Intrinsical

by Lani Woodland

  It didn’t make a difference. I had almost given up hope when I felt strong hands grab me under my arms. I opened my eyes and saw Brent next to me, the water now bright and clear again. My frantic swimming strokes subsided as he pulled me to the surface, where I took in a huge breath of air.

  “You looked like you freaked out there for a second. Are you okay?” Brent asked, concerned.

  Still panting for air, I nodded. Carefully, as if helping a child, he lifted me to the safety of the ladder and I pulled myself up and sat right on the edge of the pool with my feet dangling in. I was trembling soul deep, shaken by my underwater experience; it reminded me starkly of my nightmare. Gripping the edge of the pool, I hung my head and breathed deeply, fighting to stave off the panic that threatened to resurface at this realization.

  “I should apologize but I won’t because I’m not sorry in the least, Yara,” Brent admitted with a half-checked smirk as he treaded water in front of me.

  “I gathered that,” I said with a weak grin.

  He smiled widely, making whatever anxiety I had completely vanish. I noticed Cherie watching me. She raised an eyebrow that wordlessly asked if I wanted her to come over. I shook my head slightly and she nodded in understanding. The truth was I now felt fine, only slightly foolish for overreacting. I was lost in my thoughts when Brent splashed me.

  “Hey! I wouldn’t push your luck.” I wagged my finger at him in warning.

  “What? You’re already drenched!”

  “It’s the principle of the matter.” I laughed, kicking my feet to splash his face.

  “Oh! Is that how we’re playing it?” With that he grabbed my leg and pulled me back in, dunking me under the water. I peeked into the depths of the pool to make sure my imagination wasn’t playing tricks on me again. It wasn’t; the sun dappled brightly through the clear water. Brent’s chiseled calves kicked in front of me and I playfully grabbed his ankle, pulling hard enough to submerge him as I resurfaced with an evil laugh. I was about to make my getaway when his strong hands caught my waist, sliding his arms around me and holding me tight. Part of me wanted to enjoy the warmth that flooded through my body by being in his embrace, but I didn’t want this to be too easy for him. Instead, I elbowed him softly enough not to hurt, but hard enough to surprise him, so I could make my escape.

  “Not so fast!” He reached for me and missed.

  Then reality sounded through the air like a steam engine’s whistle as it pulls into the station— only in our case, it was the whistle being blown by Brent’s instructor. “Brent! Break’s over,” he called from the water’s edge.

  “Yes, sir.” He swam to the side and climbed up the ladder before asking, “See you tonight at the dance?”

  I glanced at him over my shoulder with my best coquettish smile, and called, “Maybe.”

  I didn’t get to notice his reaction or his reply because I submerged myself, totally overjoyed that he had brought up the dance. If I needed proof that Brent was into me, I now had it; that was definitely flirting.

  When I resurfaced, Cherie and Steve were standing by our lounge chairs. I walked over to them, ringing out my wet sarong.

  “We’re going to go for a walk. Want to come?” Steve asked a bit too politely.

  I didn’t want to feel like a third wheel, so I shook my head. “I think I’ll go home and shower. You guys have fun.”

  I made my way to my dorm, while sweat mingled with the chlorinated water dripping from my body. Thoughts I had been trying to keep at bay while with Brent refused to shrink back to the recesses of my mind. First I had seen a cloud of mist trying to strangle someone, then the pool turned my reoccurring nightmare into a near reality. With both of those happening within twenty-four hours of my arrival, I was beginning to seriously question my decision to come here. Maybe I should have listened when my grandma tried to persuade me not to enroll at Pendrell. I had a feeling that the past I was trying to put behind me wasn’t going to go quietly.

  Chapter 2

  After a thorough scrubbing, I stepped out of the shower still sopping wet. I pulled my terrycloth robe around me and shuffled contentedly to my room. Cherie still wasn’t back. Though a mirror image, her side of the room couldn’t have been more different from mine. Discarded swimsuits and accessories were strewn across her unmade bed and makeup littered her desktop. Clothes hung out of the open drawers of her dresser, and her closet couldn’t quite close because of the pile of shoes in the way. Her walls were covered with posters of indie bands that I had only heard of because of her. My bed was tight enough to bounce a quarter off of it, my books and CDs arranged alphabetically, and my clothes organized by color. A corkboard with carefully arranged snapshots and reminder notes hung above my bed.

  Drips of water puddled onto the cheap, tight-knit carpet as I combed out my tangled hair. The fading light of day tumbled through our lone window, diffusing our room with golden hues. Once my hair was snarl-free, I leaned on the small ledge of the window, watching a game of flag football below. Something moved behind me. I spun around, finding nothing; the room was perfectly still, like it was holding its breath. My eyes were drawn to the carpet near the door, where the individual water droplets from my hair were pooling together, forming a single unit, creating a recognizable shape. A footprint. A second, then a third footprint appeared, and only clamping my lips closed kept the shriek tunneling up my throat from escaping. Someone or something was walking across the room toward me.

  The temperature in the room plummeted, and I pulled my robe tightly around me, my breath forming a frosty mist. That’s when the smell caught my attention. Chlorine. The room reeked of it so strongly my eyes watered, its chemical taste basting my tongue. I wiped the tears with my sweaty palms, swallowing shallowly.

  My heart pounded a warning in my chest and the blood drained from my face as the room grew dimmer. Feeling unsteady on my feet, I took a step back and leaned against the window, pressing my bare hand against the glass. Its arctic cold almost burned my skin. The scream I had been repressing made its way out in the form of a whimper and I fell against my desk, my hand skidding across my jewelry box and pencil sharpener. The door swung open, and I twisted toward it just as Cherie floated into the room. She sat down on her bed with a dazed, dreamy look on her face.

  I glanced at the carpet and found the floor dry and the footprints gone. The light had returned to normal, the chlorine smelled had vanished, and even my hand didn’t hurt anymore. Everything was completely normal. Everything but me. Pulling my robe even tighter around me, I dropped into my desk chair, my leg shaking.

  I couldn’t deny it; that was definitely a spirit. My second encounter with a ghost. No one had warned me it would be so terrifying. I was on the verge of telling Cherie everything when my hand traced the scar above my left eye. I’d gotten it in second grade, courtesy of a rock thrown by a classmate who insisted Vovó, my grandma hadn’t seen his mother’s spirit. It had been the first in a long line of similar encounters, but it was the only one that had left a physical scar. As for emotional scars, there were too many to count.

  I knew Cherie would believe me, but still I hesitated. Everything hinged on this choice, whether or not to admit I could see ghosts like Vovó. Names I’d heard her called still echoed in my ears: crazy, witch, insane. So did all the useless arguments I had used to defend her, until one day I finally stopped, realizing they never fixed anything.

  In Brazil, her gift of seeing and talking to ghosts was accepted-appreciated, even. There, she was a respected woman, revered for her knowledge of herbs and spirit lore. But here in the United States, in my neighborhood, she had become a community joke. She stayed with us every summer and each time I had to endure the looks and insults slung at her. They didn’t bother her, but they bothered me. I didn’t want that to be my future.

  I didn’t want to be an Acordera, a Waker, someone who could communicate with ghosts. All I wanted to be was a normal sixteen year old. My fingernails dug into the palms of my hands as I stared at
the smudge of my handprint on the window’s glass, and realized

  that I could never be that now.

  Cherie looked at me for a moment. “Are you okay?”

  “No,” I admitted honestly. “Something really strange . . .” I trailed off, trying to decide if I wanted to reveal what had just happened. I still hadn’t even told her about the mist I had seen attack Brent. If I made this confession, everything would change; there would be no going back.

  “The weirdest thing . . .” I started again, but then my courage failed.

  Cherie watched expectantly, waiting for me to finish the sentence I had left hanging there like a pair of long johns on a clothesline.

  Finally, she tried to tactfully change the conversation. “Speaking of strange and weird, did you see our P.E. clothes? I’m thinking they might be the embodiment of the Pendrell Curse, like their entire purpose is to . . .”

  I nodded, not really paying attention to her, concentrating instead on my own troubled thoughts.

  “Yara, are you listening to me?” I looked at Cherie and mumbled an apology, having missed most of what she had said. “I’m eager for a ghost hunt,” Cherie said. My stomach lurched. “I have some plans to get things rolling for tomorrow. Are you game?”

  “Aren’t I always?” I asked, trying to unclench my fists. Cherie had spent time over the years talking with my grandma and had picked up what she considered to be hot tips about finding out if a place was really haunted. It has always been fun to be part of her paranormal adventures, to get swept up in her enthusiasm, but now— well, everything was different.

  “You almost look scared,” Cherie said, noting the frown on my face.

  I didn’t want to admit that I was.

  ****

  While I blow-dried and curled my hair, Cherie headed for the shower. I flipped the radio on to a jazz station and let the silky tones flood the room. Humming and scat-singing along, I slid on my favorite pair of jeans and my plum-colored silk tank top, then topped it off with my new jean jacket. After clasping on the necklace my grandma had given me before I started school, I examined myself in the mirror and grinned.

  When Cherie walked in, I was quick to change the music to a more neutral station. She grumbled under her breath about my lack of musical taste as she picked out her outfit. Once she was dressed, she spritzed herself with her favorite perfume, a mixture of rose and iris that she had worn since middle school. Cherie called it her signature scent. And truly it was. I swear, even from the grave I’d smell it and know it was her. After passing each other’s inspection, Cherie and I headed toward the dance.

  Cherie did most of the talking as we walked, which was good, because I could barely pay enough attention to respond with the appropriate uh-huhs. Already on edge, I kept feeling like I was being watched, maybe even followed. There were no sounds of footsteps, no movement around me that didn’t belong, at least not that I could see. And yet the prickling on my neck made me paranoid. I kept checking over my shoulder and knew I wasn’t imagining the way the light bent and darkened on the path behind me.

  The wind carried the smell of chlorine past me and I froze, grabbing Cherie’s hand for support. “Do you smell that?”

  “What?” Cherie asked, sniffing the air.

  “Chlorine?”

  Cherie shook her head and I dropped her hand, not sure if I was relieved or worried.

  The Victorian lamppost above poured light around us and I reached out my hand, letting my fingers bump across its ribbed post.

  I tried to sound casual as I asked, “Do you feel like we’re being followed?”

  She glanced behind her. “No. Do you?”

  I resisted the urge to lie. “Yeah . . . maybe.”

  “I don’t see anything.” Cherie shifted her weight and began tapping her foot. “I know something’s up. What is it?”

  “Would you still be my friend if I turned into my grandma?” I bit my lip, not able to look at her. I tried to picture myself living like Vovó, walking through forests scouring for herbs, speaking with spirits no one else could see, delivering messages from beyond the grave. I shuddered.

  Cherie’s eyes sparkled as she stepped closer to me. “What happened?”

  Not ready to have this discussion, I backpedaled. “Nothing happened. I was just wondering.”

  Cherie snorted. “I’m letting this slide for now. But I’m warning you, we are finishing this conversation.”

  “Okay,” I agreed, knowing I really didn’t have a choice.

  * * * *

  As we passed under a banner welcoming us to the Back to School Dance, a spinning globe of flashing colored lights drew our eyes upward to the ceiling covered with blue and white balloons.

  “Great turn out,” I yelled over the music as we pushed our way through the throngs of people.

  “I know,” Cherie said, practically shouting. She grabbed my hand and led me into the middle of the fray. A sort of frantic, contagious energy was pulsing from the dance floor and Cherie and I were swept up in it.

  When the pace of the music slowed, I almost groaned in protest before heading to the back wall, or as I called it, “Loser Row.” But Cherie nudged me, and my head shot up, following her nod toward the entrance. Brent was weaving his way across the dance floor toward us. His brown eyes were focused on me and shining in what I hoped was anticipation.

  “Wanna dance?” He asked.

  “I guess you’ll do. All the cute guys are already taken,” I answered with a grin.

  “You wound me with your callousness,” he sighed dramatically, taking me in his arms.

  “I do have a black belt in demolishing overstuffed egos.”

  He laughed as he tugged me closer, his hands firm on my waist.

  I fought back a smile, my fingers playing with the hair curled at the base of his neck. “So how did you end up at Pendrell?”

  “Family school. Grandpa, my dad, my brother all went here.”

  “Any of your siblings at school now?”

  Brent’s body was suddenly tense. “No, it’s just me now. Do you have any siblings?”

  “I have an older sister, Melanie, in college. And an older brother, Kevin, who died about two years ago.” I took a deep breath. “Although, technically, I’m now older than he ever was.”

  I waited for the obligatory apology but Brent didn’t offer one. Instead he locked eyes with me and said, “That’s rough.” He sucked in some air. “I’ve been through that myself. It was my brother, Neal.”

  Going through a tragedy leaves an impression on people’s souls. Once you’ve had a loss, you learn to deal with it and move on, but you carry that hurt with you always. Staring at Brent, I recognized his pain. It was so transparent, I was surprised I hadn’t noticed it before.

  “Want to talk about it?” I asked gently.

  He smirked at me. “I appreciate the offer, but I’m a guy. We don’t do that.” My nose scrunched up in confusion. “We don’t discuss our feelings.”

  “That’s a relief; I don’t want to talk about it either.”

  The corner of Brent’s lips curled into a smile that matched my own. We had stopped dancing, standing instead in each others arms in the middle of the dance floor, sharing each others heartache without words.

  I didn’t dance with Brent again, but after the evening wound down, he found me standing with Cherie and Steve and walked us back to our dorm. Brent and I strolled along a few feet apart and I let my arms swing freely by my side in case he chose to reach out and grab my hand. He didn’t.

  He cleared his throat. “Will you walk with me for a while?”

  I nodded, chewing the inside of my cheek. He reached out and took hold of my elbow, leading me away from the dorms, across campus. He stopped by the cafeteria and charmed a peach for each of us out of the cleaning lady. We ate our fruit while we walked, lessening the need to talk. The sticky fruit juice clung to my fingers and I tried to lick it away while Brent navigated us through a grove of avocado trees into a well-manicur
ed garden. In the middle of a square of lawn sat a white gazebo and an elegant fountain; flowers and shrubs lined the edges. A stone path wound its way through the grass. Strings of white lights strung from Victorian lampposts lit up the entire area, dispelling the darkness inside the ring of oak and avocado trees that lined the garden.

  “It’s beautiful.” I was stunned that such a location existed inside the wild of the groves.

  “You like it?” It was a rhetorical question, but I nodded anyway. “It’s the Headmaster’s Garden, where he entertains guests.”

  “And all Headmaster Farnsworth’s important guests hike through the grove?” I asked with a knowing grin.

  “No, the exit over there—” He pointed across from where we stood. “—leads to a private road that would take you to the guest quarters.”

  “Let me guess. We aren’t supposed to be here?”

  He laughed a quiet but nervous laugh. “Uh . . . not exactly. But we should be okay.”

  “I wasn’t worried.”

  Shyly he took hold of my hand, leading me toward the gazebo. We sat next to each other on the smooth wooden bench inside it, our fingers still intertwined. We each faced forward, but I was very aware of his strong presence beside me.

  “I wanted to thank you for yesterday.”

  “You’re welcome, but I didn’t really do anything,” I said, focusing on our hands, not daring to look at Brent.

  “But you did.”

  I didn’t know how to respond and an awkward silence spread around us. My fingers fiddled with a button on my jacket as I searched for something to say.