Girl at Sea

by Maureen Johnson

  “I guess it got sanded,” he said. “Here. In the sand.”

  “But there’s so much of it,” she said, pointing to the long stretch of beach.

  “I guess the Italians throw a lot of bottles into the sea,” he said. Clio shook her head. Why did he have to be so sarcastic all the time? And why was she letting it get to her? Ollie would have appreciated all this beauty. But for some reason, Clio was really frustrated that Aidan didn’t seem to get it. Was he trying to be stubborn?

  Elsa wasn’t paying attention to them. She was examining the view around them with a thoughtful look on her face; then she jumped in front of Aidan and Clio.

  “You two,” Elsa said. “You do not have the proper attitude right now. So I’ll tell you what we’re going to do. We’re going to get something to eat and to drink. Then you can call home.”

  There wasn’t a lot to the town, whatever it was. There was a stretch of pavement at the top of the steps with a smattering of restaurants, gelato stands, and tourist beach-supply shops. Beyond and above that were peeling buildings with large shuttered windows swung wide open, revealing the insides of apartments, televisions on, and dangling laundry. In any other place, this probably would have been very unappealing, but in Italy, it felt right.

  There were plenty of nice restaurants along the main street, but the trio needed something affordable, and it was Clio who managed to locate the perfect spot. It had white plastic outdoor tables with blue vinyl cloths on them, shaded by tipsy red umbrellas advertising something that Clio had never heard of. Each table was decorated with silk flowers arranged in empty Orangina bottles. The menu was one laminated page, written in both Italian and misspelled English, and it was all pasta.

  None of them had a lot of cash, so they ordered three of the same dish, ziti with tomato sauce, the simplest, least expensive pasta on the menu. Elsa added something on at the end, pointing at a different section of the menu and giving the waiter a huge smile.

  “We’re celebrating,” she said, passing the menus over.

  The waiter brought over two carafes of red wine and three glasses and a basket of chewy, dark-crusted bread. Elsa poured.

  “To our escape,” she said, raising her glass.

  They all sipped the wine. It was warm going down. And once Clio got over that initial strange flavor, the total lack of sweetness, she almost thought she got what people meant when they said “woody aftertones.”

  “I think he likes us,” Elsa said, watching the waiter walk off. “This is a little bit nicer than what I think I ordered. Now. Our plan for this evening? Since we will have already annoyed the others, and by the others, I mean Clio’s father, I think we should just go out fully. Agreed?”

  “I agree,” Clio said.

  They clinked glasses on it.

  Aidan said nothing. He just leaned back in his plastic chair, his hair flopping over his piercing eyes. He picked out a bug that had flown into his glass and drowned.

  “Here,” Clio said, retrieving her com and putting it in Elsa’s purse. “I don’t want to hear it when he starts calling for Number Five.”

  “Exactly,” Elsa said, dropping her arm over Clio’s shoulders. “That’s better.”

  In no time at all, they were presented with three massive plates. Even though the pasta was simple, it managed to be the best Clio had ever had. It was very fresh and just a little spicy, with big pieces of basil. The pasta was chewy and perfect, and the whole thing was steaming hot, as if it had just been snatched off some grandmother’s stove.

  “You’re not being very smart,” Elsa said, toying with her pasta and looking over at Aidan. Aidan had already cleaned a quarter of his plate before they had really even started.

  “Why’s that?” he asked, his mouth full.

  “Because you’re sitting here at a table with two girls, two rather attractive girls…”

  How did Elsa do that? Clio wondered. How did she just come out with that and not have it sound conceited? That was definitely a superpower.

  “…and you’re doing absolutely nothing to impress or entertain us. And we need entertainment. We’re both suffering.”

  “All right,” he said, his eyes narrowing a bit. “I’ve got a story.”

  “Let’s hear it,” Elsa said, raising her glass.

  “I used to be a ballet dancer.”

  Elsa’s glass landed back on the table, and she let out a bright, loud laugh.

  “You’re lying,” Clio said, feeling herself crack a smile.

  “This is one hundred percent true,” he said. “When I was a kid, we had an insane neighbor named Mrs. Chemonsky who started a dance studio in her basement. She used to come over and have coffee with my parents all the time. She was one of those people who no one really wants to have over, yet you can’t seem to stop her. No one could say no to her because she’d just push and push and push. She ran everything in my neighborhood. So, she kept complaining to my parents about how she didn’t have any boys, and how dancing really was a masculine thing to do, and how she really wished more parents were enlightened about it, and why didn’t I come over and be in the class? She completely wore my parents down, and I ended up going there two times a week.”

  “In tights?” Elsa asked. “Please tell me there were tights. Please describe them fully.”

  “Oh yes,” he said, reaching for more wine. “There were tights. They were green.”

  “And they had feet?” Elsa asked. “Full-length tights?”

  “They had little green feet,” he said. “It did really good things for my self-esteem.”

  The vision of Aidan in green tights cheered Clio up a lot. The more she pictured it, the more she realized that it probably wouldn’t be too bad a sight. He had really dense legs, with muscles.

  “It was only supposed to be for a little while,” he went on, “but we couldn’t stop, or Mrs. Chemonsky would come over and hound my mother. And my mother really hated being hounded by Mrs. Chemonsky, so I stayed in there for three entire years. I was in high school when I finally got out of it. You do not want to know what would have happened to me if the people in my high school found out I was in ballet class. I’m from Florida. You do not do ballet in Florida if you’re a guy.”

  “So you can dance?” Elsa said. “And you’re going to show us, right?”

  “I can’t dance at all,” he said. “My dancing ability is zero. All I really did was lift. That’s what guys in ballet do—they lift girls. I did a lot of girl-lifting.”

  “Not bad for you,” Elsa said.

  “You’d think so,” he said, getting more animated. “Right? But that’s totally not the case. First of all, no serious dancers went to Mrs. Chemonsky’s. It was mostly little girls. Little girls and me. It was okay when I was, like, thirteen and the girls were ten. But when I was fifteen and the girls were ten…then it was starting to get creepy. The whole thing only ever paid off in my Yale interview, when they asked me what my hobbies were. Not too many ballet dancers in the engineering department.”

  “Well, that settles it,” Elsa said. “We’re going dancing after this, and you’re lifting us. We need to experience this very special skill of yours.”

  “If you want,” he said with a shrug. “It’s up to you. If you want to be lifted, I’ll lift you.”

  “Oh yes,” Elsa said, refilling all the glasses. “There will be lifting.”

  Clio realized that she hadn’t spoken through any of this. It was all Elsa lifting and carrying the conversation, twirling around with it.

  “Sure,” Clio said. “Pick me up.”

  Aidan tipped his head in concession, his green eyes lit up for once.

  “You want me to pick you up, I guess I can’t refuse.”

  Now that she’d heard her own words said back to her, Clio realized her mistake. But he had gone with it, and strangely…she liked it. For the first time this whole summer, she really felt like she was part of a group, a group she wanted to be in.

  When dinner was over and they’d cob
bled together what money they had for the bill, Elsa hooked each of them by the arm and started off down the cobbled street, walking a slightly uneven walk. Clio couldn’t tell if it was Elsa’s high shoes on the stones or the wine…but she was definitely leaning on Aidan’s side. This threw Clio off balance. But that might have been the wine too.

  “Now,” Elsa said, “here’s what happens. We find a place where Clio can make her call. And then you and I…”

  This was to Aidan.

  “…find a place to dance. You have a promise to keep.”

  Clio chose not to lean over and look at Aidan’s reaction. She was suddenly a little less anxious to make the call. This made no sense—this was all she had wanted for more than a week. Yet the moment was here, and she found herself wanting to say that she would just go on with them, that they would look for a place to dance together.

  Between a newspaper stand and a store full of shapeless clothes and table linens was a grubby little shop advertising phone and Internet access.

  “Here we are,” Elsa said, releasing Clio. “We’ll be back for you in half an hour or so. Is that okay?”

  “It’s fine,” Clio said. She didn’t want them to go and leave her in this store. But obviously, this was where she was supposed to be.

  There were two dusty coin-operated computers in the window and, in the corner, one much-used tan phone with a flat handset. Clio purchased a ten-euro phone card from the man behind the counter, who was watching a soccer game on a small television and smoking a cigarette.

  The first thing she did was dial her mother’s cell phone, but there was no answer. She quickly did the math—six hours’ difference to home, one more to Kansas. It was around lunchtime in Kansas, and her mother was probably stuck in some corner of the studio. Clio left a message, trying her best to express that it hadn’t been her idea not to call for more than a week. When she hung up, she still had plenty of credit on the card.

  And now, Ollie. She had two options: she could buy some credit and sit down at one of the busted-up computers, or she could use the card in her hand and simply call him.

  She pushed the card into the space between her two front teeth and bit down in thought. Now that she finally had her chance, she was flooded with doubt. Would it be too weird to call Ollie from Italy? How did she explain that and not make it look like she was obsessed with him? “Hi, I was just walking around Italy and thought I should call…because I’m completely insane.”

  Then again, he might really like that. She would need an excuse, though. She could ask if India Blue #7 had come in. They were always out of that ink. It was a stretch, but she felt like she could pull it off. She would make it sound like she had been working on a picture and really needed that ink and would ask him to set it aside. Then she’d work up the nerve to say she’d been thinking about him.

  It wasn’t bad, actually. Kooky, yet it made her look dedicated to her work.

  Before she could think about it anymore, she reentered the code on the card and started dialing. One ring. Two rings. Three…

  Three normally meant that the call wasn’t going to be answered. She was preparing herself to leave a message when the call was answered by a strange voice.

  “Hi!” Clio said. “Ollie? It’s me!”

  “Who’s this?” a girl said.

  Clio stopped speaking and dug her finger into a thick layer of dust next to the phone.

  “Is this Ollie Myers’s number?” she asked.

  “Yes,” said the female voice. “Who’s this?”

  “This is Clio.”

  “He’s not here right now, Clio,” said the girl. She didn’t sound mad or curious. Very matter-of-fact. The voice was vaguely familiar. Clio had definitely heard it before, but she couldn’t place it. It had to be someone from the store.

  Her mind immediately leapt to the new girl in the silver mesh shirt. Janine.

  “Oh,” Clio said. “The thing is, I’m in Italy, and—”

  “Did you just say you’re in Italy?” the girl said. Now the voice was taking on a strange tone.

  “Just…can you tell him I called?” she said. “I’ll try…I’ll try some other time. Thanks. I have to go.”

  She clapped the phone down. The gray-and-black display showed how much time had elapsed. Four minutes. She had been here for four minutes. The big moment had been squashed like a little bug.

  Clio stood there and considered calling someone else. She could call Jackson. But if Jackson wasn’t home either, then she would feel truly doomed. So she went and waited outside, in the hopes that Elsa and Aidan would come back for her early.

  They were late. Five minutes late. And the one thing Clio learned in that time is that if you are a girl sitting by yourself for a full half hour in Italy, people will look at you. The dark was descending, making all the pastel-colored buildings on the street simply look gray.

  It was either the wine or that phone call, but her head was whirling. She went through every female voice she had stored in her mind and tried to make a match but couldn’t come up with anything. She tried to imagine why someone might just have Ollie’s phone. Maybe he’d left it lying around in the store. And it wasn’t like if you were seeing someone you would give them your phone. No. Clearly, it was just a fluke.

  She tried to convince herself of this fact as she sat there, but it didn’t really take. Her stomach started to hurt—maybe it was the ziti. Maybe none of this had been such a good idea.

  “I thought you’d still be on the phone!” Elsa said, hurrying over, dragging Aidan by the hand. “Come on! We found the best place. You won’t believe it.”

  Clio found herself staring at their locked hands. This was definitely something Elsa just did, but it also seemed like they might be…together. Elsa wanted that, clearly. But Aidan still had that slightly aloof expression, like he was above whatever might be going on with them.

  “It’s very classy,” he said dryly.

  She wasn’t in the mood for his snarkiness right now, so she ignored this and took the other hand that Elsa offered her. She let Elsa drag her down the street in a daze. Nothing made sense. In her head she kept hearing the voice on the phone, saying, “Who’s this?”

  Eurotrash Springs Eternal

  The club was called Fez. They had to walk down a narrow stairwell lit by brass lamps with multicolored plastic panes to get to it. It smelled lightly of day-old beer, cigarettes, and plastic—like the inside of a mask from a Halloween costume. A man at the bottom of the steps demanded five euros each before they could go inside. He stamped their hands with a neon green image of a camel.

  Clio had never been to a real club before. She was expecting lots of tiny people in tiny dresses, barely able to support the weight of the cosmo glasses in their hands. This wasn’t what she got.

  There were maybe two dozen people in the club, and it was completely clear to Clio that every single one of them was a tourist. In the center of the room was a dance floor made of multicolored squares that lit up at random. No one went anywhere near it. To give the club the Moroccan theme that its name promised, there were massive frondy plants all over the place.

  The club made up for the lack of people and activity by being very dark and very loud. It was currently blasting some dance song that Clio had never heard before. This was something she remembered from her previous travels—anonymous dance music was one of Europe’s bountiful natural resources.

  It was too loud to say much. Elsa signaled that it was time to go over and get some drinks. There wasn’t really anything else to do, so Clio followed along. Elsa shouted something to the bartender, and three bottles of Italian beer appeared. Clio went into her wallet to get some money and was shocked to find just how little she had now. She had seen herself spending it, yet it didn’t seem possible that her hundred euros had so quickly dwindled to eight. It immediately became two.

  They drank the beers quickly and silently, looking around and making eyebrow conversation with each other about the lack of movemen
t. Clio tried desperately not to think about the conversation she had just had and let it ruin her night. She felt the beer filling her with a numb buzz.

  Elsa bounced a bit as she drank, piling her hair on top of her head with one hand and letting it fall down. She reached over and did the same to Clio, who had much more hair. It tumbled over her face and shoulders. Then she ruffled Aidan’s hair. For some reason, this gave Clio another uncomfortable pang. The night was starting to feel out of her control.

  “What’s wrong?” Elsa said, as quietly as she could. “You have a funny look on your face.”

  “Nothing,” Clio said, unable to meet her eyes.

  Elsa bobbed her head in a deep nod to the music and ruffled Clio’s hair some more.

  The volume lowered a little as the tracks changed and a new beat took over.

  “Time for our dance,” Elsa said. “Mind if I go first?”

  Elsa put down her mostly empty beer and pulled Aidan off his stool. Obviously, the dance floor was there for whoever had the courage to take it. Clio stood on the edge and watched as Elsa made Aidan demonstrate his technique. He really couldn’t dance, at least he didn’t even try, but he picked her up over and over. Elsa did her part laughing, putting in leaps and spins. She gave Clio the occasional wave or made a “watch this!” gesture. Aidan occasionally shot her a quick glance as he was setting Elsa down. The more times they did this, the closer they got to each other, the longer he held her—and the less he looked over.

  And here was Clio, drinking the rest of Elsa’s beer now, still wondering who that had been on the phone…the phone of someone who wasn’t even her boyfriend. Someone she had no right to be jealous about. Someone who wasn’t hers.

  All the joy from before, all the feelings of being in a group, of being happy…it drained away, disappearing into the spaces between the gaudily lit squares. Something was deeply wrong with her. She finished Elsa’s beer and watched as Elsa leaned over and said something to Aidan. She came over to Clio.

  “Your turn,” she said.

  Aidan stood, his arms extended, patiently waiting for his next partner. He wasn’t smiling or smirking. His expression was strangely flat. Maybe he didn’t want to dance with her. This was too much.