Wrecked (11 page)

Miranda had glanced away, his simple request seeming to take far too much motivation and energy. The hospital walls were beige, a TV mounted in the corner wall showed a video of an ambulance, followed by a cut to news reporters. “4 Dead in Teen Boat Crash,” read the ticker across the bottom of the newscast.

That sentence jolted her awake.

“Four dead?” Miranda had repeated, slowly, trying to make sense of what that meant. It was like a math problem: If four were dead, then that meant four people were alive. She glanced from Eleanor, to Dr. Faville, to the two nurses in the room. “Fletch? Genevieve? Lydia . . .” She tried to remember who was on the boat, but she couldn’t get the numbers to add to eight. She flailed, panicking, as two sets of arms had held down her wrists, more awful and definitive than when she was caught underwater. Everything faded to black again.

Suddenly, the window creaked open and Miranda’s heart leapt in her throat. She saw one hairy leg step onto the roof, followed by another, followed by thighs clad in Calhoun Academy soccer shorts. Teddy. His chestnut-brown hair was sticking up in all directions. And even though she’d come out here to be left alone, Teddy looked so much like a toddler waking up from his nap that Miranda couldn’t help but smile.

“What are you doing?” Miranda asked sharply as Teddy squeezed through the window, a bag of gummy worms in one hand.

“Looking for you. Making sure you’re okay. I was awake and heard the door open,” Teddy explained, settling on the creaky floor next to her.

“I’m fine. Or at least I would be, if everyone didn’t think I was going to break,” Miranda said, hugging her knees to her chest. “I mean, I’ve done this before. Our parents died, remember?” Miranda asked, just wishing she could be by herself. Of course, it wasn’t the same at all. She barely remembered her parents, and the few memories she had seemed more like a long-ago dream. Her friends were everywhere, and every time she woke up, she assumed they were alive.

“It’s not the same,” Teddy said.

“How would you know? You don’t even remember our parents. And it’s not like you were there for this,” Miranda snorted. Teddy had been at preseason lacrosse camp, and Miranda alternated between wishing he’d been on the boat and being thankful he wasn’t. Maybe if he had been there, this wouldn’t have happened. Teddy always seemed to make things better. He was light and sunny compared to Miranda, who tended to be more serious and brooding. And somewhere in the back of her mind, Miranda couldn’t help but wonder for the millionth time whether she had caused the accident. “I’m
fine. You can stop worrying,” Miranda said, more softly this time.

“Well, I do worry. I’m your brother,” Teddy said. It was the one phrase he’d repeated over and over during the past month, and somehow, it comforted Miranda far more than the anti-anxiety drugs that Dr. Dorn had given her.

“You shouldn’t,” Miranda said, gazing out. She felt jumpy. After she’d said she felt sick on the way home from the hospital, Eleanor had watched her like a hawk, making it impossible to sneak away to Bloody Point to swim.

“I’m worried about Fletch,” she said finally, glancing away. Far below them, the ocean was calm, except for one large boat rocking back and forth near the dock. It was odd the way it floated, seemingly neither anchored nor moving.

“Didn’t you and Grandma see him tonight?”

“Yeah, but it’s not like I’m seeing
him.
He’s in a coma. And I don’t see how it’s helping me to see him every day . . . I mean . . .” Miranda trailed off. She didn’t want to admit the question that had been rattling in her mind ever since the accident: What if Fletch thought it was her fault like everyone else? And worse, what if he was right?

“Worm?” Teddy asked, opening the bag of gummy worms and offering one to Miranda.

“Thanks,” she said, biting off the multicolored candy’s head.

“You got it, sis,” Teddy said, stuffing three more worms into his mouth.

“How’s school?” Miranda asked finally, more to change the subject than anything.

Teddy shifted uncomfortably. “They’re doing parking spot memorials,” he said finally.

“What do you mean?” Miranda asked, stretching her legs out in front of her and smoothing the fabric of her nightgown.

“Like, they don’t think it’s fair to reassign Gen or Darcy or anyone’s parking spot, so they’re making them memorials.”

“Oh,” Miranda said. Just one more thing to serve as a reminder of all she—and the entire island—had lost.

“Gray thought it would be a good idea,” Teddy continued. “You should see Fletch’s spot. They made it look like a mini lax field. I think he’d like it,” Teddy said,

“Fletch isn’t
dead,
” Miranda said sharply.

“Right, but it’s just a reminder, I guess . . . Gray thought it would be a good idea,” Teddy repeated.

“Gray?” Miranda spat. Gray had been the only person uninjured from the accident; discharged from the hospital only hours after it had occurred. When Miranda had heard that during her time in the hospital, she’d been thankful; convinced that Gray could somehow explain what happened. But Gray hadn’t come to visit, and Miranda’s texts had been unreturned for weeks. But it was obvious Gray had time to do other things, including memorializing Miranda’s boyfriend.

“Yeah, she started a whole charity: Never Forget the Ferries.
They’re doing fundraisers and stuff . . . I thought you’d have heard about it.” Teddy shrugged and ate another gummy worm.

“Who would I have heard it from?” Miranda asked, more sharply than she intended. Sure, Gray wasn’t her favorite person in the world, but they’d been friends. Gray had been on the boat. She
knew
it hadn’t been Miranda’s fault, so why hadn’t she said anything? Why hadn’t any of them? It wasn’t even like she’d abandoned the boat. Fletch had forced her to jump out, had forced
everyone
to jump out, and Miranda had just happened to have been rescued by someone other than the Coast Guard. She hadn’t asked for it. She hadn’t asked for any of it.

Teddy sighed. “I think it’s really hard for everyone.”

“Right,” Miranda said softly. She wanted to ask whether it was hard for Teddy, but she didn’t want to hear his response. The fact that Teddy had been home so often this past month, instead of hanging out with his own friends, who included Jeremiah’s younger brother and Genevieve’s younger sister, told Miranda everything she needed to know. He didn’t have anyone to hang out with anymore, either.

Miranda cracked her knuckles with a loud pop.

“Don’t do that!” Teddy said reflexively. Miranda forced a grin. She was double jointed, and when they were younger, Miranda used to annoy Teddy by cracking her knuckles or vertebrae as loudly as possible in front of him. It was reassuring to know some things hadn’t changed.

“Just proving I can still freak you out,” Miranda said, as she
leaned back against her elbows and closed her eyes. Instantly, her mind was flooded with images from her dream, both the one from last night and the one from the accident.

“Teddy?” She asked, tentatively.

“What?”

“Do you think . . .” Miranda trailed off, unsure of where to begin.
Do you think our parents are watching us? Do you think they helped save me? Do you think some guy in the ocean really did save me? Do you think I’m going crazy?
Because no matter what, whether she was visiting Fletch or swimming under the watchful eye of Louisa or talking to Teddy, she couldn’t get rid of the image of her sparkly savior on the water.

“Do you think I could have more gummy worms?” she asked finally.

Teddy nodded and Miranda took two worms, tied them together, and popped them in her mouth.

A fat raindrop landed on Miranda’s thigh, followed by another and another.

“I guess we should go inside,” Miranda said uncertainly. She didn’t want to go back into her dark, silent room, where she’d only be tormented by insomnia or nightmares, but she didn’t want to worry Teddy. She remembered the months after their parents died, when Teddy would climb into Miranda’s bed with her. She was supposed to be his protector.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Teddy asked, noticing her hesitation.

Miranda nodded shakily. “I need to go to sleep anyway. I have school tomorrow.” Not waiting for an answer, she unsteadily climbed back through the window, down the stairs, and headed back to her bedroom.

T
HE NEXT MORNING
, M
IRANDA WOKE UP TO THE STEADY
thrum of rain pelting the skylight above her. This was typical for October, and the reason why year-rounders had disdain for summer people, who left as soon as the seasonal storms rolled in. As the months got colder, the island was surrounded by what the locals called the Sea Witch’s Shawl: a collection of clouds that enveloped the island during the middle of the night and burnt off as the sun rose.

A second later, her alarm began the loud, incessant buzz she’d awoken to on school days for the past eleven years. As if to underscore the time, the door suddenly swung open, and Eleanor charged in. She was wearing a peach silk robe that fell to the oak floorboards, but her hair was pulled up into a
neat chignon and she was wearing lipstick and blush.

“Rise and shine!” Eleanor said briskly, clapping her hands.

“I’m awake,” Miranda grumbled, taking in Eleanor’s overdressed ensemble. It was as if it was Eleanor’s first day of school.

“Good. I’ll see you downstairs for breakfast,” Eleanor said, pausing for a moment before she turned and headed out the door. Miranda couldn’t remember the last time Eleanor had woken her up.

Once she was gone, Miranda swung her legs off the bed and gingerly set her feet on the floor. Her whole body felt like lead. Every morning, there was a second between dreaming and wakefulness where she forgot about the accident. But then, as soon as she opened her eyes, the full weight of the tragedy fell upon her and it was as if she were watching the boat capsize all over again.

And of course, her bright pink bedroom didn’t match her mood. As a surprise, Eleanor had redecorated Miranda’s room when Miranda was at soccer camp in California the summer between seventh and eighth grades. As a result, the canopy bed was cotton candy pink, and the walls were pink trimmed with bright turquoise. And even though Miranda hadn’t expected much from Eleanor, the room just reaffirmed what she’d always known: that Eleanor expected Miranda to be a carbon copy of her, and was
never
going to accept that she simply wasn’t.

Now, it was as if the room was actively mocking her, especially when Miranda’s eyes darted from the crutches in the
corner to the ugly knee brace propped up against a honeysuckle pink ottoman. If she woke up in some dark attic room with creaky floorboards and dank walls, she’d at least feel like she belonged. Here, it was just one more reminder of how nothing would ever be the same. Eyeshadows, eyebrow pencils, and mascaras littered the surface of the vanity table. Everything was covered in a thin layer of dust; the one area of the room that Eleanor hadn’t found any nostalgic items to pack away, and therefore, left untouched. It was always the first place Miranda glanced when she woke up. Seeing everything as it was somehow prolonged that second in the morning before reality came crashing down.

The door creaked open again and Louisa entered, wearing the standard white uniform she’d worn every day since Miranda could remember.

“Missy? Your grandma thought you might need some help?” Louisa pushed open the door and flashed Miranda a sunny smile and set to work opening the curtains and drawing the blinds. Ever since she was moved here, Louisa could always make things
sort
of better. Until now.

“No.” Miranda stared at the ceiling. Even shifting from lying on her back to lying on her side seemed pointless, and she couldn’t imagine how she’d ever muster up the energy to shower, put on a Calhoun uniform, and head down to make the 7:40 ferry. The idea was ludicrous, as if Louisa and Eleanor were expecting her to run a marathon on her crutches.

Louisa paused and gazed skeptically at Miranda. Unlike Eleanor, Louisa had barely aged since Miranda was a toddler, even though she was now in her early fifties. She still had just as much enthusiasm and energy as she’d always had, which only exhausted Miranda. “You sure, baby? Because there isn’t any harm in asking for help.”