by Anna Shinoda
Mr. Kirkland swung the door open. “I suppose you kids are looking for a handout. Trick or treat. Humph. Here,” he said, dropping apples into our bags. Apples?
“Argh. This here be no treat, me matie,” Luke protested.
“Consider it a treat that I don’t call the police and report you as trespassers.” Mr. Kirkland slammed the door in our faces.
Once on the street Luke dropped his hook into his candy bag and grabbed Peter’s arm.
“The name of the game is TRICK orrrrr treat. Free apples be no treat. This one deserves a trick,” Luke continued in pirate slang. “Argh. A good pirate is always prepared.” He pulled a six-pack carton of eggs from the bottom of his treat bag.
“Are you crazy?” Peter exclaimed through his monster mask. “Mr. Jerkland is still mad about the flowers you ran over with your friend’s ATV.”
“Argh. No man livin’ or dead can prove that there accusation.” Luke walked behind a bush. “And me thinks you best follow, unless you want to be caught eggin’ Ol’ Jerkland’s abode.”
We scurried behind the bush. Luke wound up and took the first shot at the front door, centered, right next to the handle. SPLAT! He put an egg into the palm of both my hand and Peter’s. Was it okay to do this?
“Come on, thar, Peterrrr, Squeakerrrrrrs,” Luke said. “Do it not fer me but fer all yer maties gettin’ free apples from the grumpiest ol’ fart on the high seas.”
Peter shrugged and nodded at me. I threw as hard as I could, and hit only the path. Peter wound his arm back. His throw smashed the egg against the window. Uh-oh.
“RUN!” Luke yelled, grabbing my hand. We dashed around trees, jumped over bushes, heard Mr. Kirkland open his front door and yell, “Goddamned rotten kids! Where are you? I’m calling the police. This is vandalism!”
We ran for two blocks before collapsing behind a fence, laughing.
“That was so cool,” Peter said, ripping off his mask. “But, man, was Jerkland mad. Do you think he’s actually going to report us to the police?”
“Nah. Even if he does,” Luke reasoned, “we’re not gonna be the only ones who egg his place tonight. Nice arm, Peter. Just like your big brother, eh?”
I saw Peter’s smile dip before he could pull his mask back on. Luke didn’t notice. He was looking at me.
“Hey, Squeaks,” Luke said, “that was a lot of fun, right?”
I nodded.
“Sometimes, when things are fun, grown-ups get mad and don’t like it. You know, like when you play too loud in the house. So don’t tell Ma or Pop, okay? We’ll keep this between the three of us,” Luke told me.
“Okay. Can we go get more candy now?”
“Sure thing,” Luke said, helping me to my feet, then holding out a hand that Peter ignored. Mask back on. Hook back on. Crown straightened. “We’ll trick-ortreat our way to the gas station, and I’ll get you guys some hot cocoa.”
Bags full of loot, we arrived at Mountain Mini Mart. As the bell jingled our arrival, the cashier looked up.
“What do you want, Luke?” Her voice sounded angry. Why would she be mad?
“Just here to buy some hot chocolates for my kid sister and brother. And get a few items every pirate needs.” He gestured at the liquor. “That’s all.”
Skeleton pointed at our bags, elbowed the cashier sharply in the ribs.
“Leave your bags at the front,” she ordered. “And you”—she pointed at Peter, saying, “mask off.”
Luke nodded, throwing his bag onto the counter, whispering “It’s okay” into my ear. The cashier followed us, watching Luke’s hands, my hands, Peter’s hands. Keeping close, even when the bell rang to announce another customer. They had candy bags and masks on, but she didn’t tell them to leave their stuff at the front and take their costumes off. Why was she being so unfair?
Skeleton strolled with us, knocking down some chips, making it look like my skirt was to blame. I rushed to pick them up. The cashier’s angry eyes looked from me to Luke to Peter, eventually glaring at Luke.
Peter helped me fill up my hot chocolate cup, while Luke grabbed a bottle of rum with a pirate on the front. We all met at the counter, where Luke paid for our drinks, bought some cigarettes, and we collected our candy loot. I was relieved when we exited.
“Why was she so rude?” I asked Luke, sipping my hot cocoa.
“Because”—he winked at me with his one showing eye—“she doesn’t have a little sister nearly as cute as you.”
I looked to Peter to give me an answer—a real answer— but he shook his head and stared at his flashlight’s round beam on the ground. I stomped my feet out of frustration. But there were more houses, more candy. It was Halloween night; I couldn’t be mad for long.
Chapter 13
Balance
NOW
I stand with my toes curled over the edge of the diving board. Aside from the dark circles under my eyes, the only residue from the last nightmare is an occasional vision of the corpse hands wrapping around my feet. I shake it away.
It’s quiet this early: no kids, no adults. The smooth surface of the water reflects the gnarled branches of the oak trees, the peaked tops of the spruces, the thin lines of the reeds, and a silhouette of me. It gives the illusion that I could dive into an alternate world, maybe one where I could live with Drea and her mother, where Ryan and I dated, Mandy didn’t exist, where I never had nightmares, where Peter was always in a good mood, and Luke was Luke but . . . better.
One. Two. Three. My feet spring from the board. My hands, in a diamond over my head, cut through the air, then the lake’s surface. Water so cold it’s shocking sends my heart racing. I surface, brushing my stray hair away from my eyes before going into a front crawl. Long, powerful strokes, my legs kicking behind me, propelling me forward. I wish my school had a swim team. I’d love to compete. Maybe I’d even be good at it.
Before I know it, the water is getting thicker. I’m almost to the swamp. I dive down and flip, doing a double underwater pull before my lungs force me to surface. Then it’s back to the crawl. My body is already warmer and the sun on my back feels incredible.
I switch to breaststroke for the second lap. I’m getting too tired. This lap will be it. I turn back toward the diving board and freeze.
Someone else is in the lake. Someone on . . . a surfboard? On the lake?
I swim closer for a better look.
It’s Ryan, belly-down on a huge board, zipped into a skin-tight wetsuit. He pops up from his stomach onto his knees.
“Clare?” he asks. “Is that you?”
Treading water again, I greet him, “Hey.”
“Hop on,” he says, making room on the front of the board for me.
I struggle to pull myself up, almost tipping us into the water. But eventually I sit facing him.
“So . . . looking to catch some ripples on the lake?” I joke.
He smiles. “Nah. This board’s for paddling. It’s been a minute since I last surfed, and I don’t want my shoulders to be so worked the first day out that I’m ruined for the rest of the trip.”
“Makes sense.”
“It’s pretty awesome out here this early.”
“My favorite part of the day.” As I say this, I give an involuntary shiver. Now that I’ve stopped moving, the sun isn’t strong enough to battle the lake’s early morning chill.
“I can’t believe you’re in this insanely freezing water without a wetsuit,” he says. “You’re tough.”
I laugh at the thought of me being tough and pull my arms around my chest, rub my hands against my triceps in an attempt to warm them up, and tell him, “There’s nothing better in my world than swimming, even if it’s in this ice bucket.”
“I can get that. For me it’s surfing.” He pats the board with both hands. “Hey . . . you wanna try standing on this beast?”
I look down at the board, then the water. How different will it be from snowboarding? I’ll fall. That’s for sure. And I’ll probably look like a complete oaf.
But there’s no one here but me and Ryan. I’d rather try and fail than be timid. After all, he thinks I’m tough.
“Ummm. I guess?”
“Awesome! Turn around so you’re facing front and scoot down toward me a bit.”
I turn around carefully. The board sways to each side a little as I attempt to back up.
“Stay center. It won’t wobble so much. Okay, stop right there. I’m going to stand up first, then I’ll help you.” The board sways again for a second. Then he’s standing behind me. “Get into a kind of push-up position. Yep—like that. From there you’ll pop up onto your feet. I’m going to help you stand. Ready? Push and pop up!”
My feet hit the board, and for a second I’m standing, Ryan behind me, supporting me with his hands on my hips.
Then the board flies to the right, our bodies to the left.
When I surface, Ryan is already swimming toward his board.
“For your first time up, it was pretty killer. You just got too close to the edge with your left foot. Let’s do it again.”
I swim over and pull myself up.
Lying on the board, I take a second to focus. Push up and pop. Ryan’s hand on my hips, the board under my feet. My landing is sturdier this time.
“Awesome!” he says into my ear. I can feel his body inches from mine. “Now just think of this but with the ocean under your board.” Determined to stay standing as long as possible, to keep this moment as long as possible, I stare toward the shore, trying to keep my concentration, keep my balance. A few families have set up towels on the beach. “And if you have to fall, just kind of fall backward, or kick the board away, like this.” He hooks his arm around my waist, and we tumble into the lake.
As we surface, we’re both laughing.
I pull myself onto the board a third time and glance down at my watch. Eighty twenty.
“I need to get to the lifeguard stand.”
“I’ll give you a ride.”
I sit toward the board’s nose as Ryan lies behind me, paddling us to shore. As we near the beach, I see a group of Cranberry Hill girls descending like a swarm of bees. Chattering loudly into one high-pitched hum. I’m shocked to see them here this early, until my eyes land on Mandy, her ridiculously huge camera slung around her neck. Ever since she became the official yearbook photographer, she lugs that thing almost everywhere. I know it must be a pretty amazing camera. Probably top-of-the-line. Professional. Her parents bought it for her as a congratulations gift for being selected. At school she follows her friends around, creating random photo shoots anywhere on campus. Our next yearbook will look like a contrived department store catalog, featuring her friends modeling all the back-to-school must-haves.
Mandy looks out at us. Her arms cross her chest as she waits for us to dock on the sand. Ryan on his board with another girl? I have ruined her morning photo shoot. No way I am going to get in her path.
“I’m going to swim from here,” I tell Ryan. “Thanks.”
I dive off the side and swim directly to the lifeguard stand. Luckily, Mandy and her gang waits on the shore for Ryan instead of going after me.
Lala is sitting next to the stand, admiring the swirls painted on her nails.
“Hey!” I greet her, pulling my towel out of my bag. I wrap it tightly around my body. “Did I mess up? I thought today I had the opening shift?”
“No, baby doll, you didn’t mess up,” she says, adjusting her necklace. “I’m just early because my mother decided to vacuum at the crack of dawn. I couldn’t go back to sleep, so I came here to check on the social scene.”
From the corner of my eye, I can see Ryan hoisting up his board, Mandy angrily pointing to me, can hear bits like “girlfriend” “treated like shit” “can’t believe.” Cranking my super-ears up, I can hear him saying, “It was only a surf lesson” and “She’s a friend.”
“Trouble in paradise,” Lala says, nodding in their direction. “Put on the moves, baby doll. I bet you can break them up by the end of the week.”
“That’s not what I’m trying to do.” The truth: I’d love for them to break up. But not if I cause it. I don’t think I could date him after that without feeling guilty.
She shrugs. “Whatever, little flirt. I’m going to see what’s going on at the tennis courts. See you.”
Ryan, with his board under his arm, heads for the parking lot, Mandy scrambling after him, still yelling. Ryan says in an even tone, “Let me know when you chill out. I’m outta here.”
I look back to the lake, feeling confused, mulling over Lala’s words.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Crap. Mandy’s perfect face is distorted in anger, inches from mine. “Trying to steal Ryan?” She gives a harsh laugh. “Stealing. That’s a typical Tovin move. Stay away from my boyfriend. Or I promise to make your life more miserable than it already is.”
She struts away before I have time to react. She wasted her breath. I do not and will not steal. Ever.
••• I can’t concentrate on working, with Mandy planted on a towel less than fifty yards from me, her friends taking turns sending me death looks.
“Helllllooooo,” Chris says, waving his chubby hands at me. “I just dunked that redheaded kid again. Don’t you care?”
I’m a bad lifeguard.
“Why are you telling me this, Chris?” I say. “Do you want to be in trouble?”
“I don’t know.” What a weird kid.
“Ooookaaaay.” I look over the property again. Is it two yet?
“I’m bored,” Chris says, filling a bucket with water, dumping it out, filling it up again.
I look at him, then at the other boys his age off in the deep end of the lake. I decide to try suggesting the swim lessons again.
“You’d have a lot of fun in the deep end. There’s the diving board, the island. Your friends . . . ,” I say.
He glares.
“The offer to teach you still stands. Greg, Manny, Sarah. I got them all swimming in a few weeks.”
“I told you before. I don’t need a stupid teacher.”
“Okay, Chris. Just so you know, most days I show up forty-five minutes before I start work to swim. If you want to learn, I’ll be here.”
“Whatever,” Chris says, running away with his bucket full of lake water. He sprints across the lawn, charging through the group of girls around Mandy. Then he dumps the icy water right on his sister’s face.
“You little brat!” She takes a swipe at him. Too fast, he runs away. It’s petty, I know, but I love seeing Mandy tormented.
She complains loudly about her magazine—“ruined, completely ruined.” Her hair—“Does he realize how long it takes for me to blow out my hair?” And the smell of the water—“Disgusting. I smell like swamp.” She rolls up her towel, shoves it into her bag, and storms past me to the exit. I sigh in relief. My eyes and brain are back on the water.
A half hour later Lala reappears.
“Hey, baby doll,” she says, her metal bracelets clink
ing as she rubs sunscreen on. “Your shift is up.” Two o’clock. I have to be home in an hour. Mom
made me write my work schedule for the week on her
calendar. I padded it on each end. That way I can still
swim in the morning and have almost an hour to relax
with my friends before going home. I have to stick to
the lake, though. If she or Dad ever shows up and I’m
not here, it’ll be another month grounded for me. I spread out my towel on the grass and pull my sack
lunch out of my bag. Chris walks by with a slice of pizza
from the Swimmer’s Snack Shack. The bread and cheese
and oregano smell so good, but eating here costs me an
hour of work each time. Lunch from home is free. “Hey, Clare,” Skye says, as she and Chase walk toward
me with rackets in hand. “Have time for a quick tennis
match? Chase and I want to play doubles, him and me
again
st Omar and you. You game?”
I look at my watch and sigh. “Sorry. I need to finish lunch and get back home. I have only about a half hour.” Besides, I’m awful at tennis. Maybe as bad as Omar.
Chase and Skye should just play each other.
“Then, lunch it is,” Skye says, pulling a sandwich
from her bag.
We sit in a circle on the grass. Laughing and talking.
I’ve missed out on a party, a movie night, and will be
still grounded when they go camping over the weekend
and down to the beach next week. But at least I have
them now.
The next thirty minutes fly past. I grudgingly pick up
my stuff and pedal toward home.
Summer is the season of yard sales. I bike past each
one, slowing down enough to get a good idea of what
they might have. Broken chairs, homemade candles,
lemonade, dishes, toys, lots of stuffed animals, a treadmill, and . . . yarn? I pull the breaks and hop off my
bike, lean it against the nearest tree. There’s a whole
box of yarn, all different colors, mostly medium weight,
and a few skeins of yellow thick chenille. I’m pretty sure
if I get the whole box, I can make one kid-size blanket
out of the chenille and maybe three baby blankets out
of the rest.
“Twenty-five cents a skein or two dollars if you’ll take
the whole box.”
“Deal.” We shove it all into a couple of plastic bags so
I can hang them off the handlebars. Man, I miss my car. I wheel Bike-a-saurus into our front yard and lean it
against a pine tree. Through the kitchen window I can see Mom on the phone. Talking with her hands as much
as with her mouth. I open the door and quietly walk in. “I know you need the help. I’ll fly out,” she says, her
left hand in the air. “But it’ll have to be in the fall.” A
pause. “Well, a plane ticket is just not something that
we’ve budgeted for, so I’ll need to save for that. Besides,
Luke is coming home soon, and I’m looking forward
