Sunset

by Melissa J Morgan

  Something needed to change. Yes, what had happened to her was horrible and terrifying. Yes, her fear was normal and justified. But when would it stop? She’d come here to get a grip on herself and so far, she’d had hardly any success. Thinking about heading into deep surf chilled her even more than the icy waters of the Pacific.

  It was like her head had become separate from her body. She knew the chances of being attacked by another shark were close to zero. She understood that it had only been a random, freak event. But even though her mind could grasp those things, the rest of her self couldn’t. Whenever she swam out to a certain depth . . . or saw an unfamiliar shape in the water . . . her limbs locked up, her breathing became ragged, and her heart sped faster than the beach break. And as soon as that happened, her usually logical brain followed suit—filling with images of large pointed teeth and blood mixing with seawater.

  She’d face down her fear—she had to. Only not now. And definitely not when she was supposed to be keeping an eye on some beginner surfers.

  Cassie stretched out her arms and legs and let out a yawn. Maybe she should just nap. After all, there wasn’t anything else to do.

  As soon as she closed her eyes, a sharp sound made her jerk upright. It was coming from the far wall, close to where the gecko had run outside. She leaned off the bed, staring at the hole to see if her little reptilian friend had come back to play some more. But he wasn’t there.

  The noise came again. She realized now that it couldn’t have been the gecko. For one thing, geckos were silent and stealth. For another, this sounded more buglike—a low-pitched whirring, as if a thousand insect wings were flapping at the same time.

  Cassie glanced all about. She really hoped there weren’t a thousand flying insects coming at her. Was this the time of year for locust swarms?

  The buzzing stopped . . . and then started up again. Something was weird. The sound was too regular and rhythmic to be a bug.

  She got to her feet and followed the noise. It grew louder as she headed toward Danica’s and Sasha’s bunks. Again it hummed and this time she fell to her knees and peeked beneath Danica’s bed.

  And there it was: Danica’s cell phone, glowing neon green and shuddering against the woodwork with every ring. It must have slipped down between the mattress and wall and the girl had never noticed. Danica wasn’t the neatest of C.I.T.s.

  “Great,” Cassie muttered. No way could she nap now. Not with that thing chirping every minute.

  Bzzzzzzzzzzt! the thing seemed to respond. It was like Danica was mocking her from miles away. Could she have actually planned this?

  Bzzzzzzzzzzt! Cassie wanted to toss the thing outside to play with Mr. Gecko. Of course, she couldn’t. But maybe if she just turned off the vibrate setting so that it stopped its annoying drone?

  Cassie reached beneath the bunk and snatched the small, black, quivering box. Let’s see . . . this one was different from hers. It was shinier and sleeker—probably more expensive, too—and with a full-color touch screen. “One text message!” it read, all green and glowing and cheerful. She fumbled with the buttons on the side, hoping she didn’t accidentally take a picture of herself. Then a section slid down to reveal even more buttons. Which one would shut it up?

  Just then the whole phone pulsed in her grip, startling her.

  “Auugh!” she cried. She quickly squeezed the device to avoid dropping it. And suddenly a text message was staring her in the face:

  “From: Micah. 14:23 P.M. Message: Howzit? Better? Thx for before. Needed it, too. U left your hair clip in my room, btw. Will sneak it to you later.”

  Cassie’s hands shook so hard, the small black letters seemed to wiggle about. Micah was texting Danica? Why? Weren’t they all together, with Haydee and Zeke?

  In the far reaches of her mind, Cassie knew it was wrong to read Danica’s private message—no matter who it was from. She knew she should put the phone down, walk away, and try to pretend she never saw the text. But she was too shocked, too transfixed to move.

  Instead she read the tiny words on the tiny screen over and over and over, as if hoping they might change.

  Micah had written “Thx for before.” But . . . thanks for what? Did she lend him some sunblock? And why was her hair clip in his room? If it was there, that meant Danica had been there—all relaxing and letting down her blond locks. Had Zeke and Haydee been there, too?

  This didn’t feel right. The text seemed overly affectionate—intimate even. Like a shared secret. He was thanking Danica . . . for something . . . that happened in his room. How could that not be bad?

  “Don’t panic,” she told herself. “It’s not a big deal.”

  But it was like her post-shark-attack stress. Even though her mind was open to the idea that there was a reasonable explanation, her hands wouldn’t stop shaking and a cold sensation kept shooting through her chest. And the more she read the message, the more Cassie’s midsection bunched itself up.

  For someone who wasn’t sick, her stomach was certainly having a hard time of it today.

  After several minutes of staring at the digital screen, she slowly closed the phone, set it on Danica’s side table, and padded back to her bunk.

  “It’s nothing,” she kept telling herself as she sprawled out on her mattress and hugged her pillow to her chest. “It doesn’t mean anything.”

  Only . . . her voice didn’t sound all that sure of itself. And once again her body rebelled with several sharp gut pains.

  What was it Tori had said about not being able to let go of your ex?

  Five

  The beach was practically deserted. Of course, Danica had gotten up at 4:00 A.M. for exactly that reason. She didn’t want anyone around—not even the fanatical surfers.

  It also meant that it was rather dark and chilly. The sun still hadn’t risen and only a narrow band of tangerine-colored brightness hugged the horizon. But thanks to the light reflected from shore, she could see well enough.

  She paddled out into the surf, gritting her teeth against the cold waves and strong morning current. Nothing would make her turn back. Not even a shark fin. Okay . . . well, maybe a shark fin. (She was determined, not stupid.) But otherwise, absolutely nothing else.

  She was not herself. Something had happened on this trip, and it worried her. She was like . . . Iron Man without his super techno-suit. Or Harry Potter without his wand. Or Jessica Simpson without hair and teeth.

  Suddenly and without warning she’d become a much more pathetic version of herself.

  Not only did she let some random girl freak her out about a stupid scab—which, by the way, didn’t even hurt anymore—she hadn’t taken advantage of her alone time with Micah. Back in the hotel room, they’d had such a great moment. It was like old times. Better, even. So why didn’t she take the opportunity to win him back? Why didn’t she turn on the charm and swoop in before he knew what was hitting him?

  Because she was not Danica anymore. At least, not the ultra-confident, untouchable, Camp Ohana Danica.

  Maybe this was what happened to Cassie. Maybe the girl hadn’t always been so weird and wussy. When Danica first heard that some Super Surf Girl had come to Ohana, she’d practically burst into flames. She’d worked so hard to be a superstar of sorts at that camp, and now a real superstar was there. Only . . . Cassie wasn’t like she’d imagined at all. Sure she was pretty, in a regular way, and people seemed to like her—but she wasn’t a hotshot. If anything she was kind of boringly normal.

  Was that how she’d always been? Or did her little run-in with the shark suck all the special out of her?

  Well, no way was this catastrophe of a competition going to fill Danica with lameness. She was going to get her mojo back if she had to steal it.

  Danica was out at the breaking point now. The waves were a little rougher than she liked, but nothing she’d never attempted before. She waited for a nice one, rose onto her board, and took off.

  Yes! She could do this. She’d conquered so many other things i
n her life, a racing wave was nothing. All she had to do was . . .

  “No!” Suddenly everything felt wrong. She was too tense, and that threw off her entire balance. Danica could feel the board giving out underneath her. She tried to grip it with her feet. She pushed against thin air in a fruitless effort to steady herself. But there was nothing she could do.

  And just like that she careened into the breakers, hard—like before.

  In the maelstrom of water, bubbles, and grit, her board whacked up against her. And Danica felt something she hadn’t felt in a long time: panic.

  It was taking too long to resurface, and she didn’t have much air left in her. Danica thrashed about, kicking her legs and pushing water out of her path—hoping she was swimming toward the sky and that the wipeout hadn’t turned her upside-down.

  Finally she broke through the foamy surface and took a long, loud breath.

  Stupid, she thought, pulling her board to her and grasping it tightly like a life preserver. It had been stupid to surf on a deserted beach during some of the roughest waves of the day. If something had happened, no one would have been around to help her. Even professional surfers had died doing that.

  She was stupid. And she was lame. But at least she was alive.

  Danica pointed her board toward the beach and lay down on top of it. She felt weak and breathless, and was thankful the water could at least help carry her back to shore.

  And thankful it could hide her tears of frustration.

  Let’s see . . . Ocean Flower perfume? Nah. That might imply that she smelled bad. A T-shirt? Uh-uh. He didn’t want to guess at her size. A beaded wallet? Yeah, right. Nothing says I care about you like a new wallet.

  Micah sighed and turned yet another page in the glossy gift-shop catalog someone had slipped beneath their hotel room door during the night (along with the bill). He really wanted to get something for Cassie—something that would prove he’d been thinking about her, something that would make her light up with a smile and—maybe—thank him with a kiss. But what?

  A woven pillowcase? A collection of homemade pineapple products? A coconut carved to look like a gorilla? No, no, and no.

  What did gorillas have to do with Hawaii, anyway?

  The truth was he still didn’t know her all that well. He had a strong sense of her (a wonderful, daydream-inspiring sense), but he didn’t know her tastes. At least, not like he knew Danica’s. After dating Danica for two straight months, he had gotten to know her likes and dislikes. Sort of. Or was it that Danica tended to broadcast her likes and dislikes loudly and clearly and Cassie kept them private?

  The thing was, he wanted to get to know Cassie better—much better, in fact. And he was willing to take a few risks. But what if he bought her the absolutely worst gift ever? He didn’t want to start it all off with a major screwup.

  “I could ask Bo what he thinks,” Micah grumbled.

  “What?” Zeke asked. He stepped out of the bathroom in his robe, both hands rubbing a towel over his wet hair.

  “Nothing. Just talking to myself.”

  All of a sudden, the door flew open. Both he and Zeke let out tiny shouts of alarm.

  Haydee, red-faced and wild-eyed, came barging into the room. “Where’s Danica?” she shouted.

  It took Micah a few seconds to get over the shock to his system. “I have no idea,” he said finally.

  “Haydee! You can’t just march in here without knocking!” Zeke whined. He gestured to his robe. “I could have been naked.”

  She glanced over at him and shrugged. “Well, you aren’t,” she said matter-of-factly. Then she turned back to Micah. “Do you have any idea where she could be?”

  Micah shook his head.

  “Aaaargh!” Haydee made a long, drawn-out noise—a cross between a sigh and a grunt. “We have to be out of here in one hour and she’s nowhere to be seen. And she hasn’t even started packing! Her stuff is all over the room!”

  “I wouldn’t worry,” Micah said. “She likes to work out stress by, you know, working out. She probably went for a jog or something.”

  “If she’s not back soon, we’re leaving without her. She can surf back to Ohana!” Haydee spun around on her sandals and tromped back out, shutting the door with not exactly a slam, but not exactly a polite click either.

  Micah’s heart was still racing. “You don’t think Haydee would actually make us leave without Danica, do you?”

  “Nah, she’s all bark and no action.” Zeke pointed toward the door. “But lock up, dude. I can’t take another scare like that.”

  “Sure.” As Micah pushed himself off the bed, the gift catalog slid to the floor. After quickly chaining the door, he stooped to pick it back up and saw that the booklet had fallen open to a page near the back.

  Micah straightened up and stared closely at the picture. It was a photo of an anklet—a braided band of delicate leather straps adorned with tiny shells arranged in the shape of a flower.

  It reminded Micah of Cassie. In fact, he could easily picture it on the end of her long tanned leg. It was perfect.

  Or at least, he was pretty sure it was perfect.

  A good maybe, anyhow.

  Or . . . not.

  He sighed and sank back down on his bed. What if buying her a gift was too serious a move? What if it freaked her out? She might say he’s moving too fast and back off—which is the opposite of what he hoped would happen.

  Micah lay back with a groan, the open catalog forming a little tent around his face. Somehow surfing a monster wave was easier than this.

  “Please, Cassie? Please?”

  The girl in the mottled pink wet suit, Hannah C. (as opposed to Hannah T., who was in the same bunk), was gesturing out to sea. She was about eleven years old. Not exactly chubby, but big boned and rounded in places.

  “The waves are so much better out there,” Hannah continued begging. “Just a few more yards? Pleeeeeeeease?”

  Cassie shook her head. “No. Sorry. You’ll do great here.”

  Ben was over his stomach flu. Which meant it was time for Cassie to be over hers. Yesterday evening Simona had come by to check on Cassie and had told her not to worry, that Ben was on his second burger in the mess hall. Obviously it was only a twenty-four-hour bug.

  Yay.

  So now Cassie was spending her entire morning teaching surfing. No backing out this time. For one thing, she was all out of excuses. And for another, she just couldn’t be sneaky about it anymore. Her guilt was getting to be as big and painful as her fear of returning to shark-infested waters. She had to suck it up.

  Plus, she wouldn’t have been able to handle another extra-long, extra-boring, extra-awful day in the bunkhouse—all alone and with nothing to do but worry herself insane about Micah and Danica . . . Danica and Micah . . . Micanicah.

  Cassie had agonized over the text message for hours yesterday, squeezing her pillow until it just about disintegrated. She barely even slept through the night. And this morning her stomach felt so knotted, she didn’t even try to eat breakfast. So here she was, supposedly cured of her sickness, running on no food and very little rest.

  And today Micah and Danica returned.

  What should she do? Should she confront him about it? If so, what would she say? That she’d “accidentally” looked at Danica’s personal text messages and discovered what was up? And what, exactly, was up?

  It was clear something had happened. Why else would he refer to her having been in his room? Cassie wanted to come up with some completely plausible and totally innocent explanations, but she couldn’t.

  Meanwhile Tori’s words about exes replayed in her mind like some sort of ghostly recording: It’s never totally over . . . Cassie couldn’t shake the sinking feeling that she’d been horribly naïve to let him leave the island with Danica.

  “Come on, Cassie! It’s too easy here. Just a few more yards out?” Hannah made her eyes big and round, like a cartoon character pleading for its life.

  “Sorry,” she replied
. “You just aren’t ready.”

  Actually, Hannah was probably ready. But Cassie wasn’t. If they swam out to greater depths, she’d probably go all paralyzed with fear. Even if she didn’t, she’d be on such ultra-high alert, searching for gray shapes in the water and jumping at every little touch, that she’d be useless as a teacher. Her student might get yanked halfway to Africa in a riptide before Cassie could react.

  “Danica lets me,” Hannah said with a pout.

  “Yeah, well, some people aren’t into following rules,” Cassie grumbled. “Some people do what they want even if it might hurt others.”

  She glanced over at her student. Hannah’s forehead was all folded up and she was chewing on her bottom lip. She obviously thought Cassie was mad at her.

  “Sorry,” Cassie said. “I know I’m being strict, it’s just . . . well . . . this is my first day as surf C.I.T. I want to do a good job and follow all the camp regulations. The guidebook says I can’t let you into really deep water unless I’m absolutely sure you’re ready. And I can’t be absolutely sure if I’ve only been teaching you for forty minutes, right?”

  Hannah shrugged. “I guess not.”

  “I know it looks like fun out there, but remember: It’s more dangerous than it looks. Lots more stuff can go wrong, and the farther away from shore you are, the harder it is to get help.”

  This time the girl glanced over her shoulder at the big waves in the distance. “Yeah. You’re right.” She sounded seriously disappointed.

  “Hey, just because I can’t be sure you’re ready, doesn’t mean everyone will feel that way. When you see Danica,” Cassie had to work hard to say the name, “ask her what she thinks. Maybe she’ll feel like you can handle it.”

  “Okay,” Hannah said with a smile.

  “Great. Now let’s catch this next wave and ride it back to shore. Your lesson’s over for today.”