Fins 4 Ur Sins

by Naomi Fraser

  “I can’t believe more have died.” I sit down, pull up my knees, and hug ‘em tight, lurching backward and forward. The tight pressure helps confuse the pain in my chest. I will not cry. Not cry. Like everyone at school doesn’t already have enough to talk about. I will not give them more.

  “I didn’t do it on purpose.” My teeth scrape together. I suck and chew at my thumbnail that’s almost bleeding. One type of pain to help distract the other.

  She taps my wrist. “Don’t do that. Hell, how far have you chewed down? You jumped, but you don’t know why,” she says, perplexed. “I don’t believe in coincidences. Do you have any history as a sleepwalker?”

  “No, and I just can’t handle not knowing anymore.” I throw up my hands. “It’s like I’ve lost a day of my life. I need to know why on Earth I would’ve been on that cliff.” Where can I go for help? No one here knows me like they did back in Sydney. I’m lost in a sea of strange faces. Just lost in the sea, period. “For all I know, it could happen again.” And there it is, my greatest fear. I scrub my face with shaking hands. “Call up your cousin, I want to meet him. See what he knows.”

  “Really?” She smiles, taps the screen of her iPhone and then presses the device to her ear. She waits a second or two. “Hey Cal. Can I come over to your place this afternoon? I wanna check out the beach where you found that dead girl last year. Why? Oh, just because I have the best cousin in the world, that’s why. And I’m bringing around a friend.” Beth laughs into the phone. “You know I’d think it odd if I met a guy who didn’t smell like fish guts. See you then.”

  The bell rings. We brush down our skirts, trudge back to our bags, but Bethany spins to me with wide eyes. “Oh, can’t believe I forgot to tell you. There’s this new guy. Have you met him yet?” she bursts out. As I shake my head, she smiles. “He’s hot! Total mint.”

  I raise my eyebrows and choke a bit at the change of subject. Remnants of liquid acid coat my mouth. He must be if Bethany has that reaction, but I head toward the water bubblers, my stomach soft and queasy at the memory of the dead girl’s picture. It could’ve happened to me.

  It did happen to me.

  7

  MATH CLASS STARTS out like this: open exercise book, look at textbook, study textbook, frown at textbook. Think textbook is written by a foreign student learning English.

  Glance at Bethany’s pages. Ah. Light bulb. She has already worked out her equations. I’ve been away too long and haven’t learnt any of this stuff. Heaven help me if we get a test.

  I bite my lip and smile, thanking my lucky stars for a friend like her.

  Mr. Sawly sweats in huge circles around the armpits of his ironed shirt. Word is he still lives with his mother. Doesn’t surprise me. He has slicked back sandy hair, Coke-bottle glasses, and when he leans down to check your work, you don’t breathe in for the love of God.

  Bethany always pulls out a bottle of extra strength deodorant before we go into his class and bathes us in a cloud of chemicals. “This,” she says, “is what gets me through his class. Otherwise, I’d choke.”

  The instant I walked into class, I mutinously stared ahead at Bethany’s back and then set up my own desk next to hers, refusing to look around.

  Whispers rained around me like knives, until finally Bethany elbows me in the stomach.

  “Hey.” I glare at her and grumble about frenemies. She jerks her head to the side, and I flick my disinterested gaze over her shoulder toward the door.

  A horrible sense of déjà vu sweeps over me. I exhale and my shoulders droop.

  My palms grow warm and sticky, my stomach flip flops, exploding with tiny butterflies. I squeeze my eyes shut and then open them again to stare. It’s him—him—where have I seen him? I lean against the desk to steady myself, but my wet palms slip on the surface. I’m so dizzy. I’ve seen this guy before. But where? It can’t be at this school. Back in Sydney, maybe?

  My skin prickles and burns, heart beating as if it’s about to start a rock band. He weaves around the desks, his uniform a crisp, dark blue. He’s the new guy Bethany’s talking about, I’m sure. I suck in a breath that hurts and straighten.

  His dirty blond hair is spiked up, looking fiendishly hot. When his eyes crash into mine, the blue shimmers. I stare in disbelief.

  He smiles at me, and a dimple forms in his right cheek.

  Moonlight. Stars. Darkness.

  I look down at the textbook and then turn back to Bethany, mute with astonishment.

  Oh yeah, she wears her guy-eating, Mona Lisa grin and chuckles as though my face is the funniest thing she’s seen in weeks.

  Mr. Sawly calls out the new guy’s name. Lakyn, the teacher asks, where’s your late slip?

  Such an odd name. And I’m so anxious to hear his voice, I hold my breath. Tingles wash over my skin.

  “Here, Mr. Sawly.” Lakyn reaches into his pocket for the slip and then strides toward the teacher.

  He has a deep, resonant voice, one that emerged right behind my left shoulder before he moved toward the front of the class. I shiver unexpectedly.

  “I needed to see the swim coach during morning tea,” he explains in the silence.

  Mr. Sawly reads the note, nods and then continues on with the class.

  I blink back tears, gazing around me. Wait. Something’s happening and everyone else is missing it. The girls twitter and boys give him a grin. Of course they do, he’s a hot enigma. I frown and rub my breastbone, trying to ease the tightness. When the pressure doesn’t work, I attempt to work on my equation. I’ll need all my brain cells for that. “Lakyn,” I whisper, doodling his name across my workbook.

  Bethany kicks my foot. Once. Twice. I cast her a pained look, but she just points across the room, hiding a thumbs up down by the other side of her hip.

  “Can I buy a vowel?” I look up to where she’s pointing and my heart stops. Speeds up. I push away the white curls from my face.

  I’m not sure how long Lakyn’s been staring at me. From the set of his shoulders and the steadiness of his piercing gaze, it’s been a while. The posture of his body is even more puzzling. It’s like a wall has forcibly stopped him in his tracks. His smile widens, showcasing brilliant white teeth. Not a condescending smile that others have shown me, but a conspiratorial one. The dimple digs in his tanned cheek, and his eyes almost light up the room. When he stalks toward me and pulls out the chair beside mine, my heart squeezes.

  “Hi,” he says, easing into the seat.

  Paralysed with overwhelming sensation, I can’t breathe or look him in the face. If I do, I’ll embarrass myself further, because once I start, I will not be able to stop. By its own volition, my gaze slides over to his hands on his desk. He has long, tanned fingers.

  “Hi,” he murmurs again huskily.

  I can’t place his accent. It doesn’t sound Australian. I purse my lips and take the plunge, staring at utter perfection. He doesn’t gawk at me like the others; instead his blue gaze considers mine. And I can’t put my finger on why he’s staring at me like that. My heart pounds like my old rocking horse. I bring up my left hand to my forehead.

  Mouth. Work. “Hi,” comes out in a croak. Then I glance down at my books and clear my throat. No wonder I can’t get a boyfriend, right? I’m destined to be lonely for my entire high school years. I’m almost shaking in my shoes.

  “Eloise, isn’t it?”

  I peer up at him in surprise, but his gaze strays to my lips and his eyes darken.

  “Yes,” I answer with a dry mouth. My lips tingle and burn. I blink at the sensation, my cheeks heating, but not smouldering like my mouth.

  “I’m Lakyn Ambrose.” The stars at night wish they shone like this guy’s smile.

  I casually press against my lips, expecting to find blood on my fingertips. None. Weird. “It’s . . . ah . . . nice to meet you.”

  8

  I CALL MUM on my cell and let her know Bethany’s invited me back to her place. To my surprise, Mum thinks it’s great. She encourages me to int
eract more and go out with my friends. Hopefully, she means more parties and no curfews. A girl can dream, right?

  Bethany phones her mum and says she’s going to visit Cal at Oyster Point, because he has some research material she needs.

  “You’re so sneaky.” I grin. “I love it.”

  Bethany laughs. “Great minds. Anyway, Cal will cover for me, and your mum might flip out. His family are fishermen. He and his dad were the ones who found the girl.”

  “How many relatives do you have?” I ask.

  “Mum’s one of thirteen kids, and Cal’s a distant cousin twice removed. Everyone at Oyster Point knows his family, but we’re close. When I heard what happened to you, I remembered him saying something about finding a girl on the beach. He sent me the picture ages ago.”

  My stomach rolls at the mention of Melanie. She’s a real girl to me, even though she’s dead. The bus is packed full of kids from our private school. Boys throw crap at each other in the back, but most have earphones on, lost in their playlist.

  “Remind me to tell mum to buy shares in hearing devices,” Bethany says.

  I remain quiet but wonder how we’re going to get from the last point of the bus stop to Cal’s place. In spite of that, I’m also looking forward to doing something proactive instead of waiting around for everyone else to tell me what happened the night I leapt off the cliff.

  “We’ll cab it,” Bethany says, rising from the seat to step off the bus.

  “Fine by me.”

  The doors swoosh open, and we step out into the hot sunshine. My lungs squeeze and I stop to breathe in slowly.

  Careful, Ellie.

  It’s a mind game where I have to override every natural instinct to suck in air as hard and as deep as I can. I open my mouth to call out to Beth, but I can’t form the words. Bent over, I reach out, pinching the back of her school blouse.

  She spins around and is right up there against me. Asking, asking, what’s wrong?

  My ears roar with static.

  She pats my back and then smooths the hair from my face. Her eyes are dark green with worry.

  I point to my throat, my chest and my hand shakes. Fear drenches me in a cold, cold sweat in the humid heat of summer. I shiver and wave my arms around in desperation.

  She drops her backpack and then whips out an asthma puffer from her bag. “Breathe it in,” she instructs. “Suck it deep, El.”

  I’ve never used a puffer before, but I grab it from her hand and then pump the spray into my mouth. And again, another spray fills my throat and another deep breath in.

  Gradually, I discover I’m breathing again. My lungs are loose once more, but . . . something is terribly wrong. I can feel it within me. The tearing sensation is all aflutter now. I’m sure ribs aren’t meant to squeeze this badly. It’s not like a lung crackle with a normal cough. This is bones moving; splitting.

  She rubs my back. “Easy now.”

  I wince at another slash in my chest, tears streaming from my eyes. Plus, Bethany doesn’t have asthma. “Where’d you get it from?” I rasp.

  She frowns and hesitates with the phone in her hand. A full thirty seconds pass with nothing but the sounds of cars driving along the busy road.

  “Beth?”

  “It’s not important, but I found it.”

  Gross. I scrunch up my face. “You gave me someone’s used puffer?”

  She sighs. “Don’t look at me like that. It saved your life, didn’t it? It was new in a box. I sprayed it a few times for fun, then put it back.”

  Again the sounds of traffic. I have the feeling there’s something she’s not telling me. I’m jack of that.

  “Do you want to go back home?” she asks. “How do you feel? I’m not putting your life at risk by doing this. If you can’t breathe—”

  “I’m fine. I need to find out what’s going on. I can’t remember what happened that night. Something’s wrong with me, Beth.” A high-pitched distress rings in my voice. “I just know it. I can’t explain why.”

  She studies me, and then nods as though her thoughts crystallise. “As long as you’re all right to continue?”

  I nod, breathing slowly.

  She turns to the safety of the grassy verge, pushes buttons on the screen of her phone and then holds it up to her ear. “Hi, we need a cab for two at Abbey Road, next to the bus stop, heading toward Oyster Point. How long? OK, thanks.” She hangs up.

  “How much cash you got?” I reach into the small pocket of my backpack and then hold out a fifty dollar note. “Need more?”

  “A twenty.” She shakes her head. “I’ll get Cal to drop us back. Save your money.”

  “I’ll pay the way there. I actually have money for a change.”

  She grins. “Cool.”

  “Where’d you find the puffer?” I ask.

  Silence.

  “Beth,” I prod gently.

  She sighs. “Mr. Sawly gave it to me after maths class. He said it fell out of my bag.” She shrugs. “I never put it in there in the first place. You know I don’t have asthma. No one else was around, and I meant to hand it in to the office, but I forgot, what with thinking of going to see Cal and all.”

  “And if you hadn’t had it on you—”

  Bethany fishes out the puffer again, and her eyes are earnest. “You’re right. Keep it on you. I don’t need it. Not like you.”

  “Thanks.” The silver metal and blue plastic feels cold in my hand and winks in the sunlight. I’d died, but how had that changed me? Am I truly alive? Is this what happened to my lungs when I jumped and drowned?

  I hope her cousin has more answers for me.

  9

  CAL DRIVES US over to Oyster Point in an old utility truck. Miles of net that stink of fish guts are piled up in the back tray. The axles of his Ute toss me from side to side until my ribs grate against my hip bones. He’s twenty years old, dressed in waders, a thick red and black flannelette shirt and a black beanie.

  Once he stops the Ute, he jumps out and waits for us to follow, then strolls over to a spot on the sand. He points in front of his rubber-covered feet. “This is the place. Dad and I were cruising for baitfish, and something big chased the whiting close to the beach that day.”

  “Shark?” Bethany stares at the sand.

  I can see Melanie now, lying there, gasping for breath. Or, maybe just so still with sea gulls circling on the breeze around her. I close my eyes, inhaling the tangy air. But the sea is dangerous—utterly unforgiving—like everything about life.

  It will kill me if I let it. I cannot be complacent.

  “The baits weren’t touched offshore.” Cal steps back and gazes out at Coochiemudlo Island in the distance. “She would’ve had bits missing, too, if you know what I mean. There’ve been heaps of shark attacks off the islands, but this wasn’t one.”

  “So, what then?” Bethany asks.

  “Either she jumped or she was pushed.” He falls silent and then continues: “When the cops rolled her over, there wasn’t a mark on her. No signs of a struggle at her house either, except for some blood on the rocks near the east-facing cliffs. Never seen anything like it myself. They figure she jumped. They couldn’t prove the parents did anything.”

  I shake my head, staring out at the low, rolling waves and a bitter sickness twists my insides. “They found blood. The newspaper report back at your place says there was no note. Nothing to show why she’d do something like that. What would be her reasons?”

  “Who knows?” Cal’s brown gaze locks on mine. “What were yours?”

  So he believes I jumped deliberately, too. I rub my forehead, because I’m getting a little tired of repeating myself. I palm the puffer in my pocket. My breathing slows, ribs pinch. I have a toke from the puffer and suck it in like it’s oxygen. My throat widens and lungs expand. Air tastes sweet. Bethany has already discussed most of the situation with Cal, but I guess I need to tell him more.

  “I can’t remember everything,” I croak. “I remember thinking I’d see my
dad’s face and hearing music. I woke up in absolute agony. My mum was crying, and I slept a lot.” My voice is so raspy, I sound as if I should be back in hospital.

  He crouches and swishes his fingers in the water for a few minutes, his face turned to the islands. “Music?” He gives me a quick look over his shoulder. “Interesting. I’ll ask Dad about that. Injuries?”

  “Dislocated shoulder that they fixed in hospital, cuts to my hands and feet, which were also fixed there and my chest . . .” I pause, wondering how to describe the pain without alarming them. “My lungs are tight. I have trouble breathing.”

  “You almost died.” Beth pads across the sand to hug my shoulders. “We know you jumped, El. But you can’t remember why, and that’s why we’re here.”

  Cal’s eyebrows quirk, and his eyes darken. “What about the guy they found, the one on the news this morning? You heard about that, right?”

  “Yes,” I say.

  “It’s too coincidental for me,” Bethany answers. “I’ve got a real funny feeling about all of this.”

  Cal chews his bottom lip. “Yeah. There were two other guys before him.”

  Some people think belief doesn’t have a lot of worth, but in reality, to have someone believe in you and help, when you can’t even believe in yourself . . . well, that makes all the difference. I bite my other thumb nail.

  Cal’s looks at me as if he’s trying to figure me out. Join the queue.

  Bethany switches her gaze back to her cousin. “Got a boat we can borrow for the day?”

  ≈≈≈

  MACKEREL SKY. CAL says a change is coming, and he lends me his flannelette. He’s worried about what the cold air will do to my lungs. To my surprise, the fabric doesn’t smell of fish guts, but of musk and sunlight. We don’t find evidence of floating clothes, nets or shoes. I have trouble suppressing my disappointment. The police had probably done all the searching when they found the dead bodies.