Swans Landing #1 - Surfacing (5 page)

Instead, we didn’t go far. Lake turned the Jeep down another road a block away and we stopped in front of a bright blue house on wooden pilings.

“What is this place?” I asked as we got out of the car.

“Miss Gale’s house,” Dylan told me, as if that explained everything.

We climbed the wooden staircase to the first floor and Lake opened the door without knocking, calling out, “We’ve come for food!” as he stepped inside.

The first thing that struck me inside the blue beach house was that I’d entered an underwater world. The walls were a deep shade of blue, green, and gray mixed together in a way that it seemed the color constantly changed. Crystal prisms hanging from skylights in the ceiling captured the morning sun and reflected it throughout the room. Everything in the combined living room/kitchen was sea related—from the porcelain fish on the walls to the mermaid figurines scattered in various places.

There was something comforting about this room. Something that made me want to curl up in the big chair in the corner and stare up at the dancing lights all day.

In the middle of it all, at an island countertop, stood a small, older woman with a long white braid hanging over one shoulder. She gave Lake a stern look, the wrinkles in her forehead creasing with her scowl.

“What makes you think you can drop by here anytime you want and get something to eat?” she asked as she stirred a pot of grits on the stove top.

Lake kissed her cheek. “Because you always let me do it,” he said, tugging at her hair. “It’s your own fault, ma’am.”

The woman swatted at his hand when he tried to grab a piece of bacon. Despite her protests, she must have been expecting company, judging from the fruits, vegetables, and eggs settled on the counter and a couple of pans on the stove. As I took everything in, a toaster dinged and popped up four perfectly golden slices of bread.

“And you, Dylan Waverly,” she said as she grabbed the toast and then fed in four new pieces, “I know your mama cooks a good breakfast. What are you doing here looking for handouts?”

Dylan blushed and he shoved his hands into his pockets. “I can’t resist you, Miss Gale. You keep breaking my heart.”

Miss Gale rolled her eyes. “Hush, boy. Go ahead and sit down since you’re going to anyway. Breakfast will be done soon.
Sailor!
” She delivered this last word as a shout toward the hallway. “If you want something to eat, you best get in here now. These boys are fixing to eat it all!”

Just as suddenly as she had turned, Miss Gale faced me again and her eyes took me in. She wiped her hands on a dish towel and walked around the island. “Well,” she said, “let me get a look at Lake’s little girl.”

I didn’t like being called that, “Lake’s little girl.” We may have shared DNA, but I’d never been his little girl and it was far too late to change that now.

She stood in front of me, leaning her head back to get a good look. I examined her while she examined me. Tiny wrinkles and white eyebrows surrounded bright blue eyes. Despite the obvious signs of age, she still had a rosy glow to her cheeks and she walked with energetic movements.

She smiled, revealing perfect pearly white teeth. “You look like your daddy, Mara,” she told me.

Finally, someone told me the truth. It wasn’t a truth I wanted to hear, but at least she didn’t insist I looked like the mother I’d never resembled. No, I was definitely Lake Westray’s daughter, even if I didn’t want to be.

“I’m Gale Mooring,” she said. “You can call me Miss Gale, everyone does.” She turned and headed back to the counter to continue preparing breakfast. “Sit down, relax.” She gestured toward the empty bar stool next to Dylan, who was seated on the other side of the island. “Everyone’s welcome here, any time day or night. And I know your daddy ain’t going to feed you properly.”

“What?” Lake asked. “I’m not a cook.”

“Don’t I know it,” Miss Gale said. “Poor child’s going to starve to death if she’s dependent on you for food. Mara, feel free to come straight here any time you need anything.”

I couldn’t help smiling at her. Her honesty and frankness were a relief.

A tall girl slunk into the room from the hallway. Her eyes lit up when she saw Dylan, but immediately narrowed into slits when she spotted me next to him. I’d seen the glare she gave me on other girls before who were fighting off competition. Clearly, I was intruding on her territory by sitting so close to Dylan.

“Hey,” she said to him, sliding onto the bar stool on the other side and tossing her long brown hair over her shoulder. “I didn’t know you were coming by this morning.”

“I rode over with Lake and Mara.” He turned to me. “This is Sailor Mooring, Miss Gale’s granddaughter.”

She gave me a nod, but didn’t smile and so neither did I.

“What grade are you in?” Sailor asked. The question must have been meant for me, though her gaze remained focused on the mermaid figurine she rolled back and forth in her hands.

“Eleventh,” I said.

“We’re juniors too,” Dylan told me. “That means we’ll have all of our main classes together. The school is so small, we’re all in the same classes.”

The perks of living in the middle of nowhere just got better and better.

Miss Gale fed us a big breakfast of omelets, toast with homemade jam, grits bacon, fruit, and fresh squeezed orange juice. My stomach felt overstuffed by the time she finally let Dylan, Sailor, and me out the door for school.

We started out walking together and Dylan tried to get me involved in conversation, but I wasn’t much up for it and eventually I ended up trailing a few steps behind them. This seemed to please Sailor, who pranced along at Dylan’s side as if she was queen of the island, swaying her hips more than was necessary for walking.

The sun already shone in the brilliant blue sky overhead, brighter than it had been the day before. I lifted my face upward as I walked, taking in the sunshine and breathing the salt air deep into my lungs. It felt invigorating, and I would need something to help me get through the day on the little sleep I’d had.

A small, one floor concrete building housed Swans Landing School. In addition to the kids my own age, small children that appeared to be elementary school aged also roamed around the sandy lawn in front of the gray building. Overhead, hundreds of crooked branches of the live oak trees surrounding the school arched around the building, shading it from the weather.

Lake had already registered me for school and when I picked up my schedule for the day from the main office Dylan was able to confirm that, yes, we had the same classes. All day long, until I had gym and he had art.

But first, I had to meet with the school guidance counselor. So I said good-bye to Dylan, pointedly ignoring Sailor, and headed into the office.

There was nothing remarkable about the room, much like Mr. Richter, the guidance counselor, himself. A few generic paintings of lighthouses decorated the grayish-blue walls. All of the books on the shelf behind the desk had been arranged by color into a vertical rainbow of white, brown, gray and black that ran down the shelves. At the desk sat a man in a plain brown suit, with his dull blonde hair neatly combed and parted to one side.

“Hello, Mara,” Mr. Richter said, standing and reaching out to shake my hand. “Welcome to Swans Landing School.”

“Thanks.” The rigid blue chair in front of the desk squeaked a little as I sat down.

“So, I just wanted to meet with you,” Mr. Richter said. “It’s not a big deal or anything, just protocol whenever we get a new student. This is simply to touch base and make sure you feel okay here.”

I shrugged. “I’m fine.”

“We don’t get many new students, as you could probably guess. So you may feel like people are staring at you. It’s only curiosity, I assure you. No reason to be nervous.”

I hadn’t been nervous until he said that. Now, from the look of concern on his face, I wondered if maybe there was something to be nervous about around here.

He pressed the tips of his fingers together under his chin. “I know you’ve been through a lot lately,” he said. “With your mother’s passing and moving to a new place. If you ever need anything, my door is always open.”

Those were the exact same words that the guidance counselor at my old school had said to me. Maybe they’d both read these lines from a guidance counselor’s handbook.

“Thanks,” I said, forcing myself to smile. “But I’m fine. Really.”

And even if I wasn’t, coming here to spill my guts to some guy I didn’t know wasn’t an appealing option.

Mr. Richter beamed at me. Apparently, my being fine had passed his new student test. “Good. Okay then, you’d better get on to class. Do you know where it is?”

“I think I can find it,” I told him, standing up and slinging my backpack over my shoulder.

“Okay,” Mr. Richter called after me. “Just remember, open door! Come back at any time.”

Not likely, if I could help it.

Outside the office, only a few students hurrying to class still remained in the quiet hall. I looked down at the schedule in my hand, wondering where room thirty-two was. My heartbeat pounded in my ears as the seconds ticked by, but I wasn’t any closer to figuring out which direction to take. I turned a full circle, considering my options, and when I came back around to where I’d started, a familiar face smirked at me.

“Lost?” It was Josh, the sand dune guy from the day before.

“No,” I said. “I’m deciding whether to stay here or escape while I can.”

He stared at me for a long moment, almost as if testing me. I stared back.

“No use, there’s nowhere to hide around here,” he finally said. “Trust me, I’ve tried.” Before I could take a moment to wonder what he meant by that, he asked, “What grade are you in?”

“Eleventh,” I said.

He motioned with one hand. “I have to see Mr. Richter, but I can spare a minute or two. Follow me.”

Josh didn’t wait, so I hurried to catch up as he walked down a hall, past dozens of doors. I sneaked sideways glances at him as we walked, studying his profile. A permanent scowl seemed to be etched on his face and he huddled within his thick black hoodie. Conversation apparently wasn’t his strong suit judging from the way he remained quiet until we reached our destination.

He pointed toward a door on our left. “That’s your room,” he said.

The sign on the door was labeled number thirty-two. “How did you know which class I’m in without seeing my schedule?” I asked.

Josh shrugged. “Small school. Juniors start out in here.”

“And what are you?” I asked, trying to sound as if I didn’t really care.

“Senior.”

“So you’re the official welcoming committee in addition to being the sand dune police?”

My heart did a little fluttery dance when he laughed. “Something like that.” He nodded to me and then turned, burying his hands into the pockets of his hoodie and hunching his shoulders in on himself. “Later, Woodser.”

Chapter Six

“That’s
her
.” The voice drifted toward me during my walk toward gym class. I knew before I even looked that I wouldn’t be able to tell who had said the words. The speaker blended into the other students in the hall and no one acknowledged my presence when I looked at them. All day the same conversations had been going on around me.

“That’s the new girl.”

“Where’s she from?”

“Why is she here?”

“Do you think she’s one of
them
?”

There was always curiosity about a new student at my old school in Tennessee. But some of the looks sent my way bordered more on the hostile side than curious. No one ever spoke to me, although they all spoke plenty
about
me.

The school gym was barely big enough to hold the full sized basketball court that stretched across the shiny wood floor. A few students already lounged on the bleachers, dressed in their gray and blue Fighting Swans gym uniforms. The conversations in the room fell into silence when I entered the groaning double doors. I hurried inside, my head held high and ignored the looks from other students.

In the locker room, I kept my gaze on my locker or my clothes to avoid making eye contact with anyone that still remained as I changed. The silence in the room made it clear that I was not one of them and was not welcome here.

I found a seat on one of the lower bleachers, putting several feet between myself and the other kids in my class. I was looking down at my phone, pretending to check for messages that would never come, when I felt someone standing over me.

Sailor planted her hands on her hips, sneering down at me. “Oh, joy,” she said. “I get to put up with you in every class all semester.”

Why didn’t anyone tell me she was in this class? All day she had gone back and forth between ignoring me or shooting dark glares my way behind Dylan’s back. On the way to lunch, she had slammed hard into my shoulder in the hall, knocking me against a group of younger kids walking by. She then claimed it was an accident, but it was obvious I was being hazed as my welcome into town.