Seth’s No-Good, Rotten, Unfreakingfair, Sucktastic, Miserable, Lousy Day

[chazper]

Written for silverweave for the OC sentence challenge. The prompt was: If Seth had wanted his day to go like this, he would have shoved himself in his locker in first period and saved everyone else the trouble. I think you'll notice it right away.

Set season 1, sometime between "The Heights" and "The Perfect Couple."

Sorry it's late, silverweave and sorry I don't have a Seth icon to go with, but here's the story:

Seth’s No-Good, Rotten, Unfreakingfair, Sucktastic, Miserable, Lousy Day

If Seth had wanted his day to go like this, he would have shoved himself in his locker first period and saved everyone else the trouble.

It started innocently enough.

Well, actually, it started with him hitting the snooze button a few too many times.

“Seth, I mean it! Down here! Now!”

“Okay, okay, Mom. I’m coming!” Scrubbing his eyes, Set yawned, fumbled his downstairs and hopped blindly through the den with one sneaker on and the other still dangling from his fist. “There’s no need for The Kirsten voice,” he grumbled. “A guy oversleeps a few minutes and you immediately start to-whoa!” Rocking forward, he braked to an abrupt stop and squinted at the sofa. Ryan was reclining there, one leg propped on a stack of throw pillows, a light blanket thrown over his body. “Ooh . . . kay,” Seth said, blinking his surprise. “What’s up, dude? I mean, since obviously you’re not. Aren’t you supposed to be in the kitchen already, halfway through a bowl of dry cereal? ‘Cause you know, if I’m late you are seriously beyond tardy. Why aren’t you dressed and ready for school? For that matter, what are you doing in here?”

Ryan’s glare slid up and sideways but before he could answer, Sandy entered, newspaper in hand, and did it for him.

“His ankle,” he reported shortly. Tossing the paper onto an armchair, he went to help Ryan sit up.

Seth watched the maneuver with obvious confusion. “Thank you, father,” he said. “That was both concise and totally uninformative. Back to you, RA. What gives?” Dropping his tennis shoe, he leaned over, one finger poised to poke the blanket that covered Ryan’s foot.

“Seth Ezekiel Cohen!” Kirsten snapped from the doorway. “Don’t. You. Dare.” Hurrying into the room she set down the tray she carried on the coffee table next to Ryan. Then she wedged a cushion behind his back. “There,” she murmured. “Better?”

Ryan flushed slightly. “Yeah.” He ducked his head in a shy nod. “Thank you. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. Oh! Forgot your juice.”

Seth stared at his mother’s retreating form, then at his father, who was separating the newspaper into sections, and finally back at Ryan. “Soooo,” he said slowly. “Cereal, pre-schmeared bagel, fruit salad, coffee, juice, bacon-bacon? . . . You’re getting breakfast in bed, dude? Or on couch anyway. How do you rate this service?”

“I told you. His ankle,” Sandy said. “It’s sprained . . . Here you go, kid.” He handed the sports section to Ryan and settled down companionably with the front page and his own coffee.

“Ah! Sprained.” Seth’s eyes widened in comprehension, only to narrow again. “But wait . . . How did this happen? He was fine when I went to bed last night.”

“’He’ is right here, Seth,” Ryan muttered. “And I fell on my way to the pool house.”

Seth helped himself to half of the bagel. “Fell,” he echoed, munching. “Hmm. Well, I have to say, Ryan, that sounds pretty clumsy of you.”

“He tripped,” Sandy clarified. He scowled over the top of the newspaper. “Over your skateboard, son.”

Seth stiffened, indignant. “No he didn’t! I put that away. I know I did.” Kirsten returned with a carafe of orange juice, and he looked at her in entreaty but she just shook her head. So did Sandy when Seth turned back to him. “I didn’t? So you mean-Ryan did? Trip over my skateboard I mean?” This time his parents both nodded.

“Again-I’m right here, Seth,” Ryan reminded him grimly.

“Man, dude!” Seth collapsed onto the arm of the sofa and dropped his half-eaten bagel back onto the breakfast tray. “That sucks. I am seriously sorry-even though you should have been looking where you were going--”

“Seth!” Kirsten chided.

“Hey, I’m just saying.” Seth sat back and crossed his legs. His socked foot bounced next to Ryan’s nose.

“Do you mind?” Ryan growled, shoving Seth’s foot away.

“What? Oh. Sorry again. Anyway, you said this happened last night? So how come I didn’t know about it?”

“Because you, son, were already asleep,” Sandy explained. “I went to tell you that I was taking Ryan to the emergency room, but you were dead to the world.” His eyebrows furrowed quizzically. “You had only gone up to bed fifteen minutes earlier. I don’t understand how you manage to fall asleep so fast.”

Seth grinned. “It’s a gift, Dad,” he said. Then he turned his attention to Ryan, who had hitched himself up higher and started eating his cereal. “So . . . I’m guessing that you’re under house arrest today, dude.”

Ryan stopped, mid-chew, to shoot Seth a swift death-glare.

“Okay, maybe ‘arrest’ wasn’t the best word. But you know what I mean. Confined to couch?”

“That’s right,” Kirsten said. “Ryan’s not going to school today, but you had better hurry, Seth, or you’ll be late.”

Seth’s smile disappeared abruptly and his eyes darkened. He had a sudden vision of himself alone at Harbor: walking the halls by himself, facing Luke and his water polo team cohorts, confronting Summer’s continued ‘Tijuana never happened. Neither did the carnival’ charade, eating at an empty table . . . basically, returning to his life pre-Ryan.

Which sucked, big time.

Seth did not intend to go through that again.

Recovering with an effort, he assumed his most guileless expression. “You know, Mom,” he said, looking at her thoughtfully, “I think I should stay home today too. You’ve got to go to work, Dad’s got to go to work, Rosa is off today. And Ryan--” He paused, voice dripping with empathy, to pat Ryan’s shoulder. “He’ll need somebody around to take care of him. You know, so he won’t have to walk.”

Ryan shrugged off Seth’s hand. “I do not. Need a baby-sitter, Seth,” he growled.

“Not baby-sitter. More like a go-fer, dude. A personal assistant. Just think of me as your legs for the day.” With a penitent sigh, Seth gazed at his parents. “Hey,” he said, “this is the least I can do after leaving my skateboard out. After all, it’s kind of my fault that Ryan fell.”

“True,” Sandy agreed. “And that is why you’re going to go to all of his teachers and get his assignments for him.” Draining the last of his coffee, he put down his cup and stood up. “Let’s go, son. I’ll drop you at school on my way to the office.”

Seth’s frantic protest almost propelled him off the couch. “Yeah, only no, Dad. Seriously. Don’t you think Ryan needs somebody to stay home with him? You do, don’t you, Ryan? Dude, come on, tell them.”

In response, Ryan simply hitched one shoulder and reached for his orange juice.

Sandy took Seth’s elbow and hoisted him to his feet. His lips quirked with smothered amusement. “Ryan, will be fine,” he said. “Your mother will make sure he has everything he needs.”

“Yeah, but I really think--”

“Now, don’t forget to take Ryan’s homework to his teachers. He doesn’t want to fall behind.” Kirsten shoved a neat stack of papers into Seth’s hands. “All the assignments are labeled. And here’s your backpack.” Kissing him on the cheek, she slipped between her son and the sofa so that he couldn’t sit back down. “Have a good day, sweetie. ‘Bye.”

“Okay, no, wait, hold it. How about this?” Seth grabbed the back of the couch. He held on, his feet planted firmly. “I go to school, I get both of our assignments and then I come back home? Genius, right? That way Ryan has somebody with him, plus we both keep up with all of our work.”

Flashing his most beguiling smile, Seth waited for his parents’ approval. He didn’t get it.

“How about this?” Sandy countered dryly. “You go to all of your classes as usual. Come on, Seth. Time to leave.”

“Just one minute, Dad. You know, I’ve been thinking.” With an abrupt change of approach, Seth leaned over the back of the sofa. He gave Ryan his “united we’re unstoppable” look, his head bobbing with entreaty. “Your ankle is only sprained, isn’t it, dude? I bet you could just walk it off. In fact, you probably should walk it off. I mean, isn’t that what athletes do? So you can just come with--”

His mother’s mouth tightened. “Don’t be ridiculous,” she injected. Seth flinched, recognizing The Kirsten voice. “Sprains can be serious, and the doctor specifically said Ryan needs to stay off his feet until the swelling goes down. Now stop complaining and Go. To. School. Now, Seth.”

“No, see, I’m not complaining,” Seth said. “Seriously, Mom. Dad? I just don’t think we’ve examined this situation thoroughly--”

Ignoring his son’s continued protests, Sandy reached down and kneaded Ryan’s shoulder. “Take care, kid,” he murmured. “No break-dancing today, okay?” Then, smothering a grin, he clamped a hand on each of Seth’s arms, turned him around, and steered him away from Ryan. With an effort, he half-coaxed, half-pushed his still-babbling son all the way out of the front door.

Ryan’s quiet chuckle followed them as they left.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“So . . .” Sandy glanced sideways as he stopped at a traffic light. “Want to tell me why you’re so unhappy about going to school today, son? I thought things were better for you at Harbor this year.”

“Yeah, well, ‘better’ is a relative term. Also ‘were’. You remember that remark you made to Ryan and me the first day of school? ‘At least you’ve got each other?’” Seth said hitched his thumb morosely toward the vacant backseat. “Well, the other? Not so much here.”

“Ah.” Sandy nodded, but he still looked puzzled. His brow furrowing, he studied his son’s gloomy profile. “True, you don’t have Ryan to hang out with today. But what about your women?”

“My-what now?” Seth swiveled around. His mouth hung open, and he blinked, his eyes wide and rimmed with confusion.

Sandy shook his head, grinning at his son’s expression. “Actually,” he confessed, “I’m not sure. But before Ryan joined the soccer team, he was telling me how he felt out of place because everybody else at Harbor had something, and he mentioned that you had your women.”

“He did?” For an instant, Seth preened. ‘My women,’ he mouthed, beaming.

“So . . . who are these women of yours, son?”

“Oh. Yeah.” Seth slumped back down again. His shoulders crawled up, almost swallowing his ears. “Summer and Anna,” he mumbled.

Sandy drove through the now-green light. “Hmm. I’ve heard about Summer,” he mused. “But Anna--?”

“Anna Stern. You met her.”

“Oh! You mean your date at cotillion? She seemed very nice, son. Also hot. So . . . you and Anna?” Sandy cocked his head, his eyes crinkling, as he peered at Seth.

“Dad! First of all, don’t say ‘hot,’ and second, she wasn’t my date. Ryan and I were white knights, remember? Anna is just a friend. Besides,” Seth added glumly, “she’s not around right now. She’s back in Pittsburg for her grandmother’s birthday.”

“What about Summer?”

Seth’s eyes glazed the way they often did when he contemplated Summer. “Summer is . . . well, Summer is Summer.”

“Ah yes, the mysteries of the female gender.” Sandy nodded in wry commiseration. “Well, son, I’ve spent decades studying that very subject, including all the years I’ve spent with your mother. And let me tell you what I’ve learned about women.” He glanced over, simultaneously shaking his head and smiling. “Nothing,” he admitted. “Nothing at all.”

“Yeah, thanks, Dad. Very helpful. So what you’re saying is that Cohen men are just doomed to--”

Sandy’s phone rang and he put up a hand, silencing his son as he pulled over to the curb and answered it. Lost in a doomsday scenario about the approaching school day, Seth barely heard his father’s curt “What? . . . Now?. . . Can’t you handle it? . . . Damn. All right, I’ll be there as soon as I can.” So he was startled when Sandy snapped the phone closed, reached into the backseat, grabbed his backpack and tossed it in his lap. “Change of plans, son. I’ve got to get to the courthouse right away. Sorry. I’ll have to drop you here.”

“Wait, what? Here?” Seth jerked to attention. He scanned the neighborhood, horrified. “But Dad, here is like, still five miles away from school.”

“Three, tops,” Sandy said. “Think of it as your morning workout, Seth. If you jog, you can be there in half an hour.”

“Yeah, only no, remember, Ryan is the one who works out. Me, not so much.”

“Seth--”

“And it’s seriously hot out there. Do you know what the heat does to my Jewfro?”

“Your hair will survive,” Sandy said. “Just go.”

“But how long would it take to drive three more miles?”

Sandy’s expression changed. He didn’t say anything. He just reached over and opened the door.

Reluctantly, Seth climbed out of the car. He stood on the side of the road, his face forlorn, fumbling with his heavy backpack as his father waited to make a U turn. Then his eyes brightened.

Three miles to school?

That meant it was only one mile back to Case Cohen.

This was clearly a sign where he was meant to go.

Definitely. Jesus and Moses had spoken.

Grinning his decision, he lifted one hand in a farewell wave.

“Oh, and Seth?” Sandy called, just before he pulled away. “A word of advice: Do not even think about going back home.”

Seth’s smile vanished.

So much for Jesus and Moses. Sandy Cohen had spoken. Case closed. Seth hauled up his backpack and trudged away.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thirty-five minutes later, he slunk into the Harbor student lounge. His face was sweaty, his curls were matted to his scalp, and his jeans were tattooed with paw prints from an extremely friendly, extremely dirty terrier who had somehow managed to find the only mud puddle in Newport.

At least, Seth hoped it was mud.

Trying to make himself invisible, he sidled toward the boy’s restroom. Just as he neared the door, though, Luke and several of his water polo teammates pushed their way past, laughing. Instantly, Seth made a detour. He grabbed a wad of napkins from the coffee counter and headed for the nearest dark corner to wipe off his pants.

“Stupid dog,” he muttered, swabbing futilely at the stains. “Stupid owner who doesn’t keep his stupid, filthy dog on a--”

He broke off abruptly. Summer, all petite perfection, had just sauntered into the room, surrounded by several friends. Seth’s eyes lit up and he beckoned hopefully, his paper napkin waving like a semaphore. Summer scowled in response, but she did slip away from the group. As if heading to the ladies room, she made her way toward Seth, pausing in front of him to take out her lip gloss.

“Summer, hey!” Seth began.

“Do not ‘hey’ me, Cohen,” she hissed as she outlined her already well-polished mouth. “I told you, unless I talk to you first, we do not know each other here.”

“But what about the carnival? The tilt-a-whirl?” Seth nudged her shoulder. “Remember?”

“I remember you slamming your elbow into my side. Anyway, I just needed somebody to ride with me in case I hurled. Here, I have a reputation and-ew! What is that all over your legs?”

“This?” Still clutching his smeared napkins, Seth leaned over to inspect his own thighs. As he did, he accidentally gestured too widely, smearing a streak of mud across Summer’s pink sweater.

“Cohen!”

“Sorry! Sorry, I didn’t mean to-here,” he babbled, starting to scrub the stain, “let me wipe that--”

“Oh my God! What do you think you’re doing?”

Seth stared at his hand, which was cupping Summer’s left breast. “I, I mean . . . nothing,” he gulped. “Just trying to feel . . . I mean, to clean you up.”

Summer swatted his arm away. Her eyes glinted with fury. “Do not touch me!” she snapped. “Or speak to me. Or look at me. Do not even breathe anywhere around me.”

“Come on, Summer,” Seth begged. “It was just--”

She cut him short with a glare. “Rage. Blackout,” she warned.

Sensing danger Seth lurched backward, trying to hop out of her way as Summer shoved past him into the ladies room. Unfortunately, the move sent him barreling into a very large senior-naturally, a juiced-up, jock-type-who had just emerged from the men’s room.

“Hey, watch it, queer!” The guy pushed Seth, hard enough to send him sprawling on the floor. “What are you tryin’ to do, cop a feel?”

“Unfucingbelievable,” Seth grumbled to himself. “Second time I’m accused of that in one minute. Must be some kind of record.” Out loud, he heard himself muttering, “Yeah, like there’s anything there to feel.”

Oops. He hadn’t meant to say that.

And the comment did not go over well.

Seth’s day didn’t get any better after that.

As he slunk out of the lounge, still grimy and now bruised, he heard someone yell, “Hey, Cohen! What happened? I don’t see your bodyguard anywhere around.”

“Bodyguard?” Somebody else retorted. “You mean his boyfriend? Maybe they broke up already. Or maybe that punk friend of his is back where he belongs. What about it, Cohen? You flying solo again?”

That was it. Seth-season was officially open.

There was the coffee “accidentally” spilled down his back.

“Oops! Sorry, queer. Good thing I got iced today instead of hot, right?”

There was the chair pulled out from under him just as he was about to sit down in World History.

“My bad, man! Didn’t see you there.”

There was the foot suddenly thrust into the aisle, tripping him as he walked in to Algebra 3.

“Oops. I got a muscle spasm and had to stretch my leg. But no harm, no foul, right?”

Just to add to his misery, that time he landed in the lap of Jess Saunders, who pushed him unceremoniously to the floor exclaiming, “Get off me, creep!”

There were all the elbows and shoulders roughly jostled into him in the hallway.

There were the weights slipped into his book bag during Biology so that when he went to pick it up, the extra heaviness-they must have added at least fifty pounds-jerked him halfway to his knees.

“Can’t even lift your own book bag, Cohen? Sad, man. Seriously, that’s sad. But you know, with those toothpick arms . . .””

There were the empty chairs at his lunch table. Well, empty until three guys-soccer players, he thought-sat down, and then seemed to notice him for the first time. “Dude!” one of them announced with loud horror, “They haven’t cleared away the trash. I can’t eat with that here!” They promptly jumped up, toppling chairs in their snickering rush to get away.

Worst of all, there were the time-five of them; he counted-when Seth spotted Summer. Each time she glowered, lifted her pert chin, pivoted on her heel, and marched off at the sight of him.

Only once, on his way to English, did he have a brief respite.

“Seth! Wait up!”

Grateful to hear a friendly voice, Seth spun around.

“Marissa, hey” he said eagerly. “So . . . Um, great carnival the other night, what with the rides and the lights and the cotton candy. Which, by the way, was excellent.”

Marissa wasn’t listening. She was looking past him, scanning the steps to the math building.

“Uh-huh,” she murmured. “Seth, I haven’t seen Ryan all morning. Isn’t he here today?”

“Here? Hmm. Well, not in the sense of being physically present, no. He had to stay home. He sprained his ankle.”

Marissa’s doe eyes widened, alarmed. “He did? Oh no! Is he hurt?”

“Aside from the whole sprained ankle thing, you mean?” Surreptitiously, Seth rubbed his own aching tailbone. “Then no, he’s fine.”

“But when did it happen? How?”

“He, um, he kind of had a skating accident last night.”

Marissa blinked, confused. “Ryan skates?”

“Not so much, actually. Hence the accident . . . So, Marissa, are heading to the Lit building? ‘Cause I thought maybe we could--”

“Uh-huh,” Marissa said vaguely. She opened her phone and pushed a button, giving an absent wag of her fingers-Seth guessed that it was a wave-as she walked away. “See you. Bye-Hey, Ryan! It’s me. Why didn’t you call and tell me about . . .”

“Yeah! Great talking to you too!” Seth called.

That was it. His only moment of halfway friendly human contact.

A moment later Summer strolled down the steps, saw Seth, glared, grabbed the arm of the nearest guy-some chiseled jock named Eric or Derrick or maybe Brad Pitt-and beamed up at him. He smiled back, dazed, and Summer’s flirtatious laugh floated back at Seth as they wandered away. He sighed. Hoisting his backpack-which felt sticky suddenly-he began to trudge across the quad.

Alone.

The day plodded on.

At last, but also much too soon, it was time to head to his last class: physical education.

Of course it would be a phys ed afternoon. It couldn’t be Tuesday, when he had Popular Culture. No, it had to be phys ed, which meant facing athletes. In their natural habitat, the wilds of the gym.

Seth tried, he did, lingering outside until the last moment, but he wasn’t able to sneak into the locker room without being noticed. He wasn’t able to move fast enough, either, to avoid the rush of guys who spun him around, wedged him in his locker, slammed the door and locked it.

He could hear their laughter rise outside and then start to fade.

“Funny!” he yelled through the vent. “Very, very funny, guys! Shows serious wit and imagination. I’m surprised this prank hasn’t shown up yet on "Punk’d". It’s genius, definitely. You guys are light-years ahead of Ashton Kutcher.”

His voice echoed in his own ears.

Nobody answered. They were gone.

And so, for the sixth time in his life, Seth found himself jammed in a locker with his worn gym clothes.

At least he hoped they were his.

They were definitely smelly.

Breathing carefully through his mouth, Seth settled in to wait.

“Good thing I’m thin,” he mumbled. “Also flexible. And used to this.”

Angling himself on a diagonal, Seth made himself comfortable-well, as comfortable as he could, considering that he was two inches taller than the locker. Forty-five minutes until the end of class, he thought. Then he could get somebody to open the door, unless of course, he got lucky and somebody wandered in earlier.

Or . . . hold on, yes! That was a possibility.

Twisting to his left in order to avoid the hook on the back wall, Seth snaked his hand into his pocket and fished out his cell phone. It took some maneuvering to flip it open and push the right button, but he finally managed.

And without injury to any major body part.

The phone rang four times, and Seth tapped his foot impatiently, but when Ryan picked up, he summoned his most relaxed, all-is-well-in-Seth-Cohen-world voice. “Hey, dude,” he said, “it’s me.”

“I know that, Seth,” Ryan observed dryly. “Caller ID.”

“Oh. Oh, right. So, just thought I’d check in and see how you’re doing. How are you doing?”

“Um . . . Fine.”

There was a clear question in Ryan’s slow reply, but Seth chose to ignore it. “Fine,” he echoed. “Good. Fine is good. So . . . how is it, being home alone? Boring, right? I mean, there are only so many soap operas and talk shows that a guy can watch.”

“I don’t watch soap operas and talk shows.”

“No, of course you don’t. But you must be sick of rattling around the house by yourself. Bet you’re ready to come back to school tomorrow.”

“Um, actually . . .” Ryan hesitated, and Seth could sense his blush when he spoke again. “I haven’t been by myself. Your mom decided to work from home today.”

“Mom stayed home? You mean you’ve had to spend the whole day with The Kirsten in mothering mode? Man, I’m so sorry. She didn’t cook for you did she?”

Ryan chuckled softly. “No, she didn’t. She just heated some soup. And when that burned, she ordered Chinese. Seriously though, Seth it’s been kind of . . . cool. She had these plans for the Newport Group’s new office complex and she let me study them with her. And now she’s gone to get the model so I can look at that.”

Ryan sounded so content that Seth felt a flash of alarm. “Yeah, that’s great buddy,” he said. “But tomorrow everything goes back to normal, right? I mean, both the ‘rents at work, both of us at school, the universe back in balance?”

“Tomorrow? Um, no. Apparently, I’m supposed to rest my ankle for a few days. Doctor’s orders.” Ryan laughed again. “Kirsten’s too,” he added.

Horrified, Seth bobbled his phone, almost dropping it. At the last minute, he caught it with his chin. “Wait, whoa. Hold up. Did you say a few days, Ryan? With an ‘s’? Plural?”

“There’s no such thing as a few day singular, Seth.”

“Okay, uh-uh, no. Staying home is a ginormously bad idea.” Seth’s words tumbled over each other as his voice sped up. “Seriously, dude, listen. I know I’m not technically a doctor--”

“You’re not a doctor at all.”

“All right, fine, I’m not. But think about it, dude,” Seth urged. “Shouldn’t you be moving around, ASAP? Putting weight on your foot? I mean, use it or lose it, you know?”

“You think I could lose my foot?”

“The muscles could atrophy, that’s all. I’m just saying.”

The pause that followed was thick with suspicion. Seth could picture the dubious glint in Ryan’s eyes when he spoke again. “Okay, Seth, what’s wrong? What’s going on?”

“Wrong?” Seth pushed a dangling jock strap out of his face. “Nothing’s wrong. I’m just standing here, chilling. What makes you think something’s wrong?”

“You sound weird. Well, weird-er. Seth, where are you calling from anyway? I keep hearing this funny echo.”

“Oh, yeah. The echo. That would be from the locker.”

“I never noticed an echo in the locker room.”

“No, not the locker room,” Seth admitted. “My locker does. I’m inside it.”

There was another, longer, moment of silence. Seth shifted uncomfortably, bumping his elbow into the wall.

“You mean,” Ryan demanded, “that somebody locked you in your locker?”

Seth could practically hear the grim set of his jaw, the ominous darkening of his expression.

“Well, now that you mention it, Ryan, yes somebody did. A few somebodies, in fact. Because, you know, it is just oh, so, hilarious.”

“What are these losers, a bunch of twelve-year-olds?”

Seth cocked his head thoughtfully-a bad idea, since he bumped the wall again. “Mentally, I’d say more like seven,” he replied. “Unfortunately, in terms of physique, they’re like Mr. Universe huge. So . . .” He took a deep breath, which he immediately regretted: the air really smelled foul. “Here’s what I was thinking, RA. You have Marissa’s cell number, right? And she owes me-well, us-for finding her in Tijuana and then breaking her out of the hospital. So she should be willing to--”

“Go into the guy’s locker room and get you out of a locker?”

“Right. Oh . . .” Seth’s eyes widened with comprehension. “Right,” he said, momentarily deflated. “I’m in the men’s locker room. Little problem there. Okay, but still, you know, Marissa Cooper can be totally stealth. I mean, remember the model home? So--”

“Sorry, Seth. Marissa’s not even at school right now.”

“But she was! I saw her before and she . . . wait! She’s with you playing Nurse Betty, isn’t she?”

“Not here. On her way though.” A gratified lilt crept into Ryan’s voice. “She had study hall at the end of the day, so she cut out early. But Seth, you don’t need Marissa anyway. You can get yourself out of there.”

“Out of here.” Seth wheezed, trying to push the smell away. He uttered a silent vowed to take his gym clothes home to be washed as soon as he did get out. “Well you know, I’d like to do that, dude, but the door seems to be locked, and my particular superpowers don’t include the ability to muscle through steel. Or reinforced plastic, or kryptonite. Or whatever these things are made of.”

Seth couldn’t be sure, but Ryan certainly sounded like he was smothering laughter. “Glad I’m amusing you, buddy,” he grumbled. “You know, I called you for a little help. It happens to be stinky and hot and cramped and did I mention stinky in here. So yeah, not so much entertaining on this end.”

“The situation’s not funny,” Ryan said. “You are.” His tone turned serious. “Look, Seth, relax. You don’t have to break through the door. Those lockers are easy to open from inside. They’re designed that way to avoid lawsuits.”

A sudden muscle spasm shot through Seth’s neck. He shifted sideways to relieve the pain. “They are?” he demanded. “Okay, so what do I do?”

But he didn’t hear Ryan’s answer. As he moved, the phone slipped out of Seth’s grasp, landing between his feet, and in the cramped space, he couldn’t bend down to pick it up. Worse, it landed speaker down. Ryan’s reply became nothing but a muffled drone.

It sounded like “Mmph ngh wht da ltch.”

Which didn’t make any sense.

Desperate, Seth tried to slip his toe under the phone and slide it up his leg, but all he managed to do was step on the “Off” button.

Call ended.

Of course. It was that kind of day.

Lousy, horrible, unfreakingbelievably terrible.

And really, no fun at all.

Seth blew out an exasperated breath.

“Sucktastic timing, Cohen,” he mumbled to himself. “Just when Ryan was about to tell you how to open the door . . . And it’s easy, he says. Hmm . . . Okay. So it’s easy. So I should be able to figure it out.”

His brows knotting with Sandy Cohen-style concentration, Seth studied the locker, tracing the edges of the doorframe, prodding its corners with his palms and toes.

Nothing.

Huffing and puffing didn’t do the trick either.

Finally, Seth pocked his finger into the lock mechanism and jiggled it, chanting every incantation he could remember from The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings.

Apparently, the locker door wasn’t susceptible to elvish charms. None of them worked. In fact, Seth discovered, now his finger was stuck too. Muttering orcish curses, he wriggled it, twisting and groaning and squirming. At last, with all the power he could muster in such a confined space, he gave a mighty yank and his finger slid out.

Even better, the lock bar flipped up and the door promptly popped open.

Seth blinked, stunned, in the glare of the locker room lights.

“Huh,” he murmured, sucking on his bruised knuckle as he stumbled out. “It is easy to open. Who knew?”

Then it struck him.

He had opened it. Alone. He had gotten himself out-without Ryan, without the custodian or the coach, without help from anybody at all, he had gotten out.

Ryan’s garbled directions totally didn’t count.

For the first time in his life, Seth had saved himself.

It was a heady feeling.

Humming a triumphant tune-the theme from Star Wars-Seth smoothed his rumpled shirt, finger-fluffed his curls, straightened his shoulders and grabbed his backpack. Then he burst through the door into the hallway.

Straight into the captain of the wrestling team. “Hey,” he snarled, “watch where you’re going, jerk!”

Oh no, Seth thought. Not this time. I am seizing the day. Carpe-ing the diem.

“You watch where you’re going,” he retorted.

The guy moved closer to Seth, scowling ominously. “You wanna rethink what you just said?”

“No,” Seth declared, “no I don’t. The era of Wimp Cohen, victim, is over. That’s right, you heard me. It is done, finito, fertig, at a complete, absolute, infreakingdisputable end. I have just McGyvered my way out of my last locker.” Aware of dozens of eyes on him, staring, Seth took a deep, Cotillion-dignified bow. “And now,” he said, lifting his chin defiantly, “Seth Cohen is leaving the building.”

There was a moment of shocked silence. Seth waited. Maybe, he thought, this is it: the after-school special moment when the outcast’s classmates suddenly recognize his strength of character, when they would realize how wrong they’ve been to mock him.

Maybe, at last, they would show him some respect.

They didn’t.

The hallway exploded into laughter.

Half the crowd rolled their eyes and walked away; the other half shook their heads, snorting. “Whatever, dweeb,” the wrestling captain said, slamming his way into the gym. A teammate of his followed. He paused next to Seth. “Hey, nice speech,” he said. “Queer.” Then he bumped Seth’s shoulder, knocking him against the wall as he pushed past.

“Thanks,” Seth replied, waving. “Neanderthal.” When he turned around, the hallway was almost deserted. Only a few people lingered, most of them clustered in groups, pointing and/or giggling.

Okay, Seth concluded, so apparently Harbor wasn’t ready for an epiphany.

Readjusting his backpack, he started toward the door. Then he stopped abruptly. Summer was standing on the stairs, twirling a lock of hair, her lips pursed and her eyes narrowed, assessing him.

All right, so she had said not to speak to her. Or look at her. Or breathe the same air.

But hey, Seth had broken out of a gym locker by himself. He could risk this.

“Hey, Summer,” he called, and immediately braced himself for her scorn.

She sauntered over, her heels clicking on the tile floor and her short white skirt swaying. Summer didn’t stop, but when she reached Seth, she slowed down long enough to say,

“Standing up for yourself. That’s a good look for you, Cohen.”

Seth beamed. “Really? You think so?” he asked eagerly. His dimples flashing, he trotted after her. “You know, as it happens, Summer, I’m free after school today so I thought that maybe we--”

“You’re free every day after school,” Summer countered. “I’m not.” She beckoned to Chip who was about to leave with two friends. Instantly, he rushed over and took her books. “See you, Cohen.”

With a final flip of her dark curls, she slipped her arm through Chip’s elbow and strutted away.

Still, Seth thought as she disappeared, That’s a good look for you, Cohen.

Summer had said that. She had even nodded at him with approval.

A good look for you, Cohen.

Yep, Seth thought, nodding happily to himself. She noticed me, and she liked what she saw. No doubt about it. I am definitely making progress with Summer Roberts.

Maybe it hadn’t been such a bad day after all.

Fin