“Girls,” Dad added gruffly as he shuffled by us and into Aunt Lucy and Uncle Russell’s ultimate “great room” themed house. There were no doors, only partial walls that crisscrossed each other giving you the illusion of privacy.
“Well, he’s in a fine mood,” Summer whispered behind her hand, but I’m certain he had heard her.
“Summer, why don’t you let CeeCee actually enter the house,” Autumn stated matter-of-factly over her shoulder, as she followed behind Dad. I liked Autumn and her brusque ways.
“I am. Sheez.” She slapped the door closed and looped her arm through mine like we were the best of friends. “It’s been forever. I can’t remember the last time we saw you.”
“Last week at school,” I answered, which didn’t seem all that long ago to me.
“Welcome, Peter,” I heard Uncle Russell say to my dad. “Would you like to join me out on the back porch while I fire up the grill?”
“Russell, Peter does not want to sit out there in the cold and smoke,” Aunt Lucy chastised before saying, “Hello, Peter.”
I rounded the corner in time to see the half-hearted hug my dad reciprocated to his sister’s embrace.
“Sure he does,” Russell answered, his ill-matching outfit enhanced by the dark socks sticking out of his sandals. Dad remained quiet. “Otherwise he’ll have to listen to all of you ladies prattle on about who knows what.”
“I’ll join you, Russell,” Dad answered, putting his hand on Russell’s shoulder, allowing him to lead him out to the deck.
My aunt walked over and gave me a hug. “How are you, my dear?”
“Fine.” My tone was flat, but so was my mood.
“That’s it? Just fine?” She held my shoulders and bent down to look directly in my eyes.
“It’s been a long day. So yes, ‘just fine’ about sums it up.”
She hesitated a moment longer, an uncertainty crossing over her eyes before she said, “I’m almost done in the kitchen and then I will come join you girls.”
“Do you need any help?” I asked, hoping to avoid a painful dose of Summer’s vomit of the mouth.
“No, no. I’m about done. You sit and enjoy yourself.” She walked back to the kitchen, which was only separated from the room by a breakfast bar with four stools sitting in front of it.
I dropped down on the couch and Summer pounced down next to me. Autumn was already curled up in an oversized chair with her nose in a book.
“So,” Summer hummed with a gleam in her eye. “Who is he?”
“Who’s who?” I asked, having no idea what she was talking about.
“The guy? The dark haired guy?”
The tempo of my heart picked up. She couldn’t know. There’s no way she could know. “What dark haired guy are you talking about?” I asked again, trying to play it cool, praying none of this conversation was floating out of the room. “There are so many, after all.”
“Summer, lay off,” Autumn said from behind her book. “If she wants you to know, she’ll tell you.”
Ignoring her sister, Summer went on. “Natalie McDonald said she saw you hanging out with some dark haired guy she didn’t recognize down at Point Robinson Lighthouse.”
How did I not see Natalie? I don’t remember seeing anyone. I hate small towns and small islands. My mind was spinning for a plausible answer to divert Summer from her current track of thinking. “Oh, him,” I said as casually as I could make my voice sound. “He was some photography student asking about other parks on the island.”
“Does he go to Vashon High?” she probed relentlessly, her eyes hoping for something juicy.
“No,” I said, glancing up at Autumn, whose attention was caught by something behind me. “He’s a student over in Seattle.”
“Who’s a student in Seattle?” Aunt Lucy’s voice floated by. I turned my head, cringing inside.
“A photography student that CeeCee was hanging out with last weekend at Point Robinson Lighthouse,” Summer graciously answered.
“I wasn’t hanging out with him,” trying to clarify over the heavy pounding in my chest. “He just came up to me and asked for directions.”
“Mmm,” Aunt Lucy breathed before saying, “Girls, could you please finish setting the table? Dinner is almost ready.”
“I can help,” I said, standing up.
“No, they can take care of it.” She gestured for me to sit back down next to her on the couch.
“A Seattle student?” she asked, resting her arm on the back of the coach. “Anyone you might dress up for to do homework with?”
“I really don’t know him.” I stared off, unable to look her in the eyes. “Summer jumped to the wrong conclusion. I ran into him while I was down at the park and he asked about other places to shoot photos of long, dark shadows.”
She placed her fingers under my chin and lifted until her intense gaze held mine. “If there was someone you were dressing up for, you could tell me,” she said gently. “I know I’m not Gretta, but I’m pretty good at boy talk.”
“There’s no one.” The first of my words that weren’t a lie.
“Dinner is off the grill,” Uncle Russell bellowed from the kitchen. I worked hard to contain my sigh of relief.
I was about to stand, when Aunt Lucy said, “The girls and I are planning a trip into the city on Sunday. Would you have any interest in joining us?”
My brain hurt. I couldn’t come up with an excuse fast enough to get out of going. “Okay.”
“Wonderful.” She wrapped her arm around my shoulder and led me toward the kitchen. “We’ll be glad to have your company.”
“Too much?” Grace asked turning back and forth in front of her mirror, admiring the fifth top she’d tried on. Currently, a blue silk blouse over a mini-skirt.
“I thought this was a casual Homecoming dance?” I questioned, looking down at my jeans and t-shirt. “Are you really going to wear silk to a football game? It’s supposed to rain tonight.”
“Hey, girlfriend, don’t go ‘disn’ on my attempt to bring a little style to this desolate place.” She turned around, her hand landing on her hip, as she gave me a once over. “You could at least pretend you’re the tiniest bit excited. You’ve put about as much effort into that outfit as your cousin is putting into her daily appearance these days. Maybe it’s in the blood.”
“Who, Summer?” I asked.
I hadn’t seen either one since our painful afternoon in Seattle. I’d spent the entire time looking over my shoulder, expecting Quentin to appear out of nowhere. But he didn’t. And he hasn’t. Not since he showed up three weeks ago and sent deafening waves through the quiet at our house. Twenty-one days of Dad’s sudden need to know where I’m going and whom I’ll be with. Never asking the question he really wants the answer to — but it doesn’t matter. I haven’t seen him.
“No, the other one,” Grace replied as she returned to her closet for another round. “Unless the Rasta look is what she’s going for, because that unwashed hair of hers will be dreads soon.”
I was trying to picture Autumn on our trip to Seattle. She was quieter than her usual brooding self, but I was so focused on what might be behind me, I couldn’t for the life of me remember if she looked more sullen than usual. “When did you see her?”
“How do you not see their beacons of red hair roaming the halls?” She moved back to the mirror and held a black sweater up in front of her. “Too bad you got the watered down version.”
I grabbed my watered down mess of kinks and attempted to knot it together on the back of my head. “Well, thanks for that.”
“Your strawberry blond locks aren’t awful, they’re just no match against the ebony goodness,” she boasted, swooshing her hand around her black afro.
My hair came cascading down as I pushed myself up off the floor. “Can we please go and get this over with?”
“Girlfriend, you know you’re going to enjoy yourself even if it kills you.”
“It just might.”
“This
is not good,” Grace said, looking up at the black clouds filling the sky. She pulled her car into the school parking lot, but it was jammed. With nothing else to do in town, every breathing soul had descended on Vashon High in hopes of some Homecoming magic.
“I did mention it was going to rain tonight.” I knew I was being a smart-ass, but it felt good to flip a little back her way. She backtracked to the street and worked on her parallel parking skills.
“Damn.” Attempt number one failed. “Don’t go getting all righteous on me. At least I try to elevate the standards around here.” She managed to squeeze into a much larger spot with her second attempt.
I stepped out of the car, inhaling deeply, the cool autumn air tingling through my nose. “We’ll see how elevated you feel in that mini-skirt after the game.”
She sashayed around the car ending in a catwalk pose. “But, sister, I look good.”
I shook my head, unable to engage any further in the inane conversation. We cut across the grass and joined the flow of bodies making their way to the football field in back.
“Do you plan on telling me what’s eating at you, or should I try and guess?” she asked. “You’ve been hovering in funk land for over a month.”
“I don’t know.” I shoved my hands deep in my pockets, unsure of where I would start or how I could possibly explain something I didn’t understand. Maybe I should just tell her. Speak it out loud. Test the absurdness on someone else. “I’ve been having these strange . . .”
“Seriously!” Grace interrupted me once the packed stands came into view. “The good folks of Vashon really need to get a life. How are we expected to find any students?”
I dropped my chin and mouth behind the folds of my scarf, the sharing moment having come and gone. “Text Dylan.”
She whipped out her phone, her fingers flying over the buttons. His reply was instantaneous.
“This way,” she said before remembering our previous conversation. “What were you saying?”
“Um, nothing,” I said over the noise of the crowd as we headed up the south side of the bleachers to where Dylan and Avery were already sitting.
Dylan flagged us down as we got close. “Good thing you two got here when you did,” he said, scooting over as I squeezed in next to him.
“These extra bodies are encroaching on our space,” Grace snapped, her bare legs already pumping up and down in the cold.
“No kidding.” Dylan took notice of the quake Grace was causing to our bench. “Didn’t you say African Americans melt in the rain?”
“You. Did. Not!” Grace shot back indignantly. “You did not just call me that. My skin is black, through and through, and I have never once touched a toe to the continent of Africa.”
Nonplussed by Grace’s outrage, Dylan said, “But you do melt, right?” He glanced down at me and winked. I kept my smirk safely lodged in my scarf.
“Only if directly rained on.” Her tone haughty.
“Good thing for you I found seats undercover.”
“Yes, it was a good thing.”
The crowd erupted onto their feet, stomping and cheering as the Vashon Pirates ran their way onto the field. I was not in a cheerleader kind of mood. My stomach was soured by the realization I was completely alone. In a sea of shivering people gathered under the bright field lights, I was the odd one out. The anomaly.
This was going to be a long game.
“Come on,” Avery said as she leaned over and pulled me up. “You better at least pretend like you’re cheering them on or you might incite a riot.” She rolled her eyes over to Grace who was scanning the field, most likely searching for Sean’s number eight jersey.
The game was close. Painfully close, leading to overtime. When it was all said and done, the Pirates were able to squeak by with a Homecoming victory, and we could finally leave.
“Is everyone still going to the dance?” Grace asked through her chattering teeth as we headed down and out of the bleachers.
“No, I want to go home.” It wasn’t a lie, but the question was stupid. She knew we were all going to the dance. She practically forced it upon us.
“Too bad, since I’m your ride and you will be staying ‘til the bitter end.”
I pounded my fist to my chest, pained by the torture.
Dylan bent over, his warm breath filling my ear. “Don’t worry, Vanderbie. If you want out early, I’ll take you home.”
I smiled at him, breathing a sigh of relief even though I knew he had ulterior motives. “Thanks.”
Righting himself, he raised his voice and said to Grace, “I told Sean we’d meet him in the concession area by the gym.”
Grace jumped down off the last step and into the rain, forgetting that she might melt. “He’s coming with us?”
I knew this was a surprise to her, the rumor of Chelsey still floating around her thick skull.
“Yeah,” he answered, not realizing the impact of the information he’d just delivered. Grace looped her arm through mine, her lightened steps evidence that her mood had been elevated considerably. Maybe it would rub off.
We jostled our way through the bodies exiting the stadium, the atmosphere a mini-stampede. Avery called out from somewhere behind me, “Wait!”
I turned and reached my hand out to her, and I saw him, directly behind Avery. The guy who had been with Evelyn the night of Picasso. Our eyes locked, sending a jolt of electricity through my system. What was his name? Franklin? Fredrick? Felix. Avery grabbed my hand, obscuring my view. I shifted right and scanned the area behind her, but he wasn’t there. Nothing. I spun every which way, praying my imagination was not working against me.
“Thanks,” Avery panted as she sidled up next to me, grabbing hold of my arm. “I thought I was going to lose you guys.”
“We wouldn’t ditch ya, girlfriend,” Grace chipped as she grabbed her other arm and we broke free from the crowd, my tired body wrestling with my slipping mind.
The concession area outside the gym was packed. Semi-wet students lined up to hand money over to someone’s mom so we could step into the gym. A place we were required to be in every other day of the week. The noise in the small area was grating, fraying my already frazzled nerves.
“Hey, hey, hey,” Sean yelled, strutting his way over to us. “Now tell me that wasn’t a game.”
“Something like that.” Grace was downplaying. Obviously so. “Now let’s see what kind of stamina you really have. I vote you pass out after the first dance.”
“I’ll take that bet.” He grabbed her hand and bee-lined for the door.
“I guess we’re going in now,” Dylan noted as we sheep followed suit.
I braced myself for the mayhem I could hear oozing out the door. “So it seems.”
We moved in strobe light motion through the gym. The humid air hung heavily, forcing my lungs to work twice as hard. A mass of bodies were already bending and swaying to the high-pitched wails coming from the speakers.
“Come on,” Grace yelled after we ditched our coats, motioning to the dance floor.
I was too tired to argue. We followed her and Sean, right into the middle of the ever-shifting amoeba. Dancing. Song after song. The sound waves bouncing off us. Sweat dripped like it was raining inside.
The physical release of the dancing felt freeing, the strobe light flashing like a camera, swaying us in slow motion. I closed my eyes and wallowed in the temporary relief of the noise. The grating sound filled every crevice inside of me, leaving no room for thought or memory. The light penetrated through my closed eyes. Flash after flash after flash, until they hit.
Tingles.
Painfully surging.
Up my neck.
Over my head.
Releasing a relentless flow of brilliant color before merging into a rerun of frightful images. I spun — my body, my mind — as I tried to catch the racing scene.
It was the dock.
The small wooden boat thrashed in the water, no longer anchored to the shore. A silhouette
clung to the edges, trying not to be thrown as the water battered down the sides.
My arms shot out, trying to balance my leaden body through the frenzy of images. The light continued to strobe under my eyelids, turning the scene into a slow motion nightmare while the blaring music taxed my already strained senses.
My stamina was peaking. I worked to shake free from the images, but darkness surged in and dropped me to the ground. Toes and heels were everywhere. Kicking. Jabbing. Inflicting unabating pain up the side of my body.
Unable to lift myself up, I curled my body in on itself, crossing my arms tightly over my face. Time stretched on, unstoppable, before I felt hands grab hold of me and pull me up from the darkness. Dylan and Sean stood on either side, holding me steady.
“What happened? Are you okay?” Dylan asked, puzzlement ringing in his voice as he shouted above the music.
“I slipped,” I choked out, trying to contain the pain and fear building inside of me.
“Do you want to sit one out?” Grace asked, but I knew she didn’t want to relinquish her time on the dance floor with Sean.
“Or do you want to go home?” Dylan blessedly asked.
“Yes. Please. Will you take me home?” I held tight to the dam that threatened to break inside me. It happened. Again. And he wasn’t here.
“Sure.”
I walked out of the gym as normally as possible. Searing pain shot up my legs and lower back, screaming out — reminding me of just how normal I wasn’t.
“Wait,” Grace yelled, running after us. I turned and waited. “You’re really leaving? Are you sure? Do you want me to drive you home?”
“Don’t worry about it,” my strained voice tried to assure her. I could tell by the look in her eye she was suspicious, but Sean waiting for her to return was working in my favor. “I’m just tired. Enjoy. I’ll call you in the morning.”
She bent over and hugged me, the squeeze inflaming my bruised body.
We quietly walked through the rain to Dylan’s old Honda before he asked, “Tired?”
I carefully lowered myself into the passenger seat. “Yeah, I guess.”
Art is the Lie (A Vanderbie Novel) Page 7
