. The nurse gave them to me when I arrived.”

  “Miranda,” I said weakly, remembering her blotchy face when I was being taken away in the ambulance. “She didn’t want to come in and visit?”

  Marion shook her head. “She was very upset, Astrid. She said she had to get up early to get to practice. There’s the tournament on Sunday.”

  “Right,” I said numbly, “of course.”

  There was a soft tap on the door.

  “Is it all right if we come in?”

  “Of course, Syun.” Marion rose smoothly to meet them at the door. Mrs. Ling inched into the room, her teeth bared in a tight, anxious smile. She scanned the room nervously and frowned when she saw me lying in bed. Susan and Thomas trailed in reluctantly behind her.

  Susan’s eyes held a mixture of concern and excitement; she studied the room with interest, most likely filing away all the gritty details so she could share them on her blog later. Susan had never been mean to me in school, even though she was easily one of the most popular girls our age, but she loved drama and I doubted she was going to miss an opportunity to write a good story. She had a wicked sense of humor and I cringed thinking about what she might already be writing about me in her head.

  Thomas didn’t even look at me when he came in. He glared at a spot on the floor and ignored everyone, his arms crossed over his chest.

  “We came to see if you needed anything, Astrid,” Mrs. Ling said nervously. “We wanted to make sure you were okay. Your…your father isn’t here?”

  She peered apprehensively around the hospital room as if he might be hiding under the bed or stashed in a closet, ready to leap out and serve her with legal papers. As if my dad could stand to be in a room for more than two seconds and not announce his presence to everyone.

  “No, he flew out today,” Marion reassured her. “I’m sure he’ll understand that it was an accident, Syun. It’s very nice of you to come with the children. We appreciate it.”

  “Thomas and Susan were very anxious to see Astrid,” Mrs. Ling said. “Weren’t you, Susan?” She gave her daughter a little shove in my direction.

  “Yes, mom,” Susan said. Her eyes flicked up to meet mine and one side of her mouth curved into a wicked smile. She let her curtain of black hair fall forward to frame her face and discretely rolled her eyes in her mom’s direction, making me laugh despite my embarrassment.

  “Hey, Astrid,” she said in her soft, clear voice. “I’m glad you’re not hurt. Everyone was worried.”

  I sincerely doubted that, but it was nice of her to say.

  “Sorry I broke your rope swing,” I said finally.

  “Oh,” Mrs. Ling gasped, clutching her purse strap between her hands so hard I was sure it would tear in two. “Don’t think about that. It was time to take it down anyway. What matters is that you’re okay. Don’t you have something to say to Astrid, Thomas?”

  Thomas stood woodenly behind his sister, eyes trained on the floor. A faint blush of colour stained his cheeks. Susan had told me once that their last name meant Ice in Chinese and that’s what I thought of at that moment, watching him stand like a frozen prince, expressionless and cold.

  “Thomas!” his mother hissed, glancing at Marion in embarrassment.

  “Fine,” he said through gritted teeth, as if the word was poison. His gaze settled on my injured arm, not meeting my eyes. “I’m sorry you were hurt, Astrid.”

  A spark of anger flared in my belly. It was partly his fault I was here; if it hadn’t been for that punch I might have stayed safe on the shore instead of trying anything risky.

  “Thank you, Thomas.” Marion moved to my side. “Astrid needs her rest now. But thank you for coming.”

  Susan shot me another smile and winked. “I’ll text you later, Astrid.”

  Thomas said nothing. He just followed his mother out without another backward glance.

  “Those kids appear to be growing up a little wild.” Marion sighed. “I can see Syun has her hands full. Still, it was nice of them to come.”

  “She forced them to come,” I said, unable to keep the bitterness out of my voice. “She just doesn’t want to get sued for negligence.” I closed my eyes and turned my face abruptly to the wall, fighting back tears.

  “Well, get some rest, sweetie. You’ll feel better in the morning.” Marion kissed me softly on the cheek and left the room, shutting the door quietly behind her.

  That night I dreamt of drowning. I writhed under the water, desperate for air, but this time there were no helpful rescuers pulling me to the surface. Instead, a pair of cold, heavy hands gripped my throat, pushing me downward, squeezing
the life slowly from my body.

  No, I shouted in my head, I’m not ready to die!

  I kicked out frantically and my assailant loosened his hold enough for me to slither backward a few inches. As the hands reached for me again, I saw the flash of a familiar ring: a gold square topped with a huge ruby.

  No! I screamed again and this time the sound was loud enough to wake me up.

  I sat up panting, tears streaming down my face, my arm and side throbbing with pain. The image of my father’s choking hands still hovering before me in the air.

  3

  The next morning, Marion was there bright and early to collect me. The nurses had set up a sling to keep my arm pinned tightly to my chest, but there was nothing they could do to hide the awful bruises that had blossomed on my face and one side of my body overnight. I’d taken medication for the pain, but my whole right side throbbed as I hobbled toward the door like an old lady.

  “I’ve spoken to Hilary’s mother,” Marion said in her no-nonsense voice. “I’ll drop you off at their house on my way home. You can stay there for a few days until I’ve filled in your father and let him have time to process the situation. I’ve packed your overnight bag.”

  I nodded gratefully. I felt a little guilty leaving Marion to deal with my dad’s temper on her own, especially when I was the one who’d messed up, but she never seemed to mind his explosive yelling fits like I did. They terrified me.

  We drove in silence until we reached the Ahlberg’s gate. Marion punched the familiar code onto the little pin pad and waited until the black metal gates swung slowly inward before rolling up the driveway. Hilary’s house was about a hundred times the size of our million dollar condo. She lived in a sprawling log and rock home with huge windows that ran from the floor up three stories to a vaulted ceiling. They even had a man-made waterfall and fish pond in their entrance way. As much as I loved Hilary’s house, I loved her parents even more.