Watermark (The Emerald Series Book 3)

by James, Kimberly

  “Yeah, I do,” I said, hoping he understood.

  “No one would think less of you, Erin.”

  As if I cared what people thought of me. If that had been true, I never would have fallen in love with Jamie. I certainly never would have married him.

  The truth was, if I didn’t finish school, I would think less of me. And really this was about me. I had something to prove, not to anyone else, but to myself.

  Brave. Courageous. I heard people use those words to describe me. I wondered if they could see the me I knew I was deep down, in that place where it was just me and no one else, if they would still use those words. Most days I felt just the opposite of brave. Fear nagged at me. The fear that the loss of the man I loved, the loss of our baby, would forever define my life. I could live with being shaped by circumstances, but I couldn’t live with being defined by them. And the shape of the girl I envisioned myself to be finished her shit, even if that shit was high school.

  So, yeah, I had to do this. I wanted to do this. Despite my earlier freakout, I was ready.

  My dad followed me into the foyer, presumably on his way to his office. Halfway up the stairs, I paused, and without looking back to see if he was still there, I said, “I thought I saw something.”

  Now that I was home and my mind was focused on getting to school it sounded silly.

  “That’s vague,” he said. “What do you think you saw?”

  It was crazy. It was insane. No way could I tell my dad what my first thought had been. What my heart had believed for one awful second.

  “Nothing.” I bounded the rest of the way up the stairs.

  “Pour some peroxide on that leg,” he yelled.

  By the time I got back downstairs, I had convinced myself I’d overreacted. I’d seen too many scary movies and let my imagination run wild. The lake was Luna’s home. Home to heron and deer and countless other gentle creatures. Nothing dangerous lurked in the coppery depths.

  Monsters didn’t exist.

  3

  I wiped a trickle of sweat off my forehead and waited for the referee to blow her whistle. It trilled through the gym, spurring me into action. I stood five feet six inches in my bare feet, not overwhelmingly tall for a volleyball player. My ability to jump was my biggest asset. It also gave me a kick-ass jump serve. Like the one ricocheting off the libero's fisted palms. The ball sailed out of bounds and my teammates swarmed around me with a round of high-fives.

  “Come on, Erin.” Ally slapped my black spandex shorts. “You got this.”

  I nodded determinedly. I hadn’t had this much fun in a long time. One more point and the victory was ours.

  Go Stingrays.

  My dad’s voice boomed from his spot beside my mom on the bleachers. Seeing them together was a rare occurrence since their divorce. But they’d been more than supportive of me over the last two years, especially since I’d started back to school four weeks ago.

  The ball floated over my head, and with one strike of my hand, it penetrated the opposing team’s defense, knocking number twenty-two off balance. She grunted and fell over. My dad’s “yeah” reverberated embarrassingly around the gym. Was he actually fist pumping?

  Despite my attempt to remain aloof, a smile spread across my face. I engaged in a victory dance with my teammates, and we rushed the net to shake hands with our opponents. We all sported matching ponytails and ribbons. As captain, it had been my responsibility to supply the ribbons for the first game. They were black with white skulls and crossbones that contrasted to our blue jerseys.

  “Goodgamegoodgamegoodgame.”

  The phrase volleyed through the net as we slapped hands with our first victims of the year before we retreated to our bench and a victory huddle.

  Winner’s high. I’d forgotten how good it felt. I’d forgotten what being a regular teenager felt like. I smiled at Ally, my best friend since elementary school, across the circle of sweaty, happy faces. I wouldn’t have even considered coming back to school, and finding my place back on the team if it hadn’t been for Ally.

  She’d been right. I belonged again.

  She’d stuck by me when others had questioned my judgment as though somehow I’d violated an unspoken rule about getting involved with one of them. Tolerance, I’d learned, had its limits, and for more than a few people, inter-species relationships were that limit. So when I became pregnant, it wasn’t that fact alone that fueled the gossip. Tori Holbrook had gotten pregnant at the same time I had, but it had been me everyone gossiped about because Tori Holbrook had been knocked up by Chase Miller, and Chase Miller was an All-American kind of guy. He played football and drove a Jeep Wrangler with a boat hitch on his back bumper.

  Slut. Whore. I’d been called them both and more. The fact that Jamie was my one and only hadn't mattered. The fact that I'd wanted our baby hadn't mattered.

  For the most part, all had been forgiven. Everyone was back in their proper places, doing things with the proper people. It would have been laughable if it weren’t so pathetic.

  I smeared a towel over my face. There might have been a tear or two mixed in with the sweat. I’d experienced enough in my short life to understand winning the first volleyball game of the season wasn’t that big of a deal, but it felt bigger than that to me. I viewed my life as divided into two parts—pre-Jamie and all-consumed by Jamie. This was the beginning of part three. What I referred to as my afterlife, because while I hadn’t actually died, I’d wanted to. It had felt like I did.

  I was stuffing my towel and knee pads back into my bag when my eye caught on a pair of familiar herringbone Sanuks. I saw them stretched under my desk every morning in Spanish. Then to my left in calculus after lunch. They belonged to my do-gooder. Wouldn't you know my paddleboard saving hero actually went to my school. Everyone else knew him as Michael Bray. I had been surprised to realize I’d heard of him. He had moved here about the time my life crumbled around me. According to my dad, he averaged twenty-five points a game, and if all went well this basketball season, he was on his way to Gainesville to play for the Florida Gators.

  “Nice playing,” Michael said as the bleachers emptied.

  I raised my head at the compliment and met his eyes, something I’d managed to avoid for almost four weeks. I knew he’d been staring at me in the two classes we had together. I usually beat him to Spanish. But more often than not, his arm would shoot out at the last minute before I could open the door to calculus, and he’d open it for me. I’d mumble "thank you” and he’d say "you’re welcome.” Then I’d slide into my desk, pull out my notebook, and try to forget he was sitting behind me.

  I’d more or less succeeded.

  Now, he slid his feet off the bleachers and leaned toward me, resting his elbows on denim-encased knees.

  “Thanks,” I said. I zipped my bag closed and slung the strap over my shoulder. And then I turned away because some long repressed part of me thought he was cute, and I hadn’t even noticed another guy since Jamie stalked out of the water and kissed me. I’d worn blinders where other guys were concerned ever since. Michael smelled good too, all earthy like trees and a cool mountain breeze.

  Plus, my mom and dad were on their way over. I’d promised I’d go to dinner with them after the game.

  My mom offered me a gingerly hug, and I was careful not to get sweat on her sleeveless silk blouse. My mom exhibited impeccable taste, from her perfectly sleek ponytail down to her elegantly light toenail polish. She was a former beauty queen, Miss Florida 1993, which was how my parents met. She’d been making an appearance at a Navy base. To hear them tell it, it had been love at first sight. Too bad it fizzled out when I was ten.

  “Honey, I’m so proud of you.”

  I ignored the mist in her eyes. Tears and navel gazing weren’t part of my afterlife. “Thanks, Mom.”

  My dad threw his arm around my shoulders, guiding me toward the locker room door for the team’s post-game chat with the coach. I wouldn’t have looked back if I had known Michael would be wa
tching. But I did. And he was. His hands were tucked deep in the pockets of his jeans, and I wanted to say he was smiling even though his mouth gave no evidence. But I could see the gleam in his eyes from where I stood across the gym floor. Of course, my dad noticed my quick peek because he’d been trained to notice everything. I whipped my head back around, cursing myself for giving Michael a second look. My dad’s brows rose in question.

  “No. This year is about volleyball and grades, so don’t overreact and grill the guy or do a background check.”

  “It wouldn’t be such a bad idea to go on a date.”

  “Really?” I turned to him while he held the locker room door open. “When was the last time you went on a date?”

  His face turned stony, which was rather remarkable of him since he held himself in a perpetual rigid countenance, especially when my mom was around. His eyes narrowed the slightest bit. They were without question his best feature, bright blue and perfectly round. Scary and beautiful at the same time. I wish I had inherited them. My looks came strictly from my mom. I could be her clone, which accounted for the reason I’d never taken my looks seriously. They were hers, not mine.

  My mom cleared her throat, peering over my dad’s shoulder, and I instantly regretted my outburst because now she knew my dad didn’t date. And she did. And my dad knew it.

  “We’ll meet you at Angelina’s.” Her nose turned up slightly. Angelina’s was my favorite place to eat and probably her least favorite. A nice plate of pasta, for me at least, was the perfect post-game food. She’d stick with her usual Greek salad with grilled chicken and stare longingly at my carb fest and lament the perks of being young. We were, in all ways but looks, the total opposite of each other, which was a good thing. Otherwise we’d probably grate on each other’s nerves. As it stood, I liked my mom way beyond the whole “gotta love her cause she’s my mom” thing. I mean, I loved her. I just liked her a whole lot too.

  My dad and I watched her walk to the door leading outside, and he released a barely audible sigh.

  “We don’t have to do this. We can get it to-go and take it home," I offered.

  “No. It’s fine. It’ll be good for us.”

  “If you say so.” I walked through the door without another word.

  The locker room smelled of powder and flowery, sweet body mist. Coach Hall’s eyes glowed in the aftermath of our victory. If memory served, the team hadn’t won a single game last season.

  “It’s nice to have you back, Erin.” She squeezed my shoulder as I edged around my teammates, hovering around Coach like a flock of seagulls bent on flying breadcrumbs. “Winning feels good.”

  “Thanks.” I opened my locker as she continued her speech about communication and teamwork, but I tuned her out when I saw the dead fish. A striped mullet to be exact. I knew because my dad and I had caught enough of them off the end of our dock when I was little. I closed the metal door quickly, careful not to draw attention to myself. Hopefully the cloud of body mist was enough to hide the distinctly fishy smell.

  I didn’t know who was childish enough to keep pulling this same prank; this was the fourth fish I’d found in my locker since school started. It was lame, and I was going to ignore it like I had the others. Maybe whoever it was—I had my list of suspicious characters, and Derrick Nash, the resident bully, was at the top—would give up on whatever message they were trying to send if I refused to take the bait.

  Tossing my ocean-blue bag on the floor, I used it as a stool and focused on Coach and her newfound enthusiasm. Thankfully, her speech was short, ending with a nod in my direction.

  “Erin.” She leveled her gaze on me. “Way to step up and be a leader. We’ve got a great season ahead of us.”

  I was uncomfortable with her praise. She’d invested a lot of time into helping me work on my skills. She’d seen my potential as a player from the start and had encouraged me with talks of playing in college.

  And then Jamie had happened.

  Not wanting to think about what might have been, I cut my eyes to Ally. We were the only two seniors on the team. The three freshman would hardly look at me. I think they were scared of me. I was the girl who’d been knocked up by an older guy. Gotten married and took a year to homeschool. And I had to admit, I wasn’t going out of my way to be overly friendly, because as selfish as it sounded, this year was all about me.

  Instead of a shower, I applied a liberal amount of deodorant after pulling my jersey off and stuffing it in my bag. I exchanged the jersey for a wrinkled t-shirt with a stingray on the front. I replaced my shoes with a pair of slip-on sandals. That would have to do. I’d just as soon get this dinner with my parents over with. Not that I didn’t enjoy their company. I did. Just not at the same time.

  When I walked out of the gym, warm, muggy air blasted me. It was the end of September and still blazing hot. A fresh sheen of sweat popped out on my forehead. As though he held some kind of gravitational pull, my eyes immediately landed on Michael Bray loitering around my white Chevy Tahoe. My heart gave a leaden jolt. I wasn’t looking forward to hurting this guy's feelings, but it was for the best.

  I made a beeline straight for the left side passenger door, fully prepared to ignore him. He moved in to intercept my progress and, perceiving my goal, opened the door for me. What was it with this guy and doors? I tossed my bag inside with a not-so-subtle sigh of intolerance. He had a stingray on the front of his shirt too, except the lettering above the white graphic mascot read Varsity Basketball. Yay, we were twins.

  “Can I help you?” I faced Michael, striving for indifference, fully prepared to put an end to this game we’d been playing. I’d meant what I said to my dad. Volleyball and grades, that was it. And then I was getting the hell out of here. Away from the smell of the ocean, away from the sounds that reminded me of what was never going to be.

  “You want to grab something to eat?” He looked down on me with a pair of eyes that would have been ordinary if not for the dark, thick lashes surrounding them. Now that I’d gotten a good look at him, I had to concede Michael was not really hot in the smoking sense of the word. He was cute, and though he didn’t make me feel in any way out of control or breathless, he did make me feel… interested.

  “Yeah, I do.”

  He shut the back door and almost smiled. I opened the driver’s side door and climbed inside. I cranked the engine and grabbed my sunglasses from the overhead visor. The air conditioner was set to full blast, and I scrolled my iPod to Matt and Kim—ready for take off. Michael was still standing outside my door, looking at me through the glass with a perplexed expression on his face. I pushed the automatic window button.

  “I thought you could ride with me.” He blinked at me with those big puppy-dog eyes.

  “Why would I do that?”

  “Because you said—" His eyes flashed in a moment of comprehension. The shadow of his almost smile faded into disappointment.

  “Oh, you mean grab a bite with you?” I was being deliberately obtuse and we both knew it. “Sorry, dude, but I don’t even know your name.” As if he were going to believe that. I'd only heard his name called every day of class for weeks now. I smiled sweetly to cover the lie. “And I’m meeting my parents.” I shifted my Tahoe into reverse.

  He stepped back, and I let my eyes wander from his face to his feet and back up again. I attempted a sympathetic look, hoping I could pull it off. He wore his jeans well, just snug enough to show off his athletic build.

  “That’s really sweet, but no thanks.”

  He looked a little stunned. Good. Mission accomplished. His lips parted and I quickly rolled up the window, smothering his response. I waved through the glass. His hands went back into his pockets, tugging his jeans down enough I got a glimpse of flat, tanned abdomen under the hem of his gray t-shirt.

  The mantra sang through my head all the way to the restaurant. No boys. No boys. No boys.

  * * *

  Dinner with my parents had been amicable. By that, I meant neither of them spo
ke to each other. All questions or comments were directed at me, so it had been quick and painless since I had a calculus test to study for. That done, I scrolled through Instagram, noticing I had a friend request from Michael Bray.

  I stared at it, reluctant to accept. He might interpret it as interest, and that was the last thing I wanted to promote. I accepted a request from Sarah Hanney. She was one of the freshmen I’d given a scathing look to when she netted a serve during the game. Maybe they had a reason to be afraid of me. I thought about the way I’d treated Michael in the parking lot, wondering when I’d turned into such a bitch. Hopefully accepting Sarah’s request would smooth over any bad vibes. I didn’t click accept on Michael’s request. I didn’t click ignore either. Instead, I plugged in my phone to recharge and stared at the ceiling.

  At one time, I’d slept with a constellation of stars over my head, the night sky scattered across my ceiling. My room had been all about pink ruffles and eyelet lace. A month ago, I’d decided I needed a change. My once pink walls were now a desert beige. My bedspread had a bohemian flair, and the stars on my ceiling were gone, replaced with four recessed lights and a ceiling fan.

  I needed a grown-up room.

  I must have drifted off to sleep because I knew I was dreaming. I never heard his voice anymore unless my subconscious took over. I smelled him too. Beach, salt, and warm air. I rolled over, pinning my hands underneath my body to keep from reaching for him. I knew he wasn’t there, that he was a figment of thought produced from habit and deeply suppressed longings. I dreamed he was poised over my bed, whispering my name from far away, and then my dream turned nightmarish because it wasn’t Jamie anymore. I didn’t know what this thing was reaching for me, running a scaly touch down my cheek, the sound coming from its mouth harsh. Mullets flipped on my bed, thrashing around my legs. Water dripped on my arms from the ceiling like falling stars.