Sunset

by Melissa J Morgan

  Forget them, she told herself. She was just trying to rattle you. And it didn’t work.

  She spun around and headed for her room, her left hand reaching behind to scratch the scab on her thigh.

  Three

  “Danica? Danica! It’s almost 6 A.M. Wake up!”

  Underneath the ugly palm-leaf-patterned bedspread, Danica’s hands formed into fists. What Haydee didn’t realize was that Danica was awake. She had been since 4 A.M. She just didn’t feel like getting up yet. Or opening her eyes.

  All night long Danica tossed and turned, trying to forget about the scab on the back of her leg. But the more she tried to forget about it, the more she thought about it and the more it itched.

  Was it her imagination, or was it getting worse? What began as an occasional annoying tingle was now a constant throb. Maybe while she slept (or didn’t sleep) she’d developed a rare fatal infection. It even seemed a little puffier when she touched it.

  “Danica!”

  Haydee’s normal tone of voice was practically a shout, so that when she actually did yell, it almost shattered windows.

  “Okay, okay,” Danica mumbled, pushing herself into a sitting position. She’d only been trying to get some extra rest since her night went so badly. Plus, she knew exactly how long it took to get herself ready. She still had time.

  “You’ve got to get a move on if you want some sort of breakfast,” Haydee said as she bustled about the room, repacking a few things and snatching her cell phone off the charger. Danica noticed she had actually remade her double bed.

  Who makes their bed in a hotel? she wondered. Even a cruddy hotel had maid service for that sort of thing.

  Her thigh ached as she slid out of bed. It felt as if some gnawing, sharp-toothed creature had ahold of it. She needed to do something about it before she went completely bonkers.

  In one sudden, dizzying movement, Danica grabbed her makeup case and headed for the bathroom.

  “Don’t take too long in there,” Haydee called out. Danica replied by locking the door with a loud click.

  Medicine . . . bandages . . . topical creams . . . thank god her parents had tossed this stuff into her trunk before she left for camp. For the first time in her life she was glad her mom was kind of paranoid and controlling. Danica took out the assortment of tubes and boxes and scanned the labels for any mention of “numbing” or “itch relief.”

  Bang, bang, bang! Haydee’s knocks were about as subtle as her voice.

  “Hey in there,” she called through the door. “Don’t spend all day primping. We’ve got to be at the beach in forty-five minutes!”

  Yeah, yeah. Do some deep breathing before you pop a blood vessel.

  After washing her wound, applying ointments, and putting on a large, square-shaped bandage, Danica felt a little better. Now she didn’t have to worry about it while surfing.

  Bang, bang! “Danica! Open up!”

  “Hang on.” Danica studied her handiwork one last time and then tossed the first-aid supplies back into her bag. But she didn’t open the door.

  Because now it was time to primp.

  Cassie pushed her scrambled eggs to the left side of her plate and frowned at them. They sure looked extra gooey today. She then scraped them over to the right side, next to her toast, but they didn’t look any better over there. Even the toast appeared stale and unfit for human consumption—like a square piece of cardboard.

  She knew she should eat something, but she was just too nervous about being the one and only surfing C.I.T. that day.

  It was strange. She’d always been able to eat before competitions—even major ones. Now all she had to do was teach some kids the basics of surfing and she couldn’t even face her breakfast.

  But this was different. It wasn’t fear of losing a contest . . . it was fear of losing a limb. Or—even worse—freezing up with terror and being too useless to prevent a poor kid from drowning or becoming a shark’s lunch or getting carried to Australia on a rogue wave.

  She pushed away her plate and rested her head in her hands. Maybe she should just confess everything to Simona.

  “Uh-oh.”

  Cassie glanced up to see Andi staring at her warily. “What? What is it?”

  “You aren’t eating,” Andi said, nodding at Cassie’s plate.

  “Yeah. I’m . . . I’m just not that hungry today.” She really hoped Andi wouldn’t ask her why she had no appetite.

  “Do you feel okay?” Andi leaned across the picnic table and placed her hand on Cassie’s forehead. “How’s your stomach?”

  “Um . . . it’s . . . well . . . it’s feeling weird, actually.” Cassie was telling the truth, but she still felt dishonest. Instead of meeting Andi’s gaze, she glanced past her at Charlie, who was sitting at the next table over, staring dreamily at Andi’s back.

  Andi shook her head in a pitying way. “I bet you’ve got it.”

  “Got what?”

  “Didn’t you hear? Ben’s got some awful virus thing. He was in the infirmary with a high fever last night. Now he’s back in his bunk and won’t eat. The guys say he just lies there in a ball moaning. Can you believe it? Big, tough Ben?”

  “No. He must feel awful.”

  “Girl, I hate to tell you this, but I think maybe you’ve got it.” Andi leaned away from her dramatically, and once again Cassie noticed Charlie looking in their direction, all moony-eyed.

  Cassie opened her mouth to disagree. After all, she wasn’t running a fever and she’d barely gotten within two feet of Ben in a couple of days. It was definitely just nerves. But then she had another thought: Why not go with it? She was sorry to hear about Ben’s puking and all, but this could actually be a good thing—at least for her.

  “Yeah, I really haven’t been feeling that great,” she said, making her face go slack.

  “You should go lie down.”

  “Can’t.” Cassie shook her head. “Gotta be surf C.I.T. today.”

  “Better go tell Simona you can’t. This is no time to be brave.”

  The word brave made Cassie’s gut do a somersault. If only Andi knew the truth.

  “Well, no offense, but . . . I’m going to wash my hands.” Andi got to her feet, held her palms out in front of her and started backing away from Cassie as if she were waving a semiautomatic weapon. “Hope you feel better!” With a flounce of curls, she headed out the door of the mess hall into the bright sunshine beyond.

  Charlie looked so disappointed, Cassie felt like walking over and patting the top of his head.

  Now for the tough part. She slowly rose to her feet and took her tray to the wash window. She dumped her food into the trash can—and walked over to Simona’s table.

  The C.I.T. director was bent over a bowl of crunchy cereal. Her right hand grasped the spoon and her left hand held a small stack of official-looking papers. She was so busy chomping and looking over the documents, she didn’t notice Cassie standing right beside her.

  “Um . . . excuse me?” Cassie reached out and tapped her on the shoulder.

  “What is it?” Simona’s head jerked around so quickly that Cassie backed up a step.

  “S-sorry to interrupt. But . . . I’m not feeling well . . . and Andi told me about Ben and . . .”

  “Is it your stomach?” Simona frowned at Cassie’s midsection.

  “Yes. I can’t eat and . . .”

  “Great.” Simona let out a frustrated groan. “I knew this would happen.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “No. It’s not your fault.” She looked back up at Cassie and smiled, but the stress still showed on her face. “It just seems like this happens every summer: Things go wrong all at once. Here I’m down two counselors and two C.I.T.s because of the surf invitational and we get hit by a stomach virus.” She sighed heavily. “Guess we’ll cancel surf lessons until you’re better or the others come back—whatever comes first.”

  “Sorry,” Cassie said again. She felt horrible about letting her down, especially since she wasn�
��t really sick. But she was also immensely relieved. Her mental images of novice surfers getting swept out to sea faded away . . .

  “Stop apologizing.” Simona’s spoon hand gave a little wave as if pushing away Cassie’s words. “You can’t help it. I’d send you to the infirmary, but there’s nothing they can do for you. Go back to your bunk, and please make sure everyone stays away from you! We don’t need any more C.I.T.s down with this.”

  Cassie nodded. “Got it. Thanks.” She turned and trudged out of the mess hall, feeling much better than she had when she went in.

  No sooner had she gone a few steps along the gravel path then Tori came bounding up and fell into step beside her.

  “Hey! Guess what!”

  Cassie glanced all around them. “Shhh! Don’t let Simona see you talking to me. I’m sick and supposed to keep away from everyone. Besides, you’re supposed to stay with your group. Remember?”

  Tori ignored her last comment. “You’re sick?” she asked, glancing her up and down. “You don’t look sick.”

  “I’ve got a stomach thing.” Cassie winced at the whiny tone in her voice. She never was a good liar. “I couldn’t eat breakfast at all.” There. At least that was true.

  “Yuck. Sorry. So whatcha gonna do all day?”

  Cassie shrugged. “I don’t know. Sleep. Hide out. Get better.”

  “You know what you need? You need me to care for you.”

  “But you’re not supposed to wander around.”

  “It’s not like I’m going to dive off a cliff, I’m walking with a counselor-in-training. A responsible older person.” She grinned mischievously.

  Cassie wasn’t sure how to argue with that. At this point they had reached the C.I.T. bunkhouse. Tori stepped in front of her and raced up the steps. When she got to the top, she paused to look down at Cassie. “Come on, sickie!”

  Cassie could only shake her head and tramp up the stairs after her. Leave it to her cousin to turn Cassie’s “illness” into a social event.

  By the time she stepped into the bunkhouse, Tori was already moving about the room, stirring up bedcovers and other belongings like a pint-size hurricane.

  “Here you go,” she said, patting Cassie’s cot. “Make yourself comfortable. I’ll put the iPod here. We’ll just listen to the mellow song list instead of the dance one. And here are the latest issues of Justine and Cosmo. Oh, and I can run and get you some ginger ale. That’s what Mom always gets me when my stomach hurts. Only . . . I don’t know if they have any here. Probably just lemonade.”

  “What are you doing?” Cassie asked, staring at her in astonishment.

  Tori paused long enough to shoot her an incredulous look. “What do you mean? I’m trying to cheer you up while you’re sick.”

  “But . . . you can’t just make yourself at home. You have stuff to do. You haven’t even eaten yet.”

  “Sure I have. I brought a huge box of yogurt bars in my luggage. I hate the stuff they make here. No wonder you’re sick.” She pulled a bottle of nail polish out of her bag, sat down on a nearby chair, and started unscrewing the top. “Besides, it’s still free time. Morning sessions don’t start for a while.”

  Cassie glanced from the iPod to the magazines to the bottle of peach-colored liquid Tori was currently brushing onto her toes. “I can’t believe you carry all this stuff around with you.”

  Tori shrugged. “Have you ever seen me bored?”

  Cassie had to admit she hadn’t. She let out a yawn and flopped down on her bed. Even though she wasn’t sick, she suddenly felt tired.

  “Oh! Oh, oh! I still haven’t told you!” Tori stopped in the middle of her big toenail and glanced up at Cassie, her eyes so big, they covered half her face.

  “What?” Cassie perked up, pushing herself onto her elbows.

  “Eddie isn’t with that Larkin girl after all! In fact, I heard he doesn’t even like her all that much. Isn’t that great?” She bounced around on the seat of the chair in a small sort of victory dance.

  Cassie shook her head. “It’s so wrong that this makes you happy. You don’t even want the guy anymore.”

  “Cassie, Cassie, Cassie. When will you understand? It’s not about him. It’s about me. It’s about me not being replaced so fast and easy. Means I’m still awesome.”

  “Whatever.” Cassie collapsed back down onto her back and stared at the wooden planks of the ceiling. There was obviously a lot she still had to learn about relationships. In a way, it seemed harder than calculus. It definitely made less sense.

  “Knock, knock,” someone sang out from beyond the screen door. It creaked open and Alexis, the swimming counselor, stepped into the room. “Hey,” she said shooting Cassie a sympathetic look. “I heard you’re sick with that stomach thing.”

  “Yeah.” Cassie tried her best to look pitiful.

  “Sorry to hear it. I just stopped by to see if you needed anything.”

  “That’s nice. But I’m okay. Tori’s taking care of me right now.”

  Tori waved “hello” with the nail brush.

  “You really should get down to the beach, Tori,” Alexis said. “You know you have a swim lesson in ten minutes.”

  “Aw, not today. Cassie needs me.”

  “Cassie can take care of herself. And you’re already on Simona’s gripe list for blowing off activities,” Alexis countered. “Besides, Cassie will rest better alone. In quiet.”

  Tori flashed her an insulted expression. “Fine. If you think swimming is more important than my favorite cousin, then so be it.” She put the top on her polish and dropped it into her still-bulging hobo bag. What else could she possibly have in that thing? Cassie wondered.

  “Feel better,” Alexis said to Cassie before disappearing from the doorway.

  “I’ll try and stop by later to check on you,” Tori said in a low voice. “Take it easy!” Then she, too, headed out the squeaky screen door.

  The sounds of their footsteps tromping down the stairs grew fainter and finally stopped altogether. Cassie lay on her bunk and listened. There were no sounds, just the barest shushing noise of the ocean in the distance and an occasional peep from a bird. Otherwise the silence was strong—harsh, even.

  Liar, the quiet seemed to say. Phony.

  It was right. She was a big fat faker. She was actually pretending to be sick to get out of surfing—not even that, to get out of teaching surfing.

  She’d never stooped so low in her life.

  There it was. That’s the one he wanted. The one he needed.

  And it was the final heat.

  Micah had already caught three waves and needed his required fourth. And if he wanted to place, this one seriously mattered. His first runs were okay. He’d managed to tweak out some moves and rack up points, but a couple of his maneuvers hadn’t worked out. He still wasn’t good in the tight spots. The best he could hope for was a stellar ride without too much jostling for position.

  He had surfed this beach countless times before, so he knew he could take the time to wait for his ideal waves. He was confident they’d come. And he knew how to line up his marker on the beach—in this case, the one corner of the pink stucco Royal Hawaiian hotel—so that he’d be right in their path.

  He could tell this was his wave by the way it rose, all fat and clean. And he was nearest to the peak. It was there just for him. Not only that, but it was the perfect day. Great weather. Light offshore winds. He had no excuses.

  Micah waited until he felt the wave lift him high, then he jumped onto his board and took off with it.

  Yes! This was his wave all right. He loved that feeling when everything became one—one force, one entity. When he didn’t even have to work that hard at balancing and could let himself get carried along atop his watery platform—as if he were riding on a parade float.

  Seconds later, the wave broke and shot him right into its center. There he was, in the middle of a liquid world, streaking along like he belonged. He forgot the stands and the judges’ table. He forgot the incr
edible exhibition runs that Bo and others had done for the crowd right before the competition. He simply lost himself in the rush.

  He even managed a nice cutback before the ride ended. Nothing too showy. And it wasn’t the smoothest one ever made. But the conditions were perfect, so why not?

  All too soon it was over. Micah was stepping out of the water, carrying his board and trying not to look at the scoring platform. Let it be a surprise, he told himself. Nothing I can do about it now.

  He thought he would feel relieved, but instead he was kind of sad it was over. Truth was, he had enjoyed himself out there. He’d stopped thinking about the competition and just focused on the wave.

  It was like one of those Zen-like sayings Zeke was always muttering. He became “one with the water.”

  “Man, nice ride.”

  Micah glanced over to see a figure silhouetted against the sun. He recognized the shaggy hairdo immediately. “Hey, Bo,” he greeted. “Thanks. Thanks a lot.”

  “Seriously, that was awesome. You have real style.”

  “Yeah, well . . . it’s not like I did aerials or anything.” Micah felt self-conscious taking a compliment from someone like Bo.

  “No, dude. I mean it. Style is something you can’t learn—you’re born with it. And hey. You gotta be able to rip the small waves!” He slapped Micah on the back and almost sent him stumbling forward into the surf.

  “Thanks,” Micah said again, correcting his balance. “You were pretty awesome in the exhibition runs.”

  “I do it for the free luau food,” he said with a shrug and lopsided smile. “So why isn’t Cassie here?”

  “She didn’t compete.”

  “Probably not allowed to because of her pro status, huh? I guess that’s fair. But why isn’t she here cheering you guys on?”

  “Oh, well . . . you know. They could only send the four of us. Besides, Cassie’s back at camp working. Probably giving lessons right this minute.”

  “Man . . .” Bo shook his head. “I still can’t believe she’s doing that. What a waste. That girl is so hot out on the water.”