“Thought you weren’t going to make it,” she commented. “Did you ever finish the reading last night?”
Dexter reached into his backpack and pulled out his battered paperback copy of Mark Twain’s The Prince and the Pauper, the latest book on the class syllabus. “Just barely,” he said. He grinned at her. “You know, if you weren’t so distracting, I might be able to get more work done.”
She giggled. “Don’t give me that,” she said. “You know you like being distracted!”
“Well, maybe,” he teased. He set the book on his desk and reached down to pull out a notebook and a pen. When he straightened up again, he saw that she was watching him intently, her playful expression gone.
“What?” he asked, suddenly self-conscious. “Do I have dirt on my face or something?”
“No,” she said somberly. “I was just thinking about how much fun we always have together. And how much fun we could have on that trip with my family.”
“Oh.” He gulped, feeling ambushed by the sudden change of topic. His eyes darted toward the back of the classroom, but there was no sign of the professor coming in to save him from having to answer. “Um, I told you,” he said lamely. “I still have to talk to my folks about that.”
Her blue eyes glistened slightly, and he saw with surprise that she was holding back tears. “Are you sure you want to go?” she asked softly. “I mean, if you don’t want to spend that much time with me or whatever, please just tell me. I’d rather know the truth.”
“No!” Dexter blurted out, horrified. How could she even begin to think that he didn’t want to be with her any chance he got? “Don’t be ridiculous. It’s not like that at all!”
“It just seems like you aren’t that interested in the trip.” She shrugged, staring down at her desk. “We already spent one school break apart. I don’t want it to become a habit, you know?”
Dexter’s heart was thudding nervously, and all of a sudden his hands didn’t seem to know what to do with themselves. He grabbed The Prince and the Pauper and squeezed it, bending the cover this way and that.
“I don’t either,” he said, suddenly feeling choked up. Daisy told him all the time that she loved him. But until this moment, he realized, he hadn’t quite dared to believe it. Now that he realized it just might be true, he felt awed and nervous and a little confused. “And don’t worry—I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen. I’m sure my parents will understand.…”
She gasped, her expression brightening. “You mean you’ll come on the trip?” she asked. “For sure?”
“For sure,” he assured her, smiling at the unrestrained joy in her blue eyes.
His smile faded quickly once the professor entered and called the class to order. Now that he had committed himself to the trip, he felt a sick sense of dread.
I had to do it, he told himself. I couldn’t take the chance of losing Daisy. That’s the most important thing in the world. I can work out the rest somehow.…
Noticing that the rest of the class were paging through their books, he picked up his own copy and opened to a random page. Even though he wasn’t really taking in the words on the page, he suddenly felt a great surge of understanding for one of the protagonists he’d read about the night before, the peasant boy trapped in a world of wealth and privilege that he didn’t understand.
Suddenly Dexter recalled that just about everyone in the book had been happier when the truth came out at the end. He wondered briefly if that might prove to be the case in this instance as well.
Maybe it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world if Daisy found out the real story about my life, he thought, glancing over at her out of the corner of his eye. After all, she already loves me…
No, she doesn’t. Another voice in his head, much harsher and less hopeful, interrupted the thought. She doesn’t love you. She loves SuperDexter. And you’d better not forget that if you want to keep her.
17
DEXTER PUT AS MUCH distance between himself and the fuselage as possible, trying desperately to forget everything he’d seen there—especially Sawyer. But Sawyer’s mocking gray eyes seemed to follow him no matter how quickly he walked, burning themselves into his brain like a flaming brand.
What’s wrong with me? he thought, breaking into a jog as he headed down the shoreline, leaving the camp behind. Nothing really happened back there. So why am I so freaked out?
But he found it was impossible to reason with his own panic. Speeding up, he stumbled around a pile of boulders and almost ran into the Korean couple on the far side. The two of them glanced up at him, startled. Their argument appeared to be over, and they were now in the midst of preparing more of their island sushi. The man was arranging pieces of it on a tray, while the woman carefully scraped the slimy bits off another piece nearby.
“S-sorry,” Dexter mumbled, his stomach roiling and pitching at the sight of the half-prepared slices of seafood. The rapidly fading light of the setting sun made them appear to swell and glow with a violent pink sheen. “Sorry. So sorry.”
The man said something in Korean, sounding concerned. But even if he’d been speaking English, Dexter wasn’t sure he would have been able to stand there and formulate a response. Those eyes were still after him, staring out at him from back there in the ruined fuselage, and he had to get away. If he didn’t, something terrible would happen. He had no idea what; he only knew he had to escape.
“I’ve got to go,” he said, pushing past as the Korean man reached out an arm toward him, still looking worried. “Sorry.”
He left the couple behind, glancing back only when he was a safe distance way. They had already turned back to their tasks, their heads bowed and close together as they worked. Dexter felt a moment of envy; the couple seemed to have carved out their own private, insular little world even in the midst of the chaos on the island. It was sort of nice—as if they were already at home here, just because they had each other.
Of course, it could also just be that nobody can understand a thing they say, he reminded himself. For all we know, the two of them might not even be a couple. They could be total strangers, or brother and sister, or they could hate each other’s guts, or they could be international spies plotting to kill us all.…
He turned around again and was almost overcome with a quick attack of dizziness. His stomach reeled, his throat clenched, and somewhere in the recesses of his mind he was vaguely aware that he needed to get away from the still-stifling heat of the beach. Veering up toward the jungle, he staggered into the shelter of the trees. Before long he found himself pushing his way through a partially shaded clearing waving with pale green, chest-high grass. The blades were surprisingly stiff and sharp, still glistening with moisture from the rain earlier that day.
Beyond the grassy area lay a grove of mature trees with pale, twisting trunks. It was much darker there beneath the shade of their gently swaying leaves, which blocked out most of the rays of the fading sun. As Dexter pushed blindly forward, deeper into the jungle, the image of Sawyer’s sneering face slowly faded from his mind, replaced by that of a monstrously fat woman with pockmarked skin and overprocessed hair. Her eyes glared at him accusingly. What’s wrong with you, boy? she shouted inside his head. Don’t you know who you are anymore?
“No,” he mumbled, pressing his hands against his ears as if that would shut out the woman’s harangue. He had no idea who she was, but all of a sudden he was convinced that he knew her. Or had known her. Or would know her…It was difficult to keep track of time in his current frame of mind.
Dexter collapsed against a tree trunk to rest for a moment. Swiping away the sweat pouring down his face, he closed his eyes. But the woman’s face was there, waiting. His eyes flew open again and he stared upward through the treetops, his gaze fixing on a streak of deep pink slashing across the darkening sky like a wound. For some reason the sight of it made him want to cry.
I need to get a grip, he thought, doing his best to calm his swirling mind. Focus, Dexter. Think about so
mething easy, something good and real.…
The first image that popped into his head, of course, was Daisy. He concentrated on her cheerful, beautiful, familiar face, lovingly drinking in every curve of her cheeks and swell of her lips. But after a moment the happy Daisy face started to frown, and within seconds her delicate features were twisted into a deep, furious scowl.
Dexter recoiled from the image, feeling shocked and anxious…and guilty, though he wasn’t sure why. Did it have something to do with that fight back in Sydney, the argument he couldn’t quite seem to remember?
“What’s the matter?” he asked the image of Daisy in his head. “Please, Daisy—tell me what’s wrong so I can fix it. Tell me what we fought about back in Sydney.…”
His voice broke, and he let out a sob of frustration. In some distant corridor of his brain, he knew that he was dehydrated again and getting delirious. But instead of making him feel sick as usual, it was also making him feel lost and out of place and confused.
Dexter…!
The ghost of a voice echoed around him, and he wasn’t sure if it was coming from inside his head or somewhere out in the jungle. “Daisy?” he whispered uncertainly.
He staggered to his feet, staring around frantically. Was she here? Had he found her at last?
Dexter…!
The whisper was more urgent this time. “I’m coming, Daisy! I’m here!” he shouted.
He burst into motion, racing deeper into the jungle. More than once he tripped over a root or a rock, only to catch himself against a tree and keep going. His breath came in ragged gasps, the air feeling as thick as water in his lungs. But he didn’t stop—he couldn’t stop. He was convinced that Daisy was waiting for him just ahead—around that next tree, the next bend in the trail.…
He had to find her. That was the only thing that would make everything better. He knew it as well as he knew his own name.
Finally he rounded a tangled thicket of vines and spied a flash of blond hair in the clearing just beyond. “Daisy!” he blurted out, his heart filling with relief. “Daisy, it’s me! Wait!”
He lunged into the clearing, panting with relief. Then he stopped short, his breath freezing in his throat. There in the clearing, standing right next to Daisy with one protective hand on her shoulder, was…him. The other Dexter.
“What are you doing out here?” the other Dexter demanded, dropping his hand from Daisy’s arm and stepping forward.
“I—I came to find Daisy,” Dexter blurted out. “Daisy, it’s me—it’s Dexter.”
“I’m Dexter,” the other one said, his words echoing ominously inside Dexter’s head. He tugged on the slightly ragged hem of his shirt with his free hand. “And you’d better not ever forget it. Because I’ll always be the real Dexter, no matter what you do.”
“No!” Dexter cried in alarm. “Daisy, don’t listen to him—he’s lying.”
“She knows the truth,” the other Dexter said calmly. “She knows that I’m not the one who’s lying. Not like you. You’re pathetic. You hide yourself behind a fake identity and a fake name. Why would anyone want a fake?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dexter protested weakly. Still, something about the other Dexter’s words filled his insides with loathing and shame. Could it be true? But how? “Daisy?” he pleaded, turning toward her with his hands outspread. “Please, Daisy…”
“Dexter, what’s wrong with you?” Daisy stared at him, her upper lip curling with distaste. “Snap out of it! Geez!”
“Real sympathetic. But seriously, Dexter.” The taunting tone of Other Dexter’s voice was fading in and out like static on the radio, leaving behind only concern and anxiety. “I think we’d better get you back to the beach.”
Dexter blinked as the other Dexter’s face swam and melted, blurring out of recognition. “What—what’s happening?” he whispered.
He put both hands over his eyes, pressing hard. Colorful squiggles and sparks danced behind his lids. Then the face of the fat woman was back, wearing Sawyer’s mocking smile and chewing on a piece of the Korean couple’s seafood. Weird, disjointed images tumbled through Dexter’s mind like the ping-pong numbers in the big glass bin on that lottery program…the program his aunt watched almost every day in hopes that her luck would change.…
My aunt…he thought, confused, as the fat woman’s face leered at him again. Aunt Paula…
He heard a sound and opened his eyes just in time to see the other Dexter make a sudden moved toward him. Dexter took a step back, suddenly certain that the other version of him was moving in for the kill, planning to swallow him up and take him over.
“No!” he cried, lifting both hands to defend himself. “Don’t hurt me! I’m you—I’m still you!”
“Dexter?” As the other guy grabbed his arm, his face suddenly shimmered and then rearranged itself into a completely different set of features.
“Boone?” Dexter said uncertainly. Glancing toward the spot where Daisy had stood just a moment ago, he saw only Shannon staring back at him with open astonishment. “Shannon? What are you guys doing here?”
“Don’t try to talk, buddy.” Boone put a supporting arm around his shoulders. “We’d better get you back to the beach so Jack can take a look at you.”
“But, but Daisy…”
“Heads up, Boone—he’s falling!”
Daisy…Dexter’s mind couldn’t hold onto the thought any longer. He gave up, watching it flutter off into the ether like a butterfly. Then he slumped against Boone’s arm as his consciousness started to go sparkly-gray and fuzzy around the edges.
18
“HEADS UP, DEXO!”
Dexter turned just in time to avoid getting beaned in the head with the can of soda Jason had just winged at him from the other side of the pool. He caught the can, then smiled weakly as Daisy’s brother guffawed loudly at his surprised expression.
“Grow up, Jase,” Daisy scolded mildly from her beach towel. “You’re not a frat boy anymore, remember?”
“Once a frat boy, always a frat boy.” Jason’s fleshy lips drew back in a grin, and he tossed Dexter a mischievous wink. Then he raced forward and did a front flip into the pool, splashing Daisy and making her shriek.
Dexter forced a chuckle. It was only a couple of days into their trip to Sydney, and he was already weary of Jason’s antics. Daisy’s older brother was gregarious and fun-loving, just as she had described him. The trouble was, his behavior often verged on obnoxious. He was twenty-three years old, but his sense of humor seemed to have stalled out at around age thirteen.
Mrs. Ward looked over the tops of her sunglasses, shifting her position on one of the hotel pool’s chaises. “Now, Jason,” she said mildly as her son popped up out of the water and floated toward the edge of the pool. “Don’t cause trouble, do you hear me?” Setting down the magazine she was reading, she sat up and stretched, then glanced around. “This is a lovely pool, isn’t it?”
“Yeah,” Dexter agreed truthfully. The pool—and the whole hotel—were nicer than anything he ever could have imagined. The three-room suite the Wards had booked was larger than his mother’s entire house.
He winced, thinking about his mother. She had sounded genuinely sad when he’d called to tell her he would be spending this school break on a study-abroad internship. But once Aunt Paula had heard that it could lead to a lucrative job after graduation, she’d quickly convinced her sister that it was the best thing for Dexter to do.
I wish I hadn’t had to lie to them, though, Dexter thought uneasily. It seems like just about everything I say these days is a lie.…
Despite his misgivings, he had to admit that the trip to Sydney was going quite smoothly so far. To his relief, the Wards had insisted on covering all of Dexter’s expenses, including the pricey plane ride—in business class, no less. Since arriving in Australia, Mr. Ward had spent most of his time working, leaving the rest of them to sightsee, shop, and sit by the pool. At the end of the week, the senior Wards were continuin
g on to Japan, where Mr. Ward had further business. But Daisy and Jason—and, therefore, Dexter—had opted to remain in Sydney and fly home separately. Dexter was looking forward to spending those few days with Daisy, out from under the watchful eye of her parents. Of course, he would still have to deal with Jason…
Dexter popped open the soda Jason had tossed. It fizzed and bubbled over, and he quickly grabbed his towel to catch the mess. His copy of The Prince and the Pauper, which had been lying on the towel, went flying onto the ground.
Mrs. Ward leaned over and retrieved the book. She glanced at the cover. “Mark Twain, hmm?” she said. “Are you enjoying it, Dexter?”
“Sure,” he replied. “Actually we read it earlier this semester. But I decided to feature it in my midterm paper, which is due pretty soon after we get back. So I brought it along to review.”
She paged through it, nodding. “I read this one in college, too,” she said. “It’s an interesting story. What’s your paper going to be about?”
“Leave him alone, Ma,” Jason spoke up before Dexter could answer. He was in the water at the edge of the pool, his thick, tanned arms resting on the cement edging. “Dexo’s here to have fun, not to talk to the old folks about school.”
Mrs. Ward looked slightly hurt. “No one’s forcing you to listen, Jason,” she murmured mildly. “Sorry if I’m boring you.”
“Yeah, stuff it, Jase,” Daisy muttered.
There was an awkward moment of silence. Dexter felt oddly guilty, even though he hadn’t done anything wrong. He wondered if he should ignore what Jason had said and answer Mrs. Ward’s question. Then again, he wasn’t sure he wanted to discuss Twain’s tale about the lives of the very rich and very poor with her. Now that he thought about it, it seemed a little too close to his own life lately.
Finally Mrs. Ward sighed and stood up. “I suppose I’ll go shower,” she said. “Your father said he should be through with his meeting in time to have dinner with the family tonight.”
“We’ll be in soon, Mother,” Daisy said. As soon as Mrs. Ward was gone, Daisy rounded on her brother. “You don’t have to be such a jerk to her,” she snapped. “She and Daddy are paying for you to be on this trip, you know.”
Lost: The Novels Page 25
