Julie told me that was okay. She and Mrs. Ramirez said that if I wanted to remember it all like it was a pesadiy, if I wanted to believe it was a bad nightmare, I could do that. Mrs. Ramirez said that, for now, that’s the way my mind is helping me so that I can keep on going.
So I do. Most of the time, I think of myself as a mox—a kid who never had a family. Which is fine. Lots of kids don’t have families.
Just at night, sometimes. Sometimes at night I wake up, and I forget to forget.
Anyway, that place was the best. I wish my stupid uncle had never come to pick me up.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
VIVI
BIRD JOURNAL
July 4, 2:39 A.M.
Barred owl (Strix varia)
My favorite of all the owls led us through the marsh tonight. He swooped and danced through the sky; he landed in a tall tree like he was there to bring me a message.
Physical Description: streaked belly, orange yellow bill.
Flight: heavy and direct.
Activity: not strictly nocturnal, sometimes active during the day.
Social Behavior: usually solitary.
Call: Who cooks for you? Who cooks for you?
When the barred owl asked me, “Who cooks for you?” he also told me this: All will be well.
“HEY, VIV!” TJ CALLS out to me. “Over here!”
I walk along the gravel path toward the sound of TJ and his cousins. The stones glow under the light of a full moon, and palm fronds rustle in the gentle breeze. The path widens and I see them, launching kayaks into the still water one by one, sending moonlit ripples across the lake.
I head toward TJ, awed that this is all happening—that I’m in the middle of a marsh with TJ and his family on a breathtakingly beautiful night, that they prepared and fed me and my mother the most fabulous of meals, and that now they want to be with me.
Sabrina lent me a bikini, a white tank, and some board shorts. The bikini has significantly less material than any bathing suit I’ve ever owned, and I’ve never worn board shorts before. When I went to the bathroom stall to change out of my jeans and silk top, it felt strange and exhilarating—as if I were letting go of much more than an outfit.
TJ is calling me over to his boat. He watches me walk toward him, clearly noticing that I’m not in my own clothes anymore.
“Have you been kayaking before?” For a brief moment I wonder what he thinks of me wearing his cousin’s clothes. But I don’t want to think about that.
“Yeah,” I say. “A bunch of times.”
Honestly, I don’t want to think about that, either. Everything feels too good right now—too right for me to dive into those memories of kayaking with my parents—shooting through caves in Costa Rica, gliding along the edge of Alaska’s Glacier Bay.
“Wanna drive?” he asks.
I shrug and hop into the rear seat—which is the seat of control in kayaks. He grabs the front of the kayak and starts to run, splashing through the deepening water at the edge of the lake. When the kayak gets going, TJ gracefully lifts himself out of the water and slides into the hull.
“Did you and your mom like the dinner?” he asks.
He’s smiling at me. Again.
“It was so incredibly good,” I say. “Everything!”
“I gotta say,” TJ tells me, “for a vegetarian, you really know how to throw down the steak.” His eyes gleam in the dark. “And you’re definitely not afraid of a lamb chop. I mean, gnawing on the bone—that’s a bold move.”
“Yeah, okay.” I laugh. “I admit that we are reluctant vegetarians, at best.”
The other kayaks are well ahead of us, but the raucous sounds of laughter and splashing travel across the water toward us.
“Wanna catch up?” I ask.
“Nah,” he says, looking out across the lake. “Let’s hug the shore for a while. My cousins are too damn loud.”
I steer toward the west shore of the lake. “They’re all your cousins?” I ask.
“Every last one of them,” he says. “Well, except Dougie—he belongs to Sabrina.”
“Dougie?” I ask.
“Yeah, Sabrina’s boyfriend, Doug. They’ve been together since, like, before he hit puberty. We still call him Dougie to give him shit.”
“I don’t have any family,” I say, “except my mom. I mean, we have family, but we’re not really in touch, you know?”
TJ stops paddling and looks back at me. “No,” he says, “I don’t have any idea what that’s like. Pretty much every person you saw working at that restaurant tonight is related to me.” He pauses and turns around, and we start to paddle. “And we are all there every night. Believe me. Most days I wish I had a small family—or maybe no family at all.”
I’m not sure how to respond to that, so I don’t.
I steer us toward the scrub oaks and palmettos lining the edge of the lake. We paddle in silence, weaving through the dense marsh grasses. The other boats have rounded a curve, leaving us in a stillness so profound that I can hear droplets of water lifting from my paddle every time I complete a stroke. Each one catches the pale blue light of the moon as it falls from the tip of the paddle, and when a stray drop lands on the bare skin of my thigh, it feels warm, like it’s gathered the light and heat of the sun and hoarded it for the night.
And then I hear it: “Who cooks for you? Who cooks for you?”
“Look,” TJ whispers, pointing toward the bare branch of a pine.
A barred owl stares down at us, black eyes wide, face almost glowing in the light of the moon. We both stop paddling and glide in silence, watching that owl watch us.
“What kind is it?” he whispers.
“A common barred owl,” I whisper back.
“It doesn’t look common to me,” he says.
He’s right. The owl is mesmerizing.
Who cooks for you? Who cooks for you?
As we glide past the tree where the magnificent creature is perched, he spreads his wings and takes to the air. With two graceful pumps of his wide-open wings, he shifts into a soar, swooping down in front of us. His entire body glows in the light of the moon as he dives toward the water and skims across its surface. It’s as if he’s performing just for us.
He lifts into the air and turns, swoops down once more in front of our boat, and then pumps his wings and lifts off, heading across the treetops, in the direction of the other kayaks.
“That was—” TJ starts to say something, but stops himself. We are both sitting perfectly still, the boat still gliding slowly across the surface of the lake.
“What?” I ask.
“Strange,” he says, turning to look at me. “And kind of fantastic.”
“Yeah,” I tell him. I don’t say the rest. I don’t tell him how my heart is beating more slowly now, how a calm has descended over me. I don’t tell him how I know that the owl came here to find me.
I know what the owl wants to tell me tonight. I am sure of it.
TJ could never understand that a barred owl in the middle of a swamp has made this so clear to me—clear and bright. He asked me, Who cooks for you? and I knew the answer. Tonight, I know who does. Tonight, this is where I’m meant to be. Despite all evidence to the contrary, TJ and his cousins are supposed to be here in my life tonight, and I am meant to be in this boat with TJ, taking in the gentle beauty of the marshland.
All will be well.
We paddle toward the bend in a beautiful, dense silence, until the lake narrows into a tributary.
“This way?” I ask, easing the nose of the kayak toward the left.
“Yeah,” he replies. “This will take us out to the intercostal.” He looks around and then back at me. “It’s too quiet,” he says. “They’re up to something—”
Just like that, they appear around the bend, and all hell breaks loose. It’s pandemonium, the loud splashing of paddles slamming into the water, water arcing toward us from both sides, voices yelling and laughing. I am immediately soaked entirely through. TJ’s c
ousins, their kayaks somehow protected under the trees, still laugh and call out and pummel us with water.
“Don’t just sit there!” TJ yells. “Fight back!”
If the briny water weren’t stinging my eyes, I’d have a better chance of knowing which way to direct the splash of my paddle. I lift my tank top to wipe my eyes, but it’s useless. The waves of water are still flying toward my face. So I squeeze my eyes shut, grasp my paddle, and start to fling water back at them—at least, I assume it’s moving toward them. I still can’t open my eyes.
“Race to the point!” someone calls out.
And then, just as quickly as it began, the splashing stops. I wipe my eyes one more time with the bottom of my shirt. By the time I can see, all three boats have pulled out in front of us, and everyone’s paddling like mad.
“C’mon, Viv!” TJ says. “Let’s get this started!”
So I grasp my paddle and dig in. We hit our stride almost immediately. TJ’s paddling sets the pace, and it’s fast. We have one and only goal: to leave his cousins in the dust. Or, technically, in our wake.
We surge past Matheus and the short kid from the salad bar.
We are gaining fast on Sabrina and Doug, so I need to keep my focus sharp.
“Watch out, Dougie boy!” TJ yells, mocking. “We’re about to smoke you.”
Sabrina makes the critical mistake of stopping to splash us. Doug, still paddling with all his might, can’t do it alone, so we ease past them, ignoring the shower of water that hits us as we go by Sabrina.
Carlitos and Demetrio, the brawniest (and presumably the oldest) cousins, are a boat length ahead. We race around a curve, closing the distance between us, and the intercostal waterway opens up ahead.
“See the point?” TJ asks.
I see it—a pebbled shoreline shimmering white in the moonlight, an ancient oak tree standing alone on the edge, its branches reaching out over the water. And, honest to God, that barred owl is perched in the highest branch, watching.
“I see it!” I call out, suddenly laughing. Because what kind of owl sits perfectly still on the branch of an oak as utter chaos unfolds below him? “We can take ’em!”
Carlitos glances back toward our boat. “We’ve got a little competition!” he yells, digging his paddle in deep.
TJ digs in deeper and picks up the pace of our strokes as we close the distance.
“We’ve got ’em,” he says. “Dig!”
The bow of our kayak eases up beside them. Carlitos and Demetrio glance toward us quickly, but they won’t be making any novice mistakes like stopping to splash us. They are completely focused on paddling, and—I gotta say—their biceps are enormous, daunting.
I dig hard, even though my shoulders are burning and my gut is clenched tight and my breath is coming in ragged, between bursts of uncontrollable laughter.
Because I am not a quitter, and apparently neither is TJ.
“Oh yeah!” one of the guys calls out from a boat behind us. “They’re gonna take you!”
“You can do it, Vivi!” Sabrina yells. “Leave those boys in the dust!”
And that’s all it takes. We dig deep and cruise by Carlitos and Demetrio.
“We gotta hit the tree to win,” TJ says as the kayak careens onto the shore and lurches to a stop. “Run!”
I tumble out of the kayak behind TJ. I hear the other boat crashing onto the shore, but I don’t dare look back as we race toward the trunk of that old oak tree. Instead I look up at the barred owl, lifting off a high branch. I pump my arms as the owl pumps his wings, and I ignore the sharp pain of the rocks under my bare feet.
As we approach the tree, TJ reaches back and grabs my hand. He tugs hard, launching me forward, and we both hit the tree at the same moment. He collapses to the ground, and I fall on top of him, both of us too busy sucking breath deep into our lungs to cheer. Carlitos and Demetrio slam hard against the bark and fall to the ground beside us.
I roll off TJ and hunch forward over my knees, breathing hard. TJ throws his arm around my shoulder and exhales.
“Damn,” he says, between heavy breaths. “You’re a lot stronger than you look.”
I turn my head to see him shaking his head in disbelief. I bite my lip, and I nod, because Yes, I think maybe I am a lot stronger than I look.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
TJ
I CAN’T STOP staring at her.
We’re in the backseat of Sabrina’s car, riding south toward St. Augustine Beach. It’s almost six A.M., and everyone is asleep except for me and Sabrina, who’s driving. Vivi has fallen asleep on my shoulder and I am wide-awake—buzzing with intense energy.
She’s pressed against me, soft. No one else is watching, and the light from the streetlamps keeps floating across her skin, which is glowing and warm and still a little damp. She smells like salt and vanilla and—
I can’t breathe. I also can’t stop exploring Vivi with my eyes—the tip of her nose, the long, dark hair falling across her bare arms, the outline of that still-damp tank top against her shoulder, her shorts against her thighs. The curves of that red bikini through the white tank top that’s clinging tight to her skin.
She shifts and burrows deeper into my chest.
Jesus god. I have to stop.
“Hey, Sabrina,” I whisper.
She glances back.
“Throw me that towel.”
Sabrina pulls a balled-up towel from the center console and hands it back. Trying not to wake Vivi, I reach my arm around her, spread the towel across her shoulders and chest and thighs, and then I sink down in the seat so that her neck isn’t at a strange angle. She looks up at me with sleepy eyes and then they fall closed again.
Her head is resting softly on my chest and her wet hair is spread in waves across her face. She scratches her nose and sniffs, so I gently move her hair back from her face. And then I sit perfectly still, and when I know she’s settled comfortably, I close my eyes and lean my head back and try not to move and try to stop imagining in excruciating detail every inch of what I just covered with that towel.
Ten long minutes later we are heading through Anastasia Island, nearing the beach.
“Her house is on A Street, right?” Sabrina asks, slowing as she rounds the bend.
“I think so,” I tell her. I give Vivi’s shoulder a gentle shake, wishing I didn’t have to wake her. “Hey, Viv,” I whisper. “We’re in St. Augustine Beach. Where’s your place?”
Her eyes blink open and she reaches out her arms to stretch, brushing her forearm across my lap. I sit up fast, and she jerks back into her seat.
“Oh God,” she mumbles. “Oh my God, I’m sorry. Did I fall asleep on you?”
I shrug.
“Wow. That’s embarrassing.”
“It’s cool,” I say, wishing that were true, wishing she hadn’t set off a thousand flaming torches under my skin.
Because this is still a complication I do not need.
Vivi leans forward. “It’s the next left.”
Sabrina turns toward the ocean.
“This one,” Vivi says, pointing to a house on the right.
“The A-frame?” Sabrina asks.
Vivi nods.
“No way, Vivi! That’s awesome. You live in the A-frame on A Street!” Sabrina calls out, nudging Doug hard. “This place is, like, legendary!” She nudges Doug again. “Look where we are!”
Sabrina has pulled up in front of the house, the car facing directly toward the dunes that separate A Street from the ocean.
“Whoa,” Doug says, looking not at the weird A-frame house, but toward the ocean. “It’s gonna be a perfect sunrise—let’s go!”
Sabrina, Matheus, and Doug jump out of the car and head toward the path that cuts between the dunes. Vivi stands beside the car, the towel now wrapped around her shoulders.
“Well, uh, I guess, thanks for—”
She’s glancing back and forth between her house (I mean, I guess it’s her house) and the beach.
“Come on
,” I say, nodding toward the ocean. “You’ve made it this far through the night. You might as well come watch the sunrise, right?”
She nods, smiles, and heads out toward the beach.
“You people are, like, superhuman,” she says, looking back toward me as she clambers over a dune.
My cousins and Doug are running, full sprint, toward the ocean.
“I mean, your family. You’re all indefatigable.”
“We’re what?” I ask.
“SAT word. Sorry. I drilled hundreds into my head, and some of them refuse to go away.” She drops down onto the sand. “Do you all ever get tired?”
I sit beside her as the others tumble into the ocean and dive through the waves. “I think maybe we’re always tired, so we don’t really know the difference.”
“Maybe that’s why you’re so grumpy all the time at the hospital.” She looks at me and smiles a sort of mischievous smile that also happens to be incredibly sexy.
I run my hand through my hair, suddenly nervous. The sky is shifting from black to gray to orange, and I’m trying to figure out how to apologize to Vivi—again.
Why am I always needing to apologize to this girl?
“About that,” I say. “I think I should explain.”
“It’s okay,” she tells me. “I was just kidding around. You’re fine.”
“Why were you crying?” I blurt it out before I can give the words any thought. Because I need to know. “Why were you so upset?”
Her hazel eyes go wide. “What are you talking about?”
“That night at the restaurant—Thanksgiving? Why were you crying?”
She clutches her knees to her chest and lets her forehead fall forward. “Oh God.” She groans. “You were there.”
I don’t say anything, since it seems obvious that I was and since she looks like she’s about to puke or maybe cry.
“Were they?” she asks, looking out to the edge of the surf. “Were all of you there?”
“We’re always all there.”
“Oh God,” she repeats. Then she turns to look right at me. “I don’t know. I don’t remember.”
Flight Season Page 14
