ARC: The Almost Girl

by Amalie Howard

  Drawing a shaky breath, I check the other doors down the hallway. One leads to another bathroom, the next to a linen closet, and the third to a stairway to a shadowy attic that’s filled with old furniture. On the attic steps, I sit staring at Caden’s door as if the devil himself is on the other side. Why is my imagination suddenly running wild? Why am I afraid? There’s nothing there, nothing that can harm me.

  “Get it together, Riv!” I tell myself harshly. “He’s just a kid like everyone else here, nothing more than that. Now find your keys and let’s go.” I catch a glimpse of myself in the long mirror at the end of the hallway, and I have to laugh.

  “Keep talking to yourself and you know where you’ll end up,” I say to the fierce-looking girl, and watch her pitiful attempt to stare me down. I step closer. “The loony bin,” I inform her threateningly and then roll my eyes as she shakes her head and grins at me.

  I wonder briefly if losing your mind is a part of the eversion sickness that afflicts about fifty percent of the people who attempt it, because not only am I talking to no one in particular, but my hair is sticking out like a prickly bush, and my light gray eyes have a slightly desperate quality to their shadowy dark-circled edges. I look like a homeless runaway.

  I tug on the second-hand Grateful Dead T-shirt, some obscure music band that I’d never heard of, and hike my jeans out of the beat-up black combat boots. Not much I can do about the hair, but I try anyway, fingering the choppy locks lying on either side of the blue-and-silver braid hanging to my shoulder. Better, but not much. I may feel like a million bucks inside, but I definitely don’t look it. I shrug. Once I get back, I can work on my appearance. Right now, I have a job to do.

  Find my stupid keys.

  With a hiss of exasperation, I stride to Caden’s door and shove it open. The room is painted in rich intertwining hues of blue creating the illusion of being submerged underwater. A large bed occupies most of the space, leaving room for little else, but I expect that’s the point. It’s an undersea sanctuary of sorts, and one that is only truly appreciated lying down. Complete immersion. It’s beautiful and serene, not at all what I’d expected.

  As I am crossing over to Caden’s desk, my brain registers other details, like the shelves in the window alcove above it, covered in trophies. The majority of them are for fencing, but some, again not surprisingly, are for archery. A small sound escapes my lips, half gasp, half cry of some sort, and a knot immediately forms in my belly. With the bow, Cale had been an expert marksman. It shouldn’t be so strange that they have so much in common, given what they are, but the similarities are still overwhelming.

  A tiny amateurish landscape painting above the bed catches my eye, and I lean against the mattress for a closer look. It is all I can do not to fall backwards as my weight dips into the bed in a very unnatural way, as if I am on some kind of strange floating device. Instead, I spring backward to compensate and bang my still-healing ankle into the desk chair next to the bed.

  “Mother of…” I mutter, launching the offending chair across the room, as a cloud of pain threatens to suffocate me. “Ouch!”

  “I’d hate to know what that poor chair did to deserve such treatment.”

  I blink the stars in my vision away. Caden is leaning nonchalantly against the door, his mouth twisted in a grin, and shaking his head in mock consternation.

  “Hey,” I blurt out. “Sorry, June told me to look for my keys up here. She couldn’t find them where you said in the kitchen. I hope you don’t mind.” The words blend together in a rush, and I’m not entirely sure why they sound a trifle defensive. I can’t believe I hadn’t heard him come in. “She told me to come up.”

  “Yeah, I forgot that I’d moved them. They’re in my desk drawer. In the back.”

  “What?” Why would he have put my keys in there? I know I’m frowning.

  A shrug as he walks toward me. “I thought you were going to do something stupid like try to ride right after the accident, so I hid them.”

  “I wasn’t–”

  “Sure,” Caden says, his grin widening, and reaches around me. I feel my entire body freeze as his arms graze against mine, and suddenly I am holding my breath. Every second feels elongated as the smell of the sweat on his skin from his fencing meet seeps into my nostrils. He smells so much like Cale that my knees buckle… but that’s impossible. There’s no conceivable way that they should even smell alike. Is there? My confusion must be apparent because Cale – I mean Caden – grasps my arms.

  “Riven? What’s wrong? You’re staring at me like I’m a ghost.”

  “I need to sit,” I rasp, ignoring the keychain he’s holding in one hand. “Not on your bed,” I say hastily. “Something’s wrong with it. It’s… broken or something. Soggy.”

  Caden’s laugh rings through the room. “It’s just a waterbed. They’re supposed to be soggy.”

  “A water what?” The thought is inconceivable to me… a bed with water in it. When I think of the scarcity and the high cost of water where I come from, the thought of the overindulgence of Caden’s bed makes me physically sick. I shake my head to cover my discomfort. “I don’t get it. Why don’t you have a real bed?”

  “It is a real bed. Don’t you know what a waterbed is?” I shake my head, still mute. “They’re pretty common. I like the feel of it, and it’s good for my back. Something about it is calming, and when I lie on it, in the silence, I really feel like I’m in the middle of the ocean. Come on, try it.”

  “No.”

  But I have to admit that I am intrigued. The whole notion of the sea and the ocean is as foreign to me as my entire existence probably is to Caden. He reads my hesitation – and my curiosity – easily.

  “Here,” he says, and turns my shoulders so that my back is facing the bed. “Don’t jerk down; just sit gently. Good. Now lie back.”

  I comply until the top of the bed is literally cupping my entire body. “It feels so weird,” I say.

  “One sec, check this out.”

  I barely notice when Caden pulls the shades over his windows and presses a switch on a light in one corner of the room, so taken I am with the gently sloshing motion of the waterbed. But in the next moment, I’m transported to another world as white bands of light radiate against the blue mosaic of the walls, and the deep sound of marine life thrums into my ears from a box on the bedside table. I can’t even speak, far less breathe, when I feel Caden lie on his back next to me, the movement from his weight sending a slow, rolling wave into my right side.

  “This is…”

  But I can’t find the right words for the magnitude of the feelings inside of me. I have never ever seen a real ocean other than in pictures, and this is as close to that as I have ever gotten, even if it is just an illusion of light and sense.

  “Incredible, right?”

  “Amazing,” I whisper in a childlike voice. “Does the ocean really look like this?”

  “In the right spot, if the sun is shining down through the water, this comes pretty close. I think I’ve loved the ocean ever since I can remember,” Caden says in a quiet voice. “I don’t remember much about when I was really little, but I do remember my mom taking me to this seaside village when I was eight years old, and she couldn’t get me out of the water, even when it was so dark that I couldn’t see two feet in front of me. Back then, I had to have my bedroom painted blue, too.” Caden laughs, a sound halfway between humor and pain.

  “Your mom? Is she here?”

  Caden turns to face me, a shadow crossing his features, and shakes his head slowly. “No. She died.”

  “How?”

  “When I was seven. Seizure, they said.” His mouth twists. “Some kind of brain or nervous system infection, but the doctors weren’t really sure.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Thanks. It’s OK. I miss her but it was a long time ago.”

  I turn back to stare at the ceiling, the light and sound doing nothing to dissipate the sudden weight in my chest, but I remain si
lent. There’s nothing I can say – death is a natural part of life for me, but knowing that Caden’s mother had died from eversion sickness leaves me cold. I couldn’t imagine how painful it would have been, or how hard it would have been for Caden to watch his mother die.

  Cale’s mother.

  A shiver runs through me, and warm fingers slide against my wrist. The shiver deepens. The waterbed shifts, rolling me upward as Caden turns on his side to face me. I can feel him staring at me, but I keep my eyes glued to the ceiling. His fingers skim downward to cover my closed fist in his hand.

  I can’t move. My entire body is rigid at the light touch.

  “Who are you really, Riven?” he whispers, his right hand shadowing the blue swirls for a second before lifting to move the braid out of my face. He holds it for a second, studying it before releasing it. My breath catches. The sheer force of him imprisons me, as his fingers trail down my face, turning my chin toward his. “You seem so tough on the outside, but you’re not. Not really.”

  My eyes meet his. They are warm but unreadable. His thumb stirs against my temple.

  “You don’t know anything about me.” The words are sticky on my tongue, clumsy. For some reason, I feel inexplicably awkward.

  “I know you’re not like other girls, but I know you aren’t as hard as you pretend to be,” Caden says, propping himself up on one shoulder and cupping the right side of my face in his palm. Caden’s eyes are liquid like the imaginary water wonderland surrounding us, his irises mirroring shades of hazy blue. They are mesmerizing. His head bends toward mine, and all the breath steals out of me.

  “I can’t stop thinking about you,” he murmurs. “You’re so different.” His words slice through me like ice shards as I pull away. What the hell am I doing? I am different… more different than he knows. I jerk sideways and upwards, causing the bed to undulate violently, and wrench my hand out of his.

  He’s a mark, for heaven’s sake. A mark!

  “What’s wrong? You OK?” Caden asks quickly. An embarrassed look flits across his face for a second, but it’s gone as quickly as it came. He hasn’t done anything wrong, and I hadn’t done anything to dissuade him. I’d been idiotic to ignore the obvious signals – the bed, the lights, his gentle touch – but my senses had been muddled by the magic of the ambient lights and sounds.

  For the hundredth time since I’ve been here, I curse myself, but the truth is, I’m far better at fighting than I am at flirting… or clearly, even recognizing it. I glare at him.

  “I’m fine,” I say, snapping the words through my teeth, struggling to compose myself as self-disgust rages through me – I’d been stupid to let myself go like that. But my self-loathing still boils over. It’s poisoning my throat, the inside of my eyes, and I want to scream. My fingers curl into fists, but my voice when I speak is calm. It is inflectionless, emotionless.

  “You are right about one thing. I’m not like other girls.” I meet his gaze and hold it ruthlessly until his drops away. I grab my keys off his desk and walk to the door, glancing once more over my shoulder. “I’m worse. Don’t for a second delude yourself otherwise.”

  PREPARATION

  It is a tide of moving bodies, all flowing toward the door. Friday afternoon, and they all can’t escape the confines of the classroom fast enough. I don’t know why I even bother to continue going to Horrow anymore. I’ve already set the plan in motion – we’re heading for Denver this weekend to see some play that June had gotten Caden tickets for. The timing will be perfect, and I need him to be willing, at least until we evert. There’s really no reason to be at school, but I tell myself that it is for Caden’s own safety.

  The truth is that I’m enjoying high school for the first time in months, and in particular, this physics class. Something about Mrs Taylor’s no-nonsense confidence reminds me of my teachers back home. Not surprisingly, given who my father is, physics has always been one of my strong suits. I like this class even if it is rudimentary.

  “Riven, can you stay back a minute, please?” Mrs Taylor asks just as I walk past her desk.

  I nod to Caden who’s walking ahead of me. “I’ll meet you in the quad.”

  Since the other day in his room, neither of us has spoken about what happened. But sometimes, I see an odd look in his eyes whenever he thinks I’m not looking, and he is quick to conceal it when I do. I don’t know what to make of it, but it’s not like it has any bearing on the job I’m there to do.

  One thing I’ve learned about high school here is that it is a roiling mass of boys, girls, frenemies, and insta-crushes… in love one day and at loggerheads the next. I didn’t expect Caden to be exempt – this was his world, after all – but for my part, what had happened was already forgotten. I rule my emotions. They do not rule me.

  “Make that the gym,” Caden tells me, hefting a large bag with his fencing gear. “I have a meet, remember?”

  “OK, I’ll come by when I’m done.” I nod again and walk over to Mrs Taylor with a sense of foreboding born of following years of pure gut instinct. Did I repeat the mistake I’d made in Boston? Said something that is way beyond my supposed educational level? Written about some theory that doesn’t already exist in this universe?

  “Yes, Mrs Taylor?”

  She glances up, her eyes as dark and piercing as ever over her wire-rimmed glasses. “Sit down, please. I want to discuss the last quiz.”

  “I had help,” I blurt out before she can say anything else, but she stares at me with those obsidian eyes until I sit down. Stupidly, I realize that insinuating that I’d had help for a quiz meant that I’d been cheating. Still, Mrs Taylor doesn’t say anything, and even with all my training I find that I can’t read her at all, and my palms are clammy with sweat. She shuffles through the pile of papers and moves mine to the top. Even from where I am sitting, the huge circled letter “D” is glaring. D? That couldn’t possibly be right. But still, I couldn’t have done better if I’d planned it. I can’t help the smile that sweeps across my face.

  Mrs Taylor glares at me over her glasses. “Obviously, you didn’t have help,” she remarks, her sarcasm stinging like a wet slap. “And this is no laughing matter, young lady. May I remind you that if you fail my class, you will have to take it again in summer school?”

  I almost laugh out loud. I definitely won’t be around by summer. I compose myself. “I’m sorry, Mrs Taylor. I will try to do better.” I’m about to rise when I realize that Mrs Taylor hasn’t quite finished with me.

  “The thing that confuses me, Riven, is that your transcripts from previous schools are more than satisfactory, and you also seem to have an excellent grasp of the material during class-time and in discussion group, both of which suggest to me that you either weren’t prepared for the quiz or, more likely, that you deliberately answered incorrectly.”

  I’m at a loss for words. “I wasn’t prepared,” I begin but the look on her face freezes any more lies from leaving my lips. My ploy, it seems, has drawn more attention than if I’d aced the test. Squirming inside at my gauche stupidity, I wait for her to continue.

  “I also see from your transcripts from your last five schools that you have moved around quite a bit, more than usual for a girl your age.”

  “My father’s job requires him to travel.”

  “Seems excessive. What field, if I may ask?” Mrs. Taylor’s mild expression suggests that she is merely curious, but I take nothing for granted, especially if it is something that can compromise my safety. Or Caden’s.

  Trust no one. They were the last words that Cale said to me.

  I shrug and smile. “Sales. He doesn’t really talk about it.” My smile turns calculating. “Kind of like the mob.” But Mrs Taylor doesn’t take the bait, and instead regards me with an unreadable smile of her own. Something uncomfortable slides along my spine; apart from June, she’s the first person to make me uneasy the whole time I’ve been looking for Caden, and I don’t like the feeling at all. “Can I go now?” I say, more testily than I’d
intended.

  “In a minute. I want to ask you about one more thing. Your discussion group’s project is the law of universal gravitation, correct?”

  “Yes.” The uncomfortable feeling digging into my spine spreads its fingers along my ribs and across my chest. It’s Boston all over again. I can see it in Mrs Taylor’s slightly fixated expression.

  “Mr Perkins… Philip,” she amends at my blank face, “your group partner, mentioned the other day that you had an interesting contention regarding the laws of gravity.”

  My mind is racing now, trying to recall every bit of the offhand discussion I’d had with Philip. Bored out of my mind during one of the group sessions, I’d wanted to have a little fun, poking holes into Philip’s vast amount of book knowledge and his theories. What’s to say that this scenario couldn’t exist? Or what about this principle? Have you ever thought about if this could happen? And the killer, what about sub-quantum gravitational distortion? Little did I know that he would have gone back to Mrs Taylor. I grit my teeth to keep from kicking myself.

  Stupid, stupid, stupid!

  I paste a vacuous look on my face and twirl a strand of hair around my finger just as I’d seen Sadie doing earlier. It makes me sick to my stomach to be imitating someone that vapid, but I grit my teeth and twirl as if my life depends on it.

  “Philip,” I repeat in what I hope is a dreamy voice. “I think he really likes me. I was only trying to impress him, Mrs Taylor. The thing is, I don’t know the first thing about gravity except what they say on that television show, Star Trek. That’s where I got the ideas. Did he say something bad about me?”

  By the end of my mini-tirade, my voice has degenerated into an irritating whine. I am sickened at the empty-headed sound of it, but know that I have no choice. Hopefully, Mrs Taylor will believe me, but the truth is I have no idea about Star Trek other than a couple reruns I’d seen at a motel in Philadelphia, which I’d thought hilarious. I can only hope that my impersonation of a vacuous valley girl will work.