Sea

by Heidi Kling

  A week later, we were lying side by side on matching striped towels down at the cove, waiting for the rest of the group to arrive for our fare-thee-well bonfire.

  “Looks like ...” My stomach churned when I even thought about the midnight flight.

  “You’re going to be okay, dude.”

  I looked at her sideways. Then I took a swig out of my water bottle. “I hope so.”

  “The person you should be worried about is me,” Bev joked, smoothing down her straight black bob. “I mean, two whole weeks without you? I’m going to be so bored.”

  “You have your brother,” I said, uneasiness creeping into my voice. I hadn’t seen him since that awkward day in his room.

  “Yeah, right.” Bev rolled her eyes. “I’m completely irrelevant to him. As is anyone who doesn’t surf.”

  That stung, but I let it pass. Bev was right on, as usual. I didn’t want to think about Spider anyway. All I wanted to do was soak up the sun and watch powder-puff clouds float in the sky. I didn’t want to think about the trip or how sore my arms were because of all the needle-poking shots.

  I sighed, leaned back, basked in the heat of the day.

  Sunny Cove’s golden beach was packed, dotted with families, zigzagging Frisbees and seagulls grazing the sand for PB&J crusts. The teal waves were breaking perfectly. Dozens of surfers were out waiting for that perfect ride.

  “Why don’t you surf again, Bev?” I asked, forgetting her reason.

  “Three words: great white sharks,” she said with a snort, pulling a vintage T-shirt over her head. “You know that.”

  Sharks. Now I was thinking about Spider and everything else dangerous and lurking underwater. “Do you see your brother?”

  “No, but I’m not exactly looking for him.”

  I scanned the waves and stopped. I knew his surfboard like I used to know him. A short, red-and-white board with a black spiderweb painted on the nose. On his belly, bobbing on the board up and over the smooth water, waiting for the next set of ride-worthy waves, I found Spider.

  And he wasn’t alone.

  Someone was bobbing next to him, and that someone had thin shoulders, long red hair and a curvy wet suit.

  “Who is that girl with your brother?” I asked, surprised at how jealous I felt.

  Bev, now busy rubbing white Bullfrog on her nose, didn’t answer.

  I shielded my eyes with my hand. “In the water? Some surfer girl. Can’t you see them?”

  “Not really.”

  “I’m pretty sure it’s a girl. Look at her hair: it’s not hippie-boy long; it’s girl long. And I see boobs. Can’t you see her boobs? It’s definitely a girl.”

  “Um. Sienna. News flash. I don’t exactly sit on the beach in order to stare at girl boobs. That’d be my brother’s department.”

  I tilted my head so she couldn’t see me grimace.

  “And so what if he’s surfing with a girl; what else is new? Why do you suddenly care what my stupid brother does, anyway? Because you guys hung out together last week in his room?”

  She glanced at me suspiciously before flipping open the front page of the New York Times. She scanned down the newsprint with her pinky finger, humming and nodding to herself. “Status update: all clear. No new terrorist attacks in Indonesia or Bali, so you should be g-to-g for the whole trip. Good to go.”

  I snorted. “Oh, right, and that means the whole two weeks will be threat level what? Yellow for low risk of terrorist acts?”

  “Something like that.”

  I leaned in closer. “Sure you don’t want to come with me, Bev? You could be my personal bodyguard.”

  “Ha. I’ll pass. But don’t you worry. You can be your own bodyguard armed with my info.” She tapped the side of her skull. “Knowledge is power.”

  I laughed. Right. Those warning levels worked about as well as Dad predicting a plane crash. No one knew anything, so why warn at all?

  I watched Spider and that girl bob around in the water some more. I could almost feel it in my stomach, the sense of rising and falling, as I watched them go up and over the waves.

  I doubted that girl would give Spider the cold shoulder if he tried to kiss her. And I doubted that Spider worried for even a second about the possibility of sharks lurking under inky blue waters or plane crashes or terrorist attacks as he paddled hard into the building curve of water. All he cared about was catching this one perfect wave.

  I studied his form as he rose up on the board.

  Knees bent, arms out, he braced himself for the foam-topped thrill ride and, as always, cruised effortlessly toward the shore.

  THE HAZE

  That evening, Spider and I walked barefoot, together, in the sand.

  Away from Team Hope. Away from Spider’s family. Away from Oma. Away from the crackling bonfire and roasted marshmallows and veggie dogs.

  He had said he wanted to talk to me.

  Alone.

  Sitting cross-legged in the sand, Bev raised her eyebrow, and so did Dad. And so did I, frankly, but I shrugged and followed Spider toward the cliffs anyway. My stomach tied up in the same twisted knot of seaweed that hadn’t managed to untangle itself since my birthday.

  “What’s going on?” I asked once we were out of earshot.

  “Nothing.” Spider glanced over at me, sunset washing over his face.

  “Nothing?” I asked. Then why ...

  He ran his fingers through his hair, tugged on a handful like he was trying to remember what he wanted to say. “So, you all set for the trip? Didn’t forget your toothbrush or anything?”

  “I probably have three extras,” I said, playing along. “Vera made sure the car was totally packed before she agreed to the farewell bonfire. If you haven’t noticed, she is nothing if not organized.”

  Spider laughed, angling in closer. “So, are you nervous? I mean last week—you were acting sort of weird.”

  I shrugged away. To ensure an even safer distance between our swinging hands, I tucked mine in my hoodie pocket. “Kinda,” I said. But this instant, I’m more afraid of being alone with you.

  He squeezed my shoulder and then let go, probably worried that I’d freak out if he lingered. “Here, I found this for you earlier.” He dug into the pocket of his sweatshirt and pulled out a perfect-circle sand dollar. Not one crack. Not one flaw. “It’s for good luck,” he said.

  He set the ivory disk in my palm.

  “Where’d you find this? The ones I’ve found lately have all been cracked.”

  “I have my sources.” He grinned.

  Violent waves pushed clay-colored foam toward the shore. “Isn’t it weird how the ocean changes so fast?” I said. “This afternoon the waves were so clear and blue. Now look at them.” I nudged a snake of slimy sea rope out of my way to prove my point.

  “Yeah, they’re supposed to be head-high tomorrow.” He looked at me from the corners of his eyes and mumbled, “Too bad you won’t be around.”

  Right.

  I wouldn’t even get my toes wet, never mind go surfing. Again, Spider knew that.

  I countered with a teasing voice. “You could always meet up with that surfer girl, what’s her name ...”

  Spider frowned. “Who?”

  I tripped over a piece of driftwood. “That girl you were surfing with earlier,” I said, steadying myself.

  “Lia? I doubt she’d go out on a big-wave day. She’s just sort of learning.”

  “Oh, and you’re her teacher?”

  He looked at me like I just told him the earth was flat and I had definitive proof

  I shoved my hands deeper in my pocket. Spider must be so confused. He wasn’t the only one.

  We were both quiet for a minute, watching the waves whirl into more murky muck. “Why do you want to know about Lia?”

  I shrugged.

  The corner of his mouth rose like he was testing a smile. “You jealous?”

  “No.”

  Spider kicked a clump of sand into the air. “Oh.”

 
I wasn’t jealous. Not really. If I were jealous of all the girls Spider hung out with over the years, my blood would run green. Spider wasn’t my boyfriend; he was barely even my friend—he could surf with whomever he wanted. Right?

  I tucked a piece of loose hair behind my ear. Right?

  Then I noticed he wasn’t smiling anymore. And then we both stopped walking.

  I wasn’t sure if he stopped first or I did, but there we were, standing awkwardly watching the waves. I sat down first and dug two small ditches into the wet sand with my heels. Cool wind picked up as Spider plopped down next to me, hugging his knees to his chest. I noticed how light the hairs on his legs were, how the fool’s gold stood out in the flecks of sand dusting his skin.

  Why did everything have to be so complicated?

  I fingered cracked shells partially buried in the dark sand, the shattered pieces sharp as cut glass.

  “The sailboats are heading in,” Spider said finally, breaking the long silence. “Hey, look”—he pointed—“the Jolly Roger’s back.”

  “That old pirate ship,” I responded with a nonchalant eye roll like I wasn’t excited to see it at all. “Tourists.” But the smirk that crossed his face let me know he didn’t buy my attitude one bit.

  “You were always a sucker for pirates, Sienna.” His smirk turned into a curious grin. “Hey, do you remember that story your mom used to tell us?”

  Mom told us lots of stories. “Which one?” I asked.

  “Our favorite one. The one about the ship lost at sea.”

  “Not really.”

  If I said yes, he might not tell it, and for some reason I needed to hear it.

  Spider narrowed his eyes. “I can’t believe you don’t remember it! Let’s see if I can get this right.” He cleared his throat and spoke in a fake British accent. “A long, long time ago, sometime in the 1800s, there lived a sea captain whose great and only love died very young. He was so heartbroken that he vowed to never step foot on land again. He’d sail the seas forever and never return to the homeland that stole his true love.”

  “You can use your regular voice, you know.”

  “No interrupting!” His fingers waved away my comment, but he changed his voice back to normal. “The captain was a man of his word, and for five years he stayed at sea, not even walking into the port towns for supplies—he had his crew do that; he always stayed on his ship. Then he received a letter—let’s say it was in a bottle just for fun—proclaiming his mother’s dying wish: for her son to return home and kiss her one last time. How could he deny her this last request? He was a righteous man, a good man. So, with great sadness about abandoning his personal quest, he pointed his ship toward home.”

  Spider pantomimed steering the wheel of a great ship and headed straight at me. “Onward, Miguel!” I couldn’t help laughing. “Day and night he traveled the high seas, the rough and wild seas. When he was just moments away from his destination, a tremendous storm hit and his ship nearly capsized. But now the captain was determined to get home.

  “The storm was so dark and violent that he lost sight of land and was drifting off to sea again when he saw a light. An orange pinkish glow hovering over what appeared to be land. It was the light of a star, or the light of an angel. He followed the bright glow all the way to shore, and when his ship crashed on the rocks, the light disappeared. At last, by the bedside of his beloved mother, he swore the light was his lost love bringing him home to the shores of our town, which they eventually named El Angel Miguel after the sea captain and his angel.”

  I listened to the rhythm of the waves crash. Wiggled my fingers deeper into the damp sand. “Then what happened?”

  “The sea captain ended up marrying the most beautiful girl in the village. And they had like ten kids. All of them brilliant surfers, of course,” Spider said. “And of course, they lived happily ever after.”

  I wrinkled my nose. “Of course.”

  “So how’d I do?” he asked, his voice softening.

  “Awesome,” I said. And I really meant it. “Hey, do the surfers still call the light the Orange Popsicle Haze?”

  “We just call it the Haze. It was you who made up the Orange Popsicle part ’cause you were so obsessed with those sticky things.” He laughed. “Seriously, though, some of the guys swear they’ve seen the Haze after a bad wipeout. Or when it gets too dark, a little darker than it is now. They watch for the orange light hanging over the sand, lighting their way home.”

  I watched the sun set deeper and deeper into the sea until it disappeared into the horizon. I remembered Mom telling us that story when we were kids. And like everything she told me, I believed it. We used to watch for it a lot. The Haze. But I hadn’t searched in a long time.

  “Have you ever seen it? The orange light?” I asked quietly.

  “I’m not sure. Maybe. Then again, I always know my way back to shore.” Spider looked at me pointedly, telling me something more. “And you do too. You just don’t know it yet.”

  He wasn’t talking about geography anymore.

  He was talking about me.

  Doesn’t he get that the girl he knew before is gone? If Spider didn’t like me the way I was now, maybe it was time for him to really let me go.

  “Spider ...”

  He looked at me like he did back in his room. Like he was trying to get closer to me.

  “Yeah?” he asked, his eyes silently asking why I wouldn’t let him.

  I looked down. “Never mind,” I said.

  “What? Sea?” He scratched his head, frustrated. “I mean Sienna, just tell me. I can handle it, you know.”

  I shook my head, wishing I could. Wishing we could go back to how we were. Before. When I used to tell him everything and he used to understand. Before the taste of orange Popsicles soured, when I used to chase after him into the sea.

  THE PLANE

  “Flight attendants, prepare for takeoff.”

  “This is it. You okay, kiddo?” Dad asked.

  I’m paralyzed with fear, actually; thanks for asking.

  I gripped the two armrests like they were safety handles. “Is my seat belt tight enough?” I hardly recognized my squeaky, high-pitched voice as Dad reached over and tugged on the blue strap.

  “Looks good to me,” he said, pulling even tighter as he said it.

  I yanked on it again just to make sure.

  The Chinese flight attendant walked through the aisle glancing at our laps, talking to the many Asian passengers in words I didn’t understand. Another attendant was demonstrating the safety vests we were supposed to stick over our heads and blow up in case we crashed into the ocean. My mental image of Team Hope floating in a lone yellow raft in the middle of the sea surrounded by sharks while our plane sank into the dark abyss was not a joyous one.

  My stomach nearly flew out of my mouth when the plane’s engine roared to life and we started to move down the runway.

  Dad patted my white-knuckled hand. “It’s going to be just fine, kiddo. You’ve flown lots of times. Always been fine.” The way he said it made it sound like he was comforting himself as well. And maybe he was. He hadn’t flown since Mom’s plane disappeared over the ocean either.

  Tom flashed me the thumbs-up sign. I was shocked to see Vera leaning back on her seat, her blackout mask tight on her face like a supervillain.

  Was she seriously already asleep?

  More engines buzzed and hummed. Lights flashed overhead.

  Please don’t crash, please don’t crash, please don’t crash.

  I repeated the mantra, leaning back, squeezing my eyes as tight as I could until I finally felt the plane go up at an incredibly unnatural angle that was both terrifying and familiar.

  My silent begging got more specific as we started to level off: Please, God, Buddha, Mom, whoever is listening. Please don’t let us crash.

  “You can open your eyes now,” Dad said as I felt the plane balance itself in the sky. “Piece of cake.”

  Not convinced it was safe to look,
I heard Tom’s voice. “You know what they say, kid, takeoffs and landings are the only trouble spots to flying. Smooth sailing for the next twelve hours or so.”

  Twelve hours on a plane.

  I fought off a yawn, my eyelids weighted. That little blue pill Dad gave me at the airport must have started working. There was really no point in opening my eyes at all, even if I could.

  “Your Indonesian guidebook is in your backpack. That will explain everything you need to know about the local culture in Yogyakarta. In the back there are key Bahasa Indonesia phrases you should learn too before we arrive....” Dad’s voice rambled on and on.

  But I fell asleep before I had a chance to respond.

  CRASH

  The flight attendants scream in Chinese. Suitcases tumble out of overhead bins, and somewhere in the back of the plane a baby cries the worst cry I’ve ever heard, like a desperate animal caught in a trap. Yellow life raft tucked under my arm, I run down the aisle. “Here it is!” I scream, spotting the door marked Exit. “I found it!” That’s when I notice nobody else is moving. The other passengers are reading quietly or listening to their headphones, totally oblivious to the fact that our plane is barreling toward the sea. “We’re going to crash!” I screech to deaf ears. “Did you HEAR me? What is the matter with you? We’re GOING TO CRASH!”

  “Sienna! Sienna! Wake up!” Dad was shaking me.

  “Dad?” I clawed at his shirt. My face was wet with tears. “The plane was crashing!”

  “It’s okay, sweetie, the plane is fine. You had a night terror. Just a bad dream.”

  “Oh my God. I hope I didn’t scare everybody.”

  “It wasn’t that loud,” Dad said. “I don’t think you woke anybody up. Except me.” He laughed, but his eyes didn’t look like he thought anything about it was funny.

  “It wasn’t the same dream. It was the plane crash like always, but there were Chinese flight attendants.”

  “Reflecting your current reality. Dreams are fascinating, aren’t they? Portholes into the subconscious.”

  “I guess,” I said. Clearly I suffered from a pretty wacky subconscious.