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“There’s som ^eone here to see you.”
Mark turned back to the room, ready to tell her to get rid of whoever had shown up on his porch. He opened his mouth, but the words never passed his lips. His gaze landed on a skinny kid with short red hair stuck to his head, bright copper freckles on his face, and gold-rimmed glasses. Mark’s memory after the accident might be spotty, but he remembered the boy in the doorway. It was hard to forget a kid who completely lacked basic hockey fundamentals. The kid skated like a windmill, chopped at the puck, and whacked the other kids in the shins. “Hello, Derek. How’s it going?”
“Good, Coach Bressler.”
What was the kid doing here, and how had he found Mark? “What can I do for you?”
“I got your e-mail. So I’m here.”
Mark raised his gaze to Chelsea, who stood by the boy’s side. Her face was carefully blank. He knew that look. She was guilty as hell. “I’m kind of forgetful because of the accident,” he told the boy. “So you’ll have to remind me what I wrote in the e-mail.”
Derek held up a pair of inline skates, tied together. “That I should come show you my hockey stops.”
Chelsea’s jaw dropped and she shook her head. “You did not write that.”
He tilted his head to one side and folded his arms across his T-shirt. “What else didn’t I write?”
Chelsea’s eyes narrowed as she stared down at the kid by her side. “You didn’t write that he should come here and practice, that’s for sure.”
Derek looked up at Chelsea, and behind the lenses of his glasses, his eyes narrowed too. “How do you know?”
“Well, I…I…I spell-check all Mr. Bressler’s e-mails before he sends them out. Because of his memory problem, and all that.”
It was a bad lie, but the kid bought it. He nodded and turned his attention to Mark. “I could help, maybe. My mom helps me with flash cards.”
The last thing Mark needed was for the kid to show up tomorrow with flash cards. “Thanks for the offer, but I’m much better now. How did you get my address?”
Derek pushed up his glasses with his free hand. “The Internet.”
The kid’s answer was alarming. If an eight-year-old boy could find him, who else could?
“I’m sure you’ve broken some sort of law. First by somehow hacking Mr. Bressler’s e-mail and now by finding his house.”
“I didn’t break any law! His e-mail is on the paper we got last year. And I just put his name in Whosit and got the address.”
What was Whosit?
Chelsea shook one finger at Derek. “Even if you didn’t break any laws, which I’m not so sure about, it’s rude to just show up at people’s houses. Does your mother know where you are?”
Derek shrugged one skinny shoulder. “My older sister is at the mall and my m c maom’s at work. She won’t get off until six.”
“Where do you live?” Mark asked.
“Redmond.”
“How did you get here?”
“Bike.”
No wonder the kid’s hair was stuck to his head. “Do you want some water or a soda?” He couldn’t have the kid die of dehydration before he sent him back home.
Derek nodded. “Do you have Gatorade? Like we drank in hockey camp?”
“Probably.” He tightened his grip on the cane and headed toward the door. “And you need to call your mom and tell her that you’re here.”
“Do I have to, Coach? Can’t I just leave before she gets home?”
“No.” Mark moved to the threshold and motioned for Derek to precede him. The boy moved out of the way, and Mark gazed down into Chelsea’s face. “You and I will talk later.”
