The Other Side of Blue (17 page)

Kammi shakes her head.

“In watercolor, you can use dry paper and wet paint, dry paper and dry paint, and wet paper and wet paint. By dampening the paper and then painting, you soften the line, the tone. You'll like it.” I move the sponge across the paper, quickly, but with long, even strokes. “Okay, now dip your brush in the water.”

“Which one?”

“The wide one first. Always.” Kammi follows directions.

“Tap it on the edge. Get rid of the excess water.” I watch her flick water onto the dry earth. “Lightly dip your brush in the cerulean blue. See just there at the horizon, where the pink hasn't burned off yet? Lightly dip the corner of the brush into the alizarin crimson. Now broadly lay in the sky from top to bottom.”

Kammi's hand moves to the paper.

“Wait, don't try to come at it like a mouse. You have to mean it when you lay the paint down. Mean it, but hold the
brush loosely. Like a boy's hand.” I tease her. And she laughs. When her brush touches the paper, her strokes flow.

“So?” Kammi asks when she's finished, still holding the broad brush in her hand, the paint drying on it.

“What?” I take the brush and plop it into the cup of water. I know what's she asking, but I refuse to admit it.

“What now?”

“Now let it dry a little, not completely. Then you can tackle the sea. If you don't wait long enough, you'll ruin it. The paints will run, muddying up everything.”

Kammi waits, then takes a thinner brush and dips it into the same cerulean.

I sigh. “Did you look at the sea?”

She squints.

“Is it the same blue?” I ask.

“No,” she says, her voice low as she skims her palette for the right blue. “This one?” She points to the cobalt.

“Darker, the water will be a shade darker, and patchier, like the waves.”

She bends over her work, her shoulders tense around her ears.

“Shoulders down,” I say in her ear.

She obeys and keeps working. When she's finished, she cleans her brush.

“How's the painting?” she asks me directly.

“Do you need me to say it's okay?”

“Yes,” Kammi says.

“It's okay so far.”

Her face wilts.

“Really,” I say. “It's good for a first attempt. You captured the mood, the bright morning, with a hint of darkness.” Like the day. I untie my backpack and shuffle my feet into flip-flops, leaving the hiking sandals to breathe. “But you know, an artist wouldn't care what anyone else thought.”

“Your mother does, and she's an artist.”

Kammi has me. To the world, Mother is an artist. She gauges herself by what the critics say. She can close herself off in a dark room just waiting for the critics to write reviews in the art magazines. Before they've sounded the first weak note of praise, she's barricaded herself.

Do I care what people say about my jewelry? I've shown it only to Zoe, and not even everything. I have my own version of the inner sanctum, of turning the canvas from others' view. Maybe I'm no artist after all.

“Lunch!” Dr. Bindas calls us to the small, shady area near a rock outcropping where some scraggly divi-divi trees struggle to grow. Roberto and Loco are already there. Mayur and Saco scoop up their Hackey Sack and come running. Why they brought it with them on the hike I have no idea. Except that they wanted to show off for Kammi; that's clear. She was looking at Saco out of the corner of her eye when she was supposed to be painting. Maybe it worked.

“R
EMEMBER
to ask him,” I tell Kammi as we join Dr. Bindas and the boys for lunch.

She nods. Saco's left half a blanket open next to him, and Kammi takes it, sitting delicately with her feet tucked to the side, arranging herself like a model posing for an artist. No one tells her how to do this, she just knows by instinct.

I take a space at the edge of Dr. Bindas's blanket, close enough to Mayur to catch his eye if he looks my way. The boys eat noisily, like feasting crows.

After lunch, Dr. Bindas says he's going to take a nap, he's tired from a late night at the hospital. He finds a patch of shade and lies down. Once he's been still for a while, Saco stands and nods toward a trail. We all, even Kammi, make our way over. When I look back, Dr. Bindas hasn't moved.

“There's a short trail this way,” Saco says.

“Where to?” Kammi asks.

“A cave,” Mayur says, flapping his arms like a bat's wings.

Kammi shivers.

“It's not dangerous,” Saco says, frowning at his cousin.

“I don't see a cave on the map.” I hold the paper map Dr. Bindas gave us in front of me.

“It's not on the official map,” Saco says. “But I've been there before. It isn't far. It's about here.” Saco points to a blank space on my map. “We brought flashlights.”

Kammi and I don't have flashlights. Caves are one thing Martia didn't prepare us for today.

“Are there bats?” Kammi asks.

“Not last time. It's not like the sea caves,” Saco says.

“Won't Dr. Bindas get mad if he wakes up?” Kammi asks.

“Not at you.” Loco grins.

The thought of going to a secret cave that isn't on the map excites the boys. I can feel their desire to sneak off fan out in hot, dry waves across my skin.

“We can go quickly and come back. We'll stay together,” Roberto says.

Mayur looks at me. “If you come, it will be worth it.” Does he mean he'll tell me?

Saco looks at Kammi, who turns to me.

“Okay.” I nod. If we're with the boys, Dr. Bindas can't say we were hiking alone.

The cave is farther than I thought it would be. I'm still wearing my flip-flops, but the sports sandals are in my pack. I bring up the rear, easing my way around prickly pear cacti.

If this is a trail, it's a wild donkey path.

I'm sweating, and the sun glares down on us. Did Dr. Bindas wake up yet and wonder where we are? We didn't leave him any clues. Not even a stack of rocks pointing the way we walked. Just Kammi's painting drying in the sun.

“This is it,” Saco says, pointing. An overhang of rock hides the cave entrance. I'd never have seen it.

The boys dig flashlights from their packs. Saco has two. He gives one to Kammi, who looks at me. I shrug.

“I have an extra one, too,” Mayur says. “Maybe the batteries will last.” He hands me a skinny flashlight, the kind that uses double-A batteries. I press the button and hold my hand over the front to shield the sunlight. A faint glow shows it's working, though how bright it will be inside, I don't know.

Roberto, the oldest, goes first. Mayur could have insisted he go first like he usually does, but I think he's afraid.

Loco goes second, then Saco, with Kammi right behind him. Saco reaches behind and puts his hand on Kammi's head to make sure she crouches far enough not to hurt herself going through the entrance.

“You go,” Mayur says.

“No, you.” No way I'm letting him follow me into the darkness.

“Afraid?”

“Not of the cave,” I say.

If he's disappointed, he doesn't show it. He just shrugs and ducks inside. I could turn back now. I know the trail back to the picnic area. I could find Dr. Bindas.

I take a deep breath and step into the shadows. The cool air flows toward me from deeper inside the cave, and I can smell the darkness. I didn't know before that darkness has a scent. I touch the wall. Rough limestone, it feels chalky, yet almost damp, like a tray of oil pastels. From somewhere, separate from the voices of boys, I hear the trickling of water.

After a few steps, the outside world seems far away. Here, inside, the air feels heavy, pressing against me. The flashlight shines, but its narrow beam only illuminates the tiniest area in front of me.

Suddenly, something screeches. Wings flutter around my ears. I duck.

“It's okay,” Roberto calls as the noise dies away. “It's just an owl. They nest in caves sometimes.”

My knees shake a little as I stand again and follow Mayur.

“There's a hole just here, be careful,” Roberto calls back, his voice distorted. Flashlight beams cut across the cave like airport spotlights.

I stay close behind Mayur. Even though he's short, he
still has to stoop as we go farther into the cave. I run my hand along the ceiling so I won't bump my head on any outcroppings.

I follow him around the dark spot on the cave floor. The hole. I wonder how far down it goes, and my stomach flips.

“So, tell me,” I say.

“Wait.”

“Why? The secret's not in here, is it?”

Mayur laughs. “Maybe. And there are things best talked about in the darkness. Secret things.”

A chill goes through me, but I think it's just the cool temperature inside the cave.

His hand brushes my skirt. I imagine he's reaching out to touch the wall.

“Come see, it's not much farther. At the back of the cave, you can stand up.” Roberto's voice echoes. I can't tell how far away he is. “And there's a little hole in the top.”

Someone shrieks. Just ahead of us. A girl?

“Kammi?” My own voice rises. What if she falls? It'd be my fault. I told her it would be okay. My hand reaches out in the darkness, as if I might feel her in front of me. Someone or something brushes my fingers, and I'm not sure if it's Mayur or someone else or a bat that Saco says doesn't live here. I jerk my hand back.

Saco answers, “It's okay, she just slipped a little. Watch out—there's water in a couple of places.”

I slide my flip-flops along the cave bottom to avoid stumbling.

Suddenly, we're in the chamber and we can stand up straight. A thin light shines through a hole in the cave's high ceiling.

“Hey, see the drawings?” Loco shines his flashlight on the wall.

“Are they native?” Kammi asks.

Saco laughs. “The natives didn't draw
corazones,
hearts.”

I see graffiti with people's initials.

“There's more,” Roberto says, and he and the others move to the far end of the chamber. Saco shadows Kammi, as if he's protecting her.

Mayur stands close to me. This is my chance, here in the cave. I touch his arm. “Now.”

He whispers “Maybe” as he finds my hand, the one that touched his arm, and pulls me to kneel on the cave floor with him. My heart starts to pound. I can't see his face. He turns off his flashlight.

He runs his hand across the top of my skirt until he's touching my T-shirt.

I grab his hand and cut of my flashlight. I don't want anyone to see me.

“What are you doing?”

“You want to know what I know? Kiss me.” I smell his skin, its musky scent not that of a little boy's. He takes
shallow breaths, as if he's afraid to inhale a deep swallow of cave air. Maybe he thinks it's poisonous. Caves can be that way, with pockets of poison gas, and we're close to the floor, where bad air settles.

His other hand finds my shoulder. He runs a finger across my collarbone.

The air is so heavy, like water. I can't breathe. I wonder where the others are, whether they can see us in the darkness.

“You don't even like me,” I say. Not the way Saco likes Kammi.

“You're a girl. An American girl.” He says it as if that's enough reason. I'm an American girl, so I'm easy. I want something from him. He wants something from me.

He leans closer. I hold my breath. Behind my closed eyes, I see stars on a black canvas. He kisses my neck, letting his tongue explore that indented place below my throat. I hope he tastes salt.

“There was a note,” he says, and then kisses more of my throat. His hands touch my shoulders now and inch downward toward my chest.

I knew Dad wouldn't have left me without telling me it wasn't my fault. “Where?”

“His book.” Mayur puts a hand under my shirt. I can't move. I'm waiting for each word to drop out of his mouth like a jewel.

“The note?” I ask. I'm confused. In what book? The one Dr. Bindas returned to us,
The History of Language?
Mayur's hand brushes the top of my left breast over my sports bra. In the cold, his hand feels warm over my skin. I hate that it feels good, that I want his hand there so he'll keep talking. “It—the note,” he whispers, his breath catching as his hand moves. “The note in his book. He left by the pool.”

Dad was in the sea for more than twenty-four hours. All that time Mayur had the note.

“What did it say?” I ask. Mayur's lips touch mine, almost by accident. They move past to my cheek, then return.

He shifts closer. “It wasn't your father's.”

The blood goes out of my head. “I don't understand. What do you mean? Not his note?”

Mayur's lips touch mine again. He presses toward me.

I jerk back.

“Maybe you don't want to know any more?” Mayur asks, his voice husky.

I want to know. I make myself kiss his cheek. The cave air pushes against me.

“He didn't write it.” Mayur runs his hand under my bra. No boy has ever touched me there. The closest is when a boy in my class nuzzled my neck while playing spin-the-bottle at a party in seventh grade. I didn't even tell Zoe. “It was written
to
him.”

“Mother wrote it?” Was it a farewell letter from Mother, asking for a divorce? Saying that she'd met Howard and she wanted to leave Dad? That would explain why she didn't tell me about the letter. She'd feel guilty if Dad died with a note like that in his possession. She knows I'd hate her.

Mayur doesn't answer. He's too busy exploring the curves of my chest. He lifts my shirt and, pulling my bra aside, kisses one of my breasts. He runs his tongue over the surface, and I shudder, turning my head away.

“Are you here?” A voice—Saco's?—sounds far away.

I don't answer. Mayur doesn't, either. I don't want them to come back now. I want more time.