“Amy Haskel.”
“Get Miss Amy Haskel a life vest.”
The kid shot me a quick, incredulous look and ducked into the cabin. Great. Now I was an object of mockery to an adolescent.
Even knowing that I was about to be stuffed into some neon nylon-and-polyurethane fashion disaster/safety device, I didn’t want to get on board. Everyone was starting to make impatient noises. I looked up at them, standing above me on the raised deck of the boat, superior and smug because they had no problem with the bobbing and the splashing and the unfathomable depths of the ocean. I peered over the edge of the dock and caught a glimpse of seabed about four feet below the surface. Okay, well, maybe not unfathomable, but still.
The teenager emerged again and tossed me a cornea-searing orange vest held together with bright yellow straps. “That do?” he asked.
I slipped it over my head. The vest was made of two squares of foam sewn together at the shoulders, with a hole for my head. The straps went beneath my arms and attached in front with a big plastic buckle. I snapped myself in, feeling stupider by the second. And then I steeled my nerves and climbed aboard.
Okay, this wasn’t so bad. Nice, even, what with the gentle rock and sway. I stood for a moment in the middle of the deck, hands splayed for balance. The spring sunlight flickered out from behind a cloud and spilled onto the skin of my arms.
Warmth. Why is it that sunlight warms so much more thoroughly than radiators? It was the first time in months that I’d felt that sensation, and I lifted my face to the sky, soaking it in.
There was a rumbling beneath my flip-flops as the boat’s engine turned over. The deck pitched and I dropped into an alarmed crouch.
Clarissa laughed. “Midwesterners.” She beckoned to me. “Come here. I’ll keep an eye on you.”
I rose and cast a quick look around. Most of the others were enjoying the sun and the view and hadn’t noticed my humiliating moment.
But at least one person hadn’t missed it. Poe shook his head at me, one brow raised above the rim of his sunglasses, and turned away.
Whatever. I wouldn’t let him see me sweat. Poe was the only one on the boat who really knew how much this experience freaked me out, and I intended to keep it that way. I took a deep breath and edged toward the railing near the—prow? front?—to join Clarissa and George.
Up here, the rise and fall of the deck was even more pronounced, and I gripped the rails securely. Just to the side, the railing gapped at the “entrance.”[3] Only a thin chain dangled between the two bits of rail. I suppressed a shudder and huddled closer to Clarissa.
“…sailing,” I heard George say.
“Right, tomorrow,” Clarissa said. “I can’t wait.”
I could. I hadn’t yet figured out what I’d be doing on the island all day while my brothers went swimming or jet-skiing or who knows what else. Hopefully, the sunbathing-and-catching-up-on-reading contingent would be just as popular.
Clarissa held her arms out over the abyss. “I mean, look at how pale I’ve gotten. I need a tan like no one’s business.”
As George and Clarissa compared skin tones, I tried my best to relax. I attempted to roll the tension out of my shoulders and neck, but the life jacket limited my mobility quite a bit. Not that I had any intention of taking it off until I was back on dry land. Safety first, and all that.
However, I had to admit that once you got into the rhythm of the boat—the way it smacked hard against the waves, then rose and swooped into the dips between the swells—it was almost fun. Like a little roller coaster. I could understand why folks of Clarissa’s stock actually enjoyed this kind of activity.
And then I remembered that Brandon and Felicity had gone on a yacht tour of Fiji. Another example of why she worked so much better for him than I would have: boating trips. I would never suggest such a thing to him. I didn’t even know he liked boats. (Just airplanes—and paper ones, at that.)
I loosened my white-knuckled grip on the rail a bit. Maybe if I’d been more adventurous, he would have…
No. Stop it. I’d promised myself that I wouldn’t do this anymore, that I wouldn’t spend any more time thinking about what I was lacking. I’d made mistakes with Brandon, but it didn’t make me a bad person. Just a different person. A person who wasn’t right for him.
Still…I moved my hands a few inches from the rail. It didn’t hurt to try.
The boat pitched again and I tightened my grip. Maybe I should wait to try until we were closer to the dock?
The boy who’d given me the life jacket joined us by the rail, and George and Clarissa scooted over to give him room. I did not scoot. Someone else could stand by that chain-enclosed gap.
“Hi,” George said, sticking out his hand. “I’m George. You the skipper here?”
The kid shrugged. “Today. Gets me off the island.”
He’d been on the island for a while? Maybe…hiding out from the media? I looked at him more closely, trying to recall the photo I’d seen online. “Are you Darren?” I asked.
“And you’re Amy,” he stated, smiling.
“How did you know that?” Clarissa asked.
“The captain said it.” He flicked a chip of paint off the railing and over the side. “So, are all you guys Diggers?”
“I don’t think we’re supposed to tell you that,” Clarissa said.
Darren shrugged again. “It’s pretty obvious with everyone else. You’re either a Digger, or the girlfriend or wife or kid of one. But not anymore.”
“What makes you say that?” I asked.
“Because they’ve got girls now. So you guys could all be Diggers.”
“I’m just the boyfriend of one,” George volunteered. As if he was ever the boyfriend of anyone.
“No,” said Darren. “You’re a Prescott. You I know.”
Clarissa laughed. “Your reputation has preceded you even here, George.”
I squinted through the sunlight at Darren Gehry, trying to find in him some resemblance to his father, but noticed none. Where Kurt was beefy, red-faced, and scowling, Darren was skinny, freckled, and had an easy, open (if vaguely smug) smile.
“How do you know Rose & Grave has girls?” I asked him.
“There’s nothing better to do here than read up on you guys.”
Funny, to talk to some of my fellow knights, there was nothing better to do than read up on his family back at Eli. I could see now why the Gehrys had spirited their children off to Cavador. There was no need to subject the kids to that sort of media frenzy, especially after they just lost their nanny!
“There’s a lot of old records and stuff lying around.” He peeled another strip of paint off the railing.
I feigned innocence. “‘We guys’?” I said. “I’m not one of them.”
He chuckled.
“Still, you seem to know a lot about Rose & Grave for someone who isn’t a member,” Clarissa added.
“Are you saying you are one?” he replied.
She leaned in. “What do you think?”
The deck tilted as the captain started cutting to the side, and we all jostled against one another. I bit back a scream, since no one else seemed to be fazed by the movement.
Come on, Amy. Pull yourself together. I could do this. It was just a boat ride. I’d been on boats before.
Well, no. I’d been on a log flume once, where the water was about three inches deep. And I’d ridden the Pirates of the Caribbean at Disney World. And It’s a Small World, too, come to think of it. But other than that, I’d led a pretty boat-free existence. How had I made it to twenty-two with so little experience? And here I’d thought myself so worldly.
The captain started calling for Darren, and he excused himself.
“Not a bad kid,” said Clarissa. “Shame about the father.”
“Is Daren really stuck down here, alone with his family?” George said. “That can’t be fun. And what are they doing about his school?”
I nodded, not sure I could trust my voice as the bo
at began zipping across someone else’s wake with several jarring slaps. Could that possibly be good for the hull? If I felt this kind of bumping in a car, I’d freak out, but apparently no one minded that every second it felt like we were about to break open and spill our contents right into the depths. I felt my stomach drop into my toes, then rise in my throat.
Great. Now I was seasick.
A few moments later, Darren rejoined the party.
“So,” George said, “how much farther to Cavador?”
Darren pointed vaguely off into the distance, and the boat pitched again. He covered his mouth with one hand and gripped the railing with the other.
“You feeling okay, man?” George asked. Darren shook his head miserably. From my position on the other side of Clarissa, I sympathized. I wasn’t feeling so hot myself. Maybe the captain should take it easy on us.
Suddenly, Darren reared up and spewed something white and chunky all over Clarissa. She screamed and flung herself backward, out of the splash zone, knocking into me. I lost my grip on the railing and catapulted backward. I made one grab, then another, reeling back, trying to find my balance on the ever-tilting deck. My hands closed over metal, and I heard a crunch.
The chain. The gap.
And then the world turned upside down.
8. Waves
It took forever for the splash.
In case you’re wondering, water is not soft. The sea smacked me in the head as I landed. My breath whooshed out of me and I gasped, instantly swallowing a lungful or two of water.
I tried to move my hands, but they were tangled in something, and the pressure of the water made them feel heavy. Clumsy. There was something very loud nearby. The propeller? I kicked and felt my shoes fly off. When I tried to open my eyes, they burned and blurred.
I saw blue, then the shiny white boat, bathed in sunlight. Tiny colors clustered at the prow. Then blue again, as another wave hit.
I heard a scream. Not mine, of course. To scream, you must be able to breathe.
Thank God for the life jacket, I remember thinking. Right before I noticed I was no longer wearing one.
And then I did feel a scream rising in my throat. I kicked and kicked, and once again, the blue gave way to sunlight and boat. The same colors clustered on the deck, only now there were more of them, and they were pointing at me, and then I saw something black fly out. And then everything went blue once more.
Why couldn’t I move my hands? Where were my shoes?
In the next second, there was something squeezing my chest, dragging me backward. I stiffened and then breathed air. Or something approximating air. My hair hung in my face like a wet blanket, wrapped tight around my neck. I choked and coughed, trying to get my arms free.
“Hold still, Amy,” said a voice at my back. “The straps.”
And then the water got a lot less heavy and I clawed at my face, scratching my skin with my nails as I scraped my hair out of the way. Yes! Air—cold, salty, but air nonetheless. I gulped it into my burning lungs, and started coughing again, jostling against whatever constrained my torso.
“Amy.” The voice was as calm as before. “Stop struggling.”
I went limp, and found that I wasn’t sinking. Someone was holding me above the water. I turned my face toward the voice.
“Ah,” Poe said. “She does know how to listen.” There was a smear of watery red beneath his nose. Was he bleeding?
Something smacked against the water. A Styrofoam circle. Poe grabbed for it with his free hand and shoved it toward me. “Hold on to this.” I reached for the lifesaver with shaking hands, and as soon as I took hold of it, he flipped the tube over my head and pushed me through. “Got it?” he asked, breathing heavily. I nodded, and another coughing fit overtook me.
Poe began pushing me and my Styrofoam tube toward the boat, asking me questions the whole time.
“Can you breathe?”
I nodded.
“Anything broken?”
I shook my head.
“Anything hurt?”
Another shake. Though that wasn’t true. My head was pounding, my lungs burned, my throat felt raw.
“Can you speak?”
“What happened to your face?” I croaked.
“You kicked it.”
“Sorry.”
We’d reached the boat by then, and Poe pulled me beneath a fiberglass ladder built into the side of the hull. Hands were already reaching out over the edge, but I couldn’t tell who they belonged to. Somehow, I pulled myself up onto the rungs. Somehow, I got over the side and onto the deck, trailing water, coughing and spluttering the whole time. Clarissa wrapped me in a towel. I could see vomit drying on the front of her shirt.
“Amy, I’m so sorry,” she said. “I didn’t realize you were standing so close to me. I feel awful—”
“It’s not your fault,” George said, placing a hand on her shoulder. “It was an accident.”
“Where’s Darren?” I asked. “Is he all right?”
“Fine. Seasick.” Clarissa pulled her shirt away from her chest. “I’m going to go change.”
Jenny took her place at my side. “You caught your life vest on that chain and it ripped right off,” she reported. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
Harun stood above us. “When you went down again, we figured you’d hit your head or something. You just…sank.”
Yeah, dude. That happens when one doesn’t swim. But I didn’t say that. I just hugged the towel more tightly around myself and prayed that this boat ride would be over soon. But how was I supposed to get off the island once I was on it? Another boat? Was there any chance I could be airlifted off?
My Capri pants and T-shirt stuck to my body, my hair hung on my face in clammy tangles. The right side of my head throbbed where it had smacked against the water, and I could feel bruises forming on my right shoulder and the top of my foot where (I suppose) I’d hit it against Poe’s face.
Poe. Where had he gone? I looked around the deck for him, but he hadn’t joined the others in seeing I was okay.
“When will we get to the island?” I rasped.
“Soon, Amy,” Jenny said. She leaned in and dropped her voice to a whisper. “You don’t swim, do you?”
I put my head down on my knees.
I heard her voice overhead. “Come on, guys, let’s give her some space.”
That’s the last thing I noticed until the boat engines ground to a halt.
***
“We’re here.” Demetria’s voice was gentler than I’d ever heard it. She touched my shoulder. “Wake up, Amy.”
My clothes had dried somewhat, but were still damp and clingy in the back, under my arms, and, of course, near my crotch. Lovely. I pushed my tangled hair out of my face. “Thank God. Dry land.”
“Well, come on, Kevin Costner, and enjoy it.”
I looked up. Ugh. This was a mistake. I needed to get off the island, go someplace where there was no water for miles. I wondered if there were any interesting Spring Break trips through Death Valley.
“There’s supposed to be some sort of tour for the neophytes,” Clarissa said, crouching down to join us. I’d been huddling on a bench near the control panel, too afraid to go into the cabin but not wanting to get anywhere near the edge of the deck. Demetria and Jenny also stooped over me.
“So we’re neophytes again?” Demetria asked.
“Well, it is our first time here.” Clarissa looked at me. “But I bet we can take you straight to your room instead. I’m sure the last thing you want to do is spend time walking around, until you’ve gotten a chance to—”
“Change,” Demetria cut in.
“Rest, I was going to say.”
Hide out would probably be better.
Jenny appeared at the door. “Seems this is going to be more complicated than we thought.”
“What do you mean?” Clarissa asked.
“There’s some sort of issue with the sleeping arrangements.”
“What?
” Demetria said. “What issue?”
“Well, the island caretaker is what some would term a tad old-school. He says that he won’t put us girls in the same building as the other knights. We have to sleep elsewhere.”
“What?” Clarissa asked.
At this, I seriously considered staying on the boat.
Demetria frowned. “Are you sure it’s Victorian sensibilities? Maybe there’s something else going on here.”
“What?” Clarissa asked. “Are you taking up the mantle of Amy’s conspiracy theories?”
“Well, she’s hardly in any shape to do so!” Demetria replied. She turned to Jenny. “Go back and tell this guy that Eli dorms went co-ed ages ago. We have gender-free bathrooms and everything.”
“You do it,” Jenny said. “Or am I the only one expected to get treated like a second-class citizen around here?”
“If the shoe fits,” Demetria muttered. She’d never really forgiven Jenny for the whole website fiasco last semester.
“Guys,” I said through my sore throat, “what’s the problem here? Where exactly do they propose to put us?”
“Just another cabin. But it’s kind of on the far side of the island. A bit out of the way.”
“So what?” Clarissa said. “It’s not like the island is that big to start with.”
“It’s the principle of the thing,” Demetria said. “Why do we have to be the ones to go away? Put the boys there if he insists on separating us.”
“And where’s the principle of that thing?” Clarissa replied. Demetria appeared to concede the point.
“Also,” Jenny said, “it doesn’t have its own bathroom. We’d have to hike back to use the shower house near the kitchens.”
“What?” I asked, while Clarissa shrugged and Demetria’s expression grew mildly less combative. “What do you mean, no bathrooms? What kind of luxury resort is this?”
All three of them blinked at me. “What do you mean?” Clarissa asked. “It’s our own private island. How much more luxurious can it get?”
And that was Miss Park Avenue talking. I instantly felt foolish.
Rites of Spring (Break) il-3 Page 10
