Starstruck (16 page)

Where is my mother? She was supposed to come home. She was supposed to come and wake me and take me to the hospital.

Then I realize something. The siren. How many times did it sound? It seemed like it went on forever. And forever means …

My mom told me that. It sounds once every day at noon. Three times for a fire. And seven times … Seven times is the call to evacuate.

Evacuation. The cars are heading toward the bridge because there is an evacuation effort under way. I wonder how long it has been going on. I couldn’t have slept through the siren’s sounding … could I have? I rush to the window again. The houses in the distance are barely visible. There are no more cars on the road, no lights cutting through the darkness. It’s as if I’m the only one on the island.

I remind myself what my mom said. They always call to evacuate when it’s not really necessary. They always play it safe. I’m sure it’s not a problem.

Still …

I reach for the phone. Who do I call? My mom doesn’t have a cell. Wish. I’ll call Wish. So what if he’s different? He’s all I have.

I bring the receiver up to my ear. No dial tone.

Not good.

Stumbling around as the wind pummels the side of the building, I manage to close all the windows and find the flashlight in a kitchen drawer. I sit down on the couch for a minute, wondering what I should do. The only thing that comes to mind is curling into a ball again, but this time, sobbing for my mommy. I start imagining the worst: the water rising steadily until all the furniture in our second-floor apartment floats out to sea, a huge tsunami engulfing the island, giant sea turtles coming ashore to eat me.

No, be calm, Dough. This storm will pass and everything will be fine.

A light flickers outside. I run to the window; outside the hotel, someone is helping Melinda into the passenger side of her ancient Lincoln Town Car. Christian!

Moving quickly, I grab the flashlight, aim it in his direction, and turn it on and off a few times in Morse code fashion. Not that I know Morse code, but whatever. Then I run to the door. I’m nearly drenched before it slams shut behind me. I cup my hands around my mouth. “Christian!” I scream. Then I wave my hands.

He tilts his chin up toward me. I think he sees me.

“Wait for me!” I turn back to the apartment. I’m sure he’ll wait. Okay, do I need to take anything with me? I’m still wearing my pink Cutie tee. I look down. My nipples are standing at attention. The fabric of the shirt is so sheer I can almost see the tiny goose bumps surrounding my nipples, peeking through the fabric.

I cannot leave the house looking like this.

“One second!” I shout down to him as he wades—wades?—to the driver’s side of the car. The water is over his knees. How can that be? How long was I asleep? Is this a dream? “I have to get something!”

I rush inside, feeling my way, then stub my toe on the kitchen table. Cursing and hopping like a demented rabbit, I find my lingerie drawer and manage to untangle a bra from the panties and socks in there. Then I pull off my wet tee, strap in the girls, and throw on the only shirt I can find, shorts, a Windbreaker, and flip-flops. Anything else? Anything else? I can’t think.

I trip over that same evil leg of the kitchen table on the way out. Cursing and hopping some more, I open up the screen door and run out into the driving rain. And before I can make it down two or three steps, I realize something.

Everything is dark. The Town Car isn’t idling in the driveway as I expected, with its two headlights cutting through the weather. Lightning flashes, making the street bright as day, but it’s empty. There is no sign of life outside, no cars approaching on the road, nothing. Nothing on the island but the rising storm, and me.

He left me.

O
KAY
, maybe he went down the street to get gas or something. Maybe he’ll be right back.

Now I can’t even be sure he did see me. I thought he did, but maybe he didn’t. I was in such a rush to grab a bra and save myself from the embarrassment of nipple exposure I didn’t make sure he knew I was here. And if he didn’t see me, then …

I am screwed.

No, no. They’re always evacuating this island. This is nothing! No big deal!

I keep repeating No big deal! as I make my way down the staircase at the side of the building, hoping that when I peek around the corner, the car will be waiting for me in front. Christian will laugh and say, “What took you so long?” and in two seconds I will have the hot air from the Town Car’s heater aimed right at my face, roasting my cheeks a sunny red. At the third step from the bottom, though, the staircase disappears into black water. Cringing, I step down until it laps at my ankles. It’s not entirely cold, but it’s not a nice, warm, toasty heater. The next step, it’s up to my knees. I slide off the staircase into water that’s up to my thighs, then wade out onto the sidewalk, or where the sidewalk used to be. The gusts of wind make waves in the water, and the force nearly pushes me back against the crumbling brick wall of the bakery, but slowly I manage to fight it. But the street is empty, and now it’s just a river, not a place where cars could safely travel. In the distance, the one stoplight on the island is swaying in the wind, blinking red and taunting me. I stop chanting No big deal, and stifle a sob.

All right, I tell myself, trying to push down the ugly head of fear that keeps intervening. Concentrate. But all I can think of is the look Christian gave me when I called to him. It was blank; he was blinking away the raindrops that were falling in his face. Of course he didn’t see me. If he had, he would have helped me. Or maybe he would have laughed at me. After all, what was it I had told him? Something like, “Stop overreacting. We never evacuate.”

I am a total dumb ass.

The siren begins again. Oh, you want me to evacuate, Mr. Noisy Siren? That’s what I’m trying to do. Big help you are. My face is soaked with rain, and I’m crying. And shivering. And doing all those things one isn’t supposed to do in a crisis.

When the siren ebbs, I hear something. Ringing. The phone.

It must be working again. Or I’m hallucinating in my hysteria. I start to run up the stairs, but the sound fades. Then I realize it’s not the phone in the apartment that’s ringing. It’s the one in the bakery.

I quickly reverse direction, tripping over my own feet and nearly launching myself right into the floodwater. I catch myself and wade slowly back in, pulling open the side door to the bakery. Compared to outside, it’s graveyard quiet here, except for the ringing of the phone. The water in here is stagnant, black, and I splash through it up to my knees. It smells like cinnamon sugar laced with salt water. Some empty milk jugs and other debris are bobbing happily in it. I push past them and grab the receiver. “Hello?” I say, my voice squeaky and not at all calm.

But I’m speaking to a dial tone.

It’s okay, I think, pounding on the hook a few times. I’ll just call 911.

Fingers shaking, I find the buttons, then curse when I hear “All circuits are busy.” How can that be? Isn’t 911 supposed to work no matter what?

The phone rings again. I pick it up immediately. “Hello?”

“Gwen?”

“Wish?”

The siren starts up again. Inside, it sounds quieter, but it still rattles in my eardrums.

“Yeah. Are you okay? What’s that noise?”

I can’t help it: I start to bawl. “No!” I blubber, but I sound like a weepy Santa Claus: No-ho-ho-ho-ho. “It’s the evacuation signal! Everything’s flooding! My mom was supposed to come and pick me up but she never showed up and I must have slept through the evacuation! I’m here all alone and there’s no power and I don’t know what to do.”

“Okay, calm down. Call 911.”

“I tried. It won’t let me through.”

“Can you wave down a police officer or something?”

I sniff. “There’s nobody here. Everyone’s gone!”

He exhales. “There’s a fire on the other side of the island. I bet all the emergency workers are there.”

“Can you …” My voice is small. “Can you stop it?”

There’s a pause. “Me?” His voice is smaller yet.

I know how stupid it sounds. Like Wish could just flip a switch, and all this will be gone. But he did it before. At least, he knew when the last storm was going to end. He knows things. Maybe he knows how to end this. “Then can you come get me?”

“Well, I saw on the news that they’re not letting anyone on the island.…”

At that, I start to cry again. He can’t save me. Of course he can’t. He’s only human, after all. “What am I going to do? I can’t swim, and—”

“Gwen, listen to me,” he says, his voice firm. “Go upstairs to the apartment. If the water comes in there, try to get onto the roof. Okay?”

“But what if—”

“Listen to me,” he repeats, his voice calm. “Nothing is going to happen to you. I won’t let it. I’m on my way.”

“But you said they weren’t letting anyone on the island.”

“I’m on my way,” he repeats. “Go up to your apartment. I’ll see you soon.”

And then he hangs up, before I can turn any of the thousands of thought fragments buzzing through my head into words. Out in the storm again, I wade to the staircase leading to the apartment. The rain is falling harder than ever, and water is now over the first five steps, up to my waist. I don’t care how manly Wish’s truck is—it can’t cut through this. Is he planning on swimming here? Still, he’s a man of his word, and right now, it’s all I have.

A
N HOUR LATER
, I’m still cold and wet, sitting in the apartment, watching the gradually lightening sky out the window. I think it might be almost morning, but it’s hard to tell, since the clouds are so dark. I’ve gotten pretty good at ignoring the sirens when I hear a new noise. It sounds like the ocean. In the winter, when the ocean is choppy and rough and the wind is blowing from the east, if a person stands outside, he can sometimes hear the waves crashing as if he’s standing right atop the surf.

Then something crashes against the side of the building, shaking all the walls. A loud clap of thunder sounds and the floor begins to pitch. I throw myself down beside the couch. With my cheek pressed against the linoleum, I hear it again, almost as if I’m right on the sand: the ocean. Another crash, and another. The house shudders with every noise.

I swallow as I stand and move toward the back window, the one in the bathroom. It’s small and frosted and we never open it, but I remember that it does have a little view of the ocean, if you look past the roof of the south wing of Melinda’s hotel. Well, not the ocean, but the boardwalk, and beyond that, the softly rising dunes, spotted with grass. The humid weather makes everything stick in this house, especially the old windows, so I force it up with the heel of my hand, almost knowing what I’ll find there. When I crane my neck, it’s even worse. The dunes are gone. It’s nothing but sea.

All that’s there, among the waves, is the top of Melinda’s hotel.

I gasp as a small wave passing the hotel separates, then comes toward the apartment. It splashes me as it crashes against the side of the apartment. Our bakery is in the middle of the ocean.

And not only that … in the distance I see something I’ve only seen in movies. I’m a Jersey girl, and these things don’t happen in Jersey, but I’m almost positive that beyond the shoreline, I see a gray funnel weaving its way across the horizon.

A freaking tornado.

A sinking realization hits me. Wish isn’t coming. How could he? Even if he wanted to, it would be impossible. He’d need a rescue helicopter or something. My only hope is that he got through to emergency services and they are on their way. But are they? Even with a helicopter or a rescue boat, nobody would steer themselves right into a tornado.

Wish’s words ring in my ears. Do I go up to the roof? Is it safer there? How do I get up there? I turn and see the water lapping at the bottom pane of the window, like I’m looking into a giant fishbowl.

I can’t stay here.

I throw my Windbreaker back on, pull open the heavy wood door, and shriek. Water pours through the screen door, into the kitchen. I try to push it open, but the water is too much. It won’t budge. I whirl around and run toward the window over my bed, and it rattles as it opens, scaring a few seagulls from their place of refuge. Some water pours in, but I can at least get through it. I crouch on my bed, trying to get up the courage to climb onto the ledge and hoist myself up to the roof as water pools on my sheets and comforter. The edge of the window digs into my feet as I position them there, then reach up toward the eave, looking for a gutter or something else to hold on to. The white peeling paint catches in my fingernails as I grab for the gutter, but it’s not close enough to use to lift myself. I’d have to swim out and get ahold of it that way, but I’d sink like a rock.

But I need to go. I can’t stay here. I taste blood on my lips and realize I’ve chewed them raw. I can maybe doggie-paddle my way out a few feet, and then I can quickly reach up and grab that gutter, as long as a wave doesn’t carry me away. I look over my shoulder. The water is covering the linoleum.

I try to imagine Wish standing near me. It’s the next-best thing to him, I think, because at this moment, I don’t think I’ll ever see him again. I swallow the sob in my throat.

A wave slides by under the window, and then the water subsides a bit. It seems calmer, maybe deceptively so. My fingernails digging into the sides of the window frame, I silently say a prayer. I let go.

I paddle. I reach. I see a wave, over my head. I taste salt. I see the white foam above me, and then everything is tinged in green, like in a dream.

“G
WEN?”
A soft voice pulls me back.

Wish.

He’s standing over me, his eyebrows arched in concern. Everything around me is white, plastic. Beyond him is the sky, just as blue and cloudless as on a perfect summer morning. The world around me pitches and tosses, making my stomach feel queasy.

“Oh, thank God,” he says. “How are you?”

The sun burns my forehead and nose. My throat feels like I’ve been sucking on razor blades. My skull feels like it’s being squeezed in a vise. I sit up and rub my head, but my hair is gritty and matted and wet. Everything around me is clammy and uncomfortable. When I blink a few times, I realize we are on a boat, rocking in the middle of the sea. I try to remember where I was the moment I lost consciousness, but I can’t. When did I decide to go on a boating trip with Wish? How did I get here?

“Wish? Where are we?”

That’s when I see it, only a few yards away: the roof of a building. A familiar one. Melinda’s hotel. It’s the only thing visible on our island except the enormous flag that flies high over the firehouse, looming in the distance, a few feet above the waves. These are the only things not underwater.

Suddenly, it hits me. The storm. The tornado. Climbing out onto the windowsill and slipping into the black waves. And Wish. Wish, who caused it all.

I turn to him, shivering uncontrollably in my wet T-shirt. But he is no longer looking at me; he’s staring at the horizon, toward where the shoreline usually is. But it’s not there, either. I can hear the wind whipping in the distance. Raging all around us. But not here. Not where we sit, on a fairly calm ocean, under a sun-filled sky.

We’re in the eye of the storm.

“Wish,” I say. But he keeps his eyes fastened on the sky. Commanding it. “Wish! What are you doing?”

He bites his lip. “I will not let anything happen to you.” His voice is strained. “Don’t worry.”

I’m worrying. I’m more than worrying. I stand, rocking with the waves, and put my hand on his shoulder. He tries to shake it free, his eyes never leaving the wild squall upon us. “I know everything!” I shout at him. “I know all about the Luminati!”

He turns to me. “What?”

“I know,” I say. “I know that you’re using the stars to change the way people see you. Stop it. You have to stop it now.”

“No,” he shouts back. “I can’t. You don’t understand—”

“Of course I do. You think I don’t understand what it’s like to be ordinary?” I ask him, trying to keep my balance.

He doesn’t answer. My head pounds. The boat pitches again. I lose my footing, toppling backward. The last thing I remember is two screeching seagulls circling above, stark white against the sky, a sky black and menacing, waiting to close in on us.