Authors: Naomi Fraser
SATURDAY MORNING ROCKS around fresh and clear.
The day is hot and the water
calls to me. That’s convenient since I need answers. My locks are even longer
than before the haircut. I jitter and jerk through the kitchen over breakfast,
because I can’t even think straight. “I want to take my bicycle down to the
esplanade today,” I tell Mum.
“Why?” She stirs sugar into her
coffee at the kitchen counter, reading the paper in her pyjamas.
“For the exercise,” I lie.
“Take your phone and a bottle of
water, though. Don’t be too long, all right?”
“OK.” I have my new swimsuit
underneath my cut-off shorts and pink singlet, plus a pair of reef sandals on
my feet.
I get to the dramatic coastline
not too far away from the cliff at the back of my place and fling the bike to
the stability of a lamp post. The place is crawling with people, exercisers
using the walkway to jog or push prams. Couples spread out on the grass,
basking in the sun, and kids swim in the lagoon.
I have a camera around my neck,
looking the cheesy tourist.
No one will steal my bike. It’s a
K-Mart special—aka—found at the local dump and left at my house courtesy of the
local lawnmower boy with a short memory. He might have done it to stop being
laughed at. The rim buckles on the front tyre, and there’s no seat, so you have
to be careful when you ride.
Extremely careful.
The
frame is a flaky, rusted brown.
The craggy rocks are difficult to
walk on. I hang on with my right hand just to make it down a few steps. I’m not
a seasoned fisherman. I’ve seen some of them leap from rock to rock with the
ease of a lifetime of practice. I look like a blonde leech, clinging to the
rocks. I have the fleeting notion I may regret this.
I make it down to the bottom and follow
the thin corridor of sand that separates the cliff face and the bay. The
golden, grainy strip will eventually lead to where tourists found me lying face
down on the sand. It’s closed off, but I hope to go the long way around. I
hadn’t died at the beach. No. I died at the hospital.
Failing
lungs.
Trauma.
That’s what the doctors told me.
But now I need answers as to why my hair has magically regrown after my
haircut. And what my mum will say when she finds out.
Freak out on me, most likely.
I lower the brim of my hat so no
locals spot me and report back to my mother what I’m doing.
The wind whips the ends of my
hair so close to the water and determination swells inside me. I will find the answers
I’m searching for. Why I survived when all the others died. I can’t stop now.
The breeze is incredibly refreshing.
Alluring.
The
rocks are flat black, and water laps against their sharp edges that are mired
with bits of fishing line, shells, stray hooks and dead, little fish.
Kelp, too.
Camera.
Document everything.
I take a few snaps of the green
seaweed from different angles. Since I have no idea what’s happening to me,
it’s best to just photograph everything no matter how insignificant. I take pictures
of the rocks, water, discarded hooks and a few sail boats out on the bay. I
peruse the sandy beach for ages, loving the scent of the water. Wet sand coats
the bottom and sides of my reef sandals and makes it harder to walk. I duck
under the yellow tape the police have put up to cordon off the areas I need to
investigate.
Something niggles in the back of
my mind. An instinct telling me I need to go back over the rocks again, they
have so many hidey places.
Sighing, I traipse back and pull
up the rest of the seaweed. It’s long. My arms strain with each wad of kelp I
throw up on the rocks. The stench is terrible. After the last wet, mushy slap
on the stones, I stand up and rub my back, then mosey on over.
What I first think is
a fishing
net is a bag. Curious, I
hook
my fingers through the handle and pull up the dark green mesh. The seaweed is
partly enclosed inside and looks absolutely disgusting. It smells worse than
the local public toilets.
“Oh.” I grimace and then shake
the bag open with my other hand.
Two pearls drop onto the stones,
bounce once and then plop into the sea.
≈≈≈
MUM LOOKS AT me with raised eyebrows. “You took your time.
Some boy came to visit when you were gone.”
I frown. “What?”
She laughs. “Boy. You know the
opposite of a
gi
—”
“Right.”
My skin is sticky and gritty from the salt in the wind at the waterfront. I
can’t imagine who it is.
Cal maybe?
“What did he
want?”
“He seemed unhappy that you’d
gone for a ride along the water. He just left. You never told me you swam so
well at the school trials, and the coach may want you to train.”
Her voice strains.
“Well done, honey.”
Lakyn came to my house.
OMG.
I stand there, frozen to the spot, staring at Mum. The
world must’ve tipped off its axis. “You’re kidding.”
“He asked you to call him. He
lives at the local hostel. I’ve heard about it at work. Displaced,
disadvantaged teenagers and adults go there until they find their feet. He’s an
orphan, did you know? He works part-time at the Yacht Club.”
“Yes, he told me.”
Her eyes are curious, piercing.
“From the clues he threw out, I’d say he’s going to come back and visit you
again. Perhaps you should ring him. Or I can drive you to the hostel and wait
outside.”
I shake my head. “I can’t. Look
at me.” I gesture to my clothes and hair. “Anyway, aren’t you mad I was in the
trials?”
Mum wrinkles her nose. “Don’t
worry about me. And you look fine.”
I frown and shake my head. “No, I
don’t.”
“Well, then go get changed. Or
call him, but he’ll just be over here again to see you.”
I hate it when she’s always
right. Lakyn is nothing if not persistent. “Don’t worry about driving me. I’ll
text him.”
“Was everything all right along
the esplanade?” Mum asks softly.
“Sure.”
“The police talked to me at work
about this other boy’s death. They wanted to know if you remembered anything
yet. They said a curfew will be imposed even though they’ve arrested that man.
I called the school and they said they handed out a notice, which I found on
your desk.” Her voice sounds slightly reproving.
“Sorry, I had a lot of things on
my mind Friday.” The last thing I need is for Mum to start asking questions I
can’t answer. “I don’t stay out late anyway. I’d better text Lakyn.” I trudge
into my room, shut the door and sit on my computer chair. I set up the camera
dock and upload all the photos. Thoughts of those two pearls fill my mind, but
they fell into the water before I could grab them and take photos. Why was
somebody collecting pearls in a bag like that?
Maybe Bethany can give me ideas,
but I bet her uncle will know more.
I grab my iPhone and quickly
type:
Y do u want 2 c me?
Then send it to Lakyn. My phone buzzes with an
incoming message. I open it up.
What?
A wide grin curves my lips.
Right.
He’s not up to speed on the whole text messaging
thing. This is his first cell phone. I fight the urge to have fun.
Why do
you want to see me?
My phone signals with another
message.
To talk.
Do you want to go the beach with me today?
I sigh. What is it with him and
going to the beach? I type in:
Already been but not for a swim. Found the
strangest thing there. I went to the part that’s closed off.
A long silence intervenes and,
finally, all of my photos upload on to my computer. I flick through the
pictures one by one, frowning at the queasy sensation in my belly. I drop my
hand to rub my abdomen and then open the next message.
What did you find?
I line up blank photo cards in
the printer and then click the print icon. I finally text back:
Show u at
school tomoz
FML.
KMS.
We’re at the pool again. I’ll
sink and get disqualified. Maybe Coach Williams will be kind to me.
For once.
Yeah, and maybe I’ll get an A on my maths exam. I
hide in line with all the other students queuing up in black swimsuits. Mine is
. . . a little different. The black, boy cut swimsuit bottoms hide my hips, but
I also wear a light blue bikini top to distract gazes from the lower half of my
body.
Bethany raises her eyebrows.
“New suit?”
She sidles over, pushes up her glasses and then
gives me the once over. “Not bad.” Her grin is sly and knowing, but not as bad
as what she whispers next. “Lakyn will notice you for sure. Why the heck didn’t
I think of something like that?”
Because you
don’t have to worry about sores appearing on your hips.
A sick
nausea builds up inside my stomach; something in my body doesn’t feel right.
Like an itch you feel is on your head, but when you scratch, you can’t find it,
then realise the tickle is in your ear. Inside me is a strange flutter I can’t
reach. Tying the bikini top around my wider-than-normal rib cage is confronting
enough. I want to go back to a time when none of this happened, when I hadn’t
died.
When my father came home from work every day.
“That’s not why I wore them.”
She steps back and frowns. “It
isn’t? Why then?” Her green eyes widen in penetrating curiosity. “Hey, are you
all right? You’ve gone a funny colour, all pasty green. Why do you have your
hair like that? You hate caps. You never put them on earlier than you have to.”
I’m not about to confess the
reason in public or, heck, even in private. But now that the sores have
disappeared,
thank heavens,
and my hair is tucked away, I don’t feel
like a swamp creature about to swim with all the normal people. “My hair goes
green sometimes in a pool. And, I’m all right. I hated the other suit.”
She plucks at the strap of her
bathers and grimaces. “Yeah, they suck. My green one is ripped on the back.
That colour suits you, though. It’s amazing Coach lets you get away with it
when you won the trial.”
I try my hardest to quell the
tumble of greasy butterflies in my stomach. Terror tastes awful on my tongue.
“I hope Coach says I can’t swim. It would solve so many of my problems.”
She laughs and nods.
“
Ahh
, another reason.”
Then she
frowns. “You should just tell him you have your period or something to get out
of it. Any excuse will do. I don’t think
it’s
right
they make you swim when you were found on the beach like that. Just tell him
no. What can he do?”
Teachers know, they always know.
That excuse
works sometimes, because it’s true. But when
male teachers give you that look, you know it means crap to them.
Confession fists in my throat.
About my hair, and the expedition to the waterfront.
Photos, questions.
I can trust Bethany, I
know,
however I don’t want to tell anybody. Maybe this is a phase and it will all
pass me by. Am I the subject of external forces in my life? Don’t I get a say?
Most of the girls chatter amongst
themselves and look around, staring at my costume condescendingly.
Which is fine.
It’s better than their ‘you’re crazy’ looks.
A ruckus starts at the gate, and all the girls glance over their shoulders as
if they’ve been waiting for this moment. Some move off to recline with
artistically bent, suntanned legs on the stainless bleachers. Me, I stand on
burning, sun-white concrete and wonder if anyone will notice if I sneak home.
I hear the whispers, then the
girls’ shouts.
“Lakyn!
Hi, Lakyn.
Hey, wait up!”
The near rush of bodies, like girls plucked
out of line by a giant hand and flung in his path before he can even get to the
pool.
The swarm of popularity.
What a lie.
I laugh at the idea.
A hot prickle of awareness slides
up my neck. I swallow, refusing to turn. I will show him the photos, but not
just yet. Not with all these people around.
The scent on the breeze fills my lungs,
caressing my hot cheeks. I mindlessly turn back to the pool, soaking up the
pull, the need to sink in up to my hair and have the cool wash covering my
sweating body. Salt and sun fill my breath with needy delight and I lick the
perspiration on my upper lip. My throat dries like concrete full of sand. The
clear blue water invites me to ecstasy. I step toward the edge of the pool and
bend to swish my fingers in the cold water.
So beautiful.
Staring at my nails, the white
tips glitter in the sunlight. My vision doubles from the ripples in the water.
“Lakyn’s here,” Bethany murmurs
behind me.
Uh huh.
So what?
“So . . . he’s coming over
here.
Do you think he’s mad I posted those photos online? He doesn’t look too happy.”
Can’t be,
Bethany.
What would they think if I just jumped in?
A warm hand lands on my shoulder.
“They’d think you’re insane. Are you even listening to me? Your eyes look all
strange.”
A peculiar deafness affects my
ears. Well, my legs then, I say. I’ll just put my legs in.
“Ellie!”
I blink, straighten and turn at
my name.
“Hell,” Bethany says, “he just
shouted your name clear across the pool. What’s going on between you two?”
His piercing blue eyes spear mine
across the distance, and my heart thumps erratically. “I don’t know,” I say.
He saunters, his chest a wall of
tanned muscle and streaky hair bright in the sunlight. He moves past other guys
who wouldn’t look at me if their lives depended on it.
Ashly
struts beside him, but he shakes himself free of her grasp and frowns at her.
Ten metres away from us, his entourage stops behind him. Obvious uncertainty
flickers in their gazes. Probably wondering why he wants to talk to me.
“He’s so hot! I’m outta here.
Give you guys some time alone.” Bethany bounces on the balls of her feet. Her
parting words are, “Get him, El.”
He finally stops inches away, and
the breath stalls in my throat. All I can think about is him going to my place
to find me and why the interest when he can have any girl he wants? I hear the
lapping of the water in the pool and sigh. The scent of saltwater relaxes my
guard enough so all my senses open.
“What did you find, Ellie?” His
voice is hard. He stands straight and tall and water droplets glitter on his
huge biceps and ripped chest. The reflection of the bright water ripples in a
cascading movement against his tanned skin.
Water—the promise
of life.
I look back to the blue near my
feet. The pool looks lovely, I say.
“Ellie, I can’t snap you out of
it. Not here. I’ll talk to Coach.”
I jerk my head up, confusion
clouding my thoughts.
Snap me out of it?
He crosses his arms, forcing the
muscles to bulge in his biceps. “Can you hear me?”
Sure. Do I want to
is
the question. My gaze drops below his arms to the
constant eddy of light across his hard, bronzed eight pack and then lifts back
up to the unimaginable blue of his eyes. Colour like that can’t be real, it’s
celestial. From the small smirk on his lips, he must realise I can’t stop
looking at him.
Who are you, Lakyn? Why do you
care?
“Better me than the pool. I’ll
talk to Coach in a minute. What did you find down at the waterfront?”
I reach into my swim bag,
then
pull out a wad of photographs. “Take a look,” I say in
a rusty voice. The sound startles my ears as if I’ve been underwater too long,
unused to sound.
He immediately grasps the stack
of photos, his broad thumb brushing mine and I shiver at the contact.
“What are these?” Silence
stretches. “Ellie, these show the water.” His voice quakes and he looks at me,
his jaw tight as if he’s holding some raw emotion in check. “You went this
close
to the sea?” His voice wobbles, hands shake. A couple of photographs flutter to
the cement. He crouches and picks them up, and then stands with head bent,
staring at them in silence.
“They’re pictures I printed at home.
That’s the bag I found.” I point to one of the photographs. “It was hidden in
the seaweed, but two pearls were inside. They fell out and dropped into the
water.”
His left hand clenches by his
side until his knuckles turn bone white and a red flush charges up his neck,
cheeks and ears. “Did you go into the water to get them?”
“No.”
“How could you put yourself in so
much danger? Do you realise what could have happened?” His furious whisper
startles me.
My head rears back. “What? I just
said I didn’t go into the water.”
His eyebrows draw together until
the skin creases between them and his lips compress. “Do you realise what could
have happened to you?”
I shrug to hide my confusion.
“Stuff has already happened to me, in case you didn’t notice. Bit late for that
now, isn’t it? I had to go figure out some things to help explain . . . umm.” I
reach up and scratch my head, but feel the plastic cap beneath my fingers. “No.
Never mind.”
He’s all over that. “What
things?” His piercing gaze drops to my shoulders and then roams down my arms
and belly. He steps closer, and the heat radiating from his chest scalds me. He
touches damp fingertips to my cheek. “Your skin is fine, isn’t it? What’s wrong
with you?”
My body tingles from the light
contact.
What’s he looking for?
Does he know about my skin doing weird
things? I curl my lips in a half smile, left no choice but to reveal the heat
rising to my cheeks. No hair to hide anything. I have so much to hide. “I would
tell you but then I’d have to kill you.”
He tenses, his gaze raking me
from the top of my head to my tiptoes.
Just like he did at
the butterfly breeders.
The icy scent of musk and lavender wraps around
me. This close, the sunlight picks all the different colours in his hair,
shades of deep brown, sun-tinted streaks and lighter strips of blond. His
angular jaw looks to be made of smooth marble, and I breathe in deeply, unable
to help loving his scent and wanting to move closer.
“Do you have the bag with you?”
he asks roughly. “Do you know that you could have died going to that spot? Did
you forget about other boy dying?”
I frown. “What? No, I don’t have
the bag with me. Why would I? They’ve caught the killer. I just had to search
for something.”
“Sure.
Something.”
He nods tightly and flips through the rest of the photographs, until he gets to
the one of the boats in the harbour. He brings up the picture close to his face
and then goes completely still. He swears in about three different languages.
“You believe they’ve caught the killer.” He shakes his head.
“What?” I gasp at the deep
sensation in my belly, lean closer to him and then look at the picture. “What’s
wrong? You don’t think that?”
He points to a ripple, a
disturbance in the bay, like a pale body slipping between the boats.
“Huh.” I tilt my head to the side.
“I never noticed that before. What is it?
Mullet?”
“No.” That’s when he looks at me,
and his eyes are almost sad. “Not mullet.” He tucks the photos into the
waistband of his blue shorts and stalks away.
“Hey, wait!
Lakyn?”
He doesn’t answer or even turn around. At my raised voice, twenty other girls
glare at me. “Those are my photos,” I mumble.
“Mitchell.”
Great.
Coach has found me, no doubt from my yelling. He walks over and then draws me
to one side. Lakyn stands with
Ashly
and her three
best friends. From his straight, stiff body language I can tell he’s not happy.
Well, join the club.
I pivot back to Coach. “Yes?”
“I want you to be on the swim
team.” He hands over a piece of paper, expecting me to grab it. “Get your
parents to sign this permission slip as soon as you can.”
The black ink swims on the page,
dancing i’s and
c’s
, and dots all in a line. I hold on
to the terror and glee. “Swim team?”
“Tournaments.
You’ll be in a group with a few of the others.” He jerks his head toward all
the swimmers, mostly boys in tiny suits and caps standing behind him.
Wide shoulders and narrow hips.
Hot as heck. “First meet is
next week, early Wednesday morning. Read the notice.”
My stomach clenches so hard, I
can scarcely breathe. “But . . . I can’t swim,” I protest. “I can’t.” I know
this. I know.
He frowns, and then laughs. “You
beat the times of every single girl in your grade. If it’s a fluke, then so be
it, but we need the top ten people. You’re in it. This year we’re going to win
the championship.” He pumps a fist and
grins
a
gap-toothed smile. “Watch us.”
I glare at the paper, refusing to
take it. There’s been some kind of mistake, and here I am thinking I can
completely miss this class for P.E. “Listen, this is wrong. I can’t—no. No!” My
voice grows so loud it echoes around the steel bleachers.
“No.
This is
wrong.”
“What’s up,
Coach?”
The words sound hard and determined.
My body stiffens, and I realise
without turning around who stands behind me. All of a sudden, I’m freezing, but
my lips burn. I don’t want to look at him, although every cell screams at me to
do so.
“Just explaining the swim
groups,” Coach says to Lakyn. “Now, Eloise you’ll need to be here at five a.m.”
My jaw works in mounting fury.
“No.
I can’t do that.
I won’t.”
I don’t care if I’m talking to a teacher who
might give me arvos for the rest of the year.