Fins 4 Ur Sins

by Naomi Fraser

  “Yeah.” But there’s something else bothering me, maybe the glint of intelligence I saw in Lakyn’s eyes at the shops.

  “Does it take moving pictures? Like in the movies?” Lakyn’s gaze sharpens, and his stunning blue eyes narrow. He tries the function again, taking the iPhone from my hands. I have no problem with this, it’s his after all.

  “Sure,” I say. “You can post them online, too.”

  The full capabilities of the Internet are a mammoth shock to him. He must’ve been hiding under a rock, home-schooled with foster parents who hated technology or something. He buys a laptop with mobile Internet. Bethany promises to teach him how to use it properly.

  But he immediately wants to test out all the video capabilities of the phone. So we sit in the middle of the shopping centre, those damn wooden seats are so uncomfortable, and he films something in the distance.

  Then he asks me if I will go swimming at the beach tomorrow with him to train for the trials. He wants to film us.

  I tell him I’d rather have maths homework every night for the rest of my life.

  18

  GETTING READY IN Bethany’s bathroom for a shopping trip on Saturday morning is a jostling of lipsticks and bronzer, and the steam of the straightener when it hits product. I apply eyeliner and mascara while she texts a few girls and guys—people she says who friended her on Facebook after she posted pictures of Lakyn.

  “Maybe we’ll meet up with them afterwards.” She laughs. “Go watch a movie or something. Do you think he’ll show up?”

  “Na.” I shake my head and pack away my stuff. “He told me yesterday he’d be working at the Yacht Club today.”

  “Oh. OK.” But she sounds disappointed, and I don’t blame her.

  We catch a bus at the corner of Bethany’s house all the way to Capalaba. Wynnum is close to the water and has shops, no doubt good ones if what you’re going for is boutiques and seaside trinkets. But Bethany and I want to go to the cheaper clothes shops in the huge shopping centre at Capalaba. It’s a busy place; definitely look before crossing the road.

  In Capalaba, I can’t walk two steps without seeing a car or bus. There are two centres side by side, and just about every shop you’d need is there, including the cinema.

  It’s a beautiful day out, not a cloud in the sky and the temperature is mild. But I find myself squinting against the sunlight. Going to sleep at three a.m. will do that to you.

  I’ll probably get a job here. Grow up in the midst of all the hustle . . . but . . . I don’t know if working here is what I truly want. I have no idea what I will do. I envy those who know without a doubt what they will become. Physiotherapist, doctor, baker, teacher. Their roadmap is already set out. I feel like doing the wrong thing for a year or two will be a mistake. No step forward at all may be even worse. I’m meant to decide so much, yet I feel out of place. Stuck.

  My reflection in the shopfront display glass is a sleek shot of white hair and dark arms and legs. There, I’m tanned. The shadow of someone who in real life appears as an arctic snowdrift.

  Bethany and I dodge leather settees with exhausted fathers and displays of stuff we’ll never ever buy. Well, maybe. When I’m thirty or so.

  We venture into the crystal store, and the relaxing peace of the music washes over me, as does the scent of incense. The trinkets they offer are beautiful, refracting light and warmth.

  “You love shops like this, don’t you?” Bethany asks.

  I laugh under my breath. “Maybe.” I pay for a large mood ring and then promptly slide it onto my middle finger. I waggle my hand at her.

  “Cute,” Bethany comments with a smile. The ring turns from blue to pink on my finger, and she giggles. “Is something on your mind? What happened yesterday at the breeders with Lakyn?”

  I grin. “Oh yeah. So much juicy gossip.” Then I laugh. “No. He just sat beside me on the bus, and like I said last night, he told me a bit about his family and where he works.”

  “So?”

  “So nothing.” Then I remember how close he came to kissing me. The sweet scent of his minty breath washing over my lips. My delight with the water. Despair, and a blinding, stinging agony. I bite my bottom lip, perplexed. I feel I’ve lost days somewhere, as if I’m missing something. Can I tell Bethany? I don’t understand it myself. “It won’t happen between us. I mean, how he looks! Though you should have seen his face when a butterfly broke free.”

  “He’s hot.” The words almost sound strange coming out of Bethany’s mouth. She’s normally so focused on academic things. “His blue eyes and dimple. You should totally go out with him.”

  “What?” I look at her and shake my head. “As if he’ll ask. Why would he want to go out with me?”

  Her gaze is astonished. “You’re beautiful, Ellie. Your hair is gorgeous. And, you’re a natural blonde. You stand out. You’re interesting; different, more than you seem. Hey, what were you talking about with my uncle last night? You know, when Cal was with you?” Bethany pushes her glasses higher up her nose and rummages in her pocket to count her notes. “If you’re finished here, I need some new clothes desperately. Come on.” She calls out and we exit the shop, then step inside the surf store.

  I look up slyly. “You mean last night when you were flirting with Hamish?” At the contrite look on her face, I laugh. “Your uncle wanted to know—” I cough. “Well, Cal told him I was the girl the reporters were mentioning on TV.” A sickening sensation drops in my belly, and I hold my hand over my abdomen. “The sole survivor. God. He wanted to know what I’d seen the night I died.”

  Beth blinks. “You’re kidding? He actually came out and asked you that?” Her face screws up in regret. “I should have been there. Talk about putting you on the spot. As if you’d want to be reminded.”

  I flick through the short shorts and cute tops and shrug. “It’s all right. I want to know what happened to me. I still feel like I’m living on borrowed time even though the police believe they’ve caught the killer,” I murmur. “It’s so strange, but it was good to talk to him. I didn’t realise your uncle knew the area so well.”

  “Yeah, I guess. My family’s lived around here for ages.” She steps forward and hunts through the clothes at the other end of the rack. “Damn, I wish I’d heard your conversation. He’d know the other fisherman, too. I never thought of asking him for information. He could tell us a lot. Hopefully, Cal’s been talking to him. I’ll call him as soon as we leave here. He might have seen the guy on the news around the area.”

  I arch my eyebrows. “Not only that. Five of the guys with your uncle were fishermen, and they spent about twenty minutes arguing if Gregor Bane had an accomplice. They said some of the guys knew him, and he didn’t know enough about the water or area to kill someone like that. Your uncle says he’s seen some odd things out on the water lately. Wouldn’t tell me what they were though. I gathered he thought it would scare me.”

  Bethany stops what she’s doing and turns to me. “What else did he say?”

  “Just that if I needed help, don’t hesitate to call him. He gave me his and your aunt’s phone number. Said it was terrible what was happening and, because I knew you, all of the fishermen would protect me.” My voice grows foggy and warmth pricks my eyes. “He’d put the word out.”

  “Hey,” Bethany says close beside me and she rubs my back. “Come on, let’s go do something fun. There’s nothing here I want. I have enough money for us to get a haircut and I want some highlights. We can stop at the cosmetics department after that and get a free makeover. Get some new bras. Oh, and I wanted to show you these shorts I saw the other day.”

  I breathe out slowly. “Sure.” Then I smile at her. “Why not?”

  We spend the rest of the day in a blur of walking and buying, experiencing what the shops have to offer. We eat lunch at a café, flipping through magazine pages and drinking coffee. By five p.m., my feet throb, my hair bounces above my shoulder blades and I have a bag full of makeup samples. To my surprise, the co
nsultant happily shows me all the colours that suit my skin and grey eyes.

  Then Bethany says she wants to check out the bras.

  With the last of my money, I get a bra two sizes larger, though not in the cup, just around my chest. Standing in front of the mirror in the change rooms, I can see the difference in my body. Specifically, my ribs. I turn to study myself from every angle, not liking the sharp width I’m seeing, the shape of me. Maybe this is growing, what I’m meant to look like. At least I know what size school shirt I need to buy. Bigger.

  I sigh and rub my forehead with a laugh.

  On my way out of the change room, I flick back my hair, admiring the new layered style. Before my eyes, the strands glitter. My jaw drops and heart stops. I peer over my shoulder again, staring at my reflection. I grab the ends of my hair and watch the strands grow across my palm in a silvery sheen. My heart pounds and I can’t catch my breath. Disbelief drums in my mind.

  “Be . . . Be . . .” I lean against the wall. “What the hell?”

  She calls out, “What is it? Do you need help? Is it your chest again?”

  “No. No. I just—” I grab a hairband from my pocket and seize a hank of my hair, pulling it up into a messy bun. I try not to glance at my reflection, but I need to see if my hair is still growing before I exit. The sudden glow is gone and I slide back the curtain, weakly smiling at Beth, my knees shaking. “I’m ready. Let’s go.”

  19

  SATURDAY MORNING ROCKS around fresh and clear.

  The day is hot and the water calls to me. That’s convenient since I need answers. My locks are even longer than before the haircut. I jitter and jerk through the kitchen over breakfast, because I can’t even think straight. “I want to take my bicycle down to the esplanade today,” I tell Mum.

  “Why?” She stirs sugar into her coffee at the kitchen counter, reading the paper in her pyjamas.

  “For the exercise,” I lie.

  “Take your phone and a bottle of water, though. Don’t be too long, all right?”

  “OK.” I have my new swimsuit underneath my cut-off shorts and pink singlet, plus a pair of reef sandals on my feet.

  I get to the dramatic coastline not too far away from the cliff at the back of my place and fling the bike to the stability of a lamp post. The place is crawling with people, exercisers using the walkway to jog or push prams. Couples spread out on the grass, basking in the sun, and kids swim in the lagoon.

  I have a camera around my neck, looking the cheesy tourist.

  No one will steal my bike. It’s a K-Mart special—aka—found at the local dump and left at my house courtesy of the local lawnmower boy with a short memory. He might have done it to stop being laughed at. The rim buckles on the front tyre, and there’s no seat, so you have to be careful when you ride. Extremely careful. The frame is a flaky, rusted brown.

  The craggy rocks are difficult to walk on. I hang on with my right hand just to make it down a few steps. I’m not a seasoned fisherman. I’ve seen some of them leap from rock to rock with the ease of a lifetime of practice. I look like a blonde leech, clinging to the rocks. I have the fleeting notion I may regret this.

  I make it down to the bottom and follow the thin corridor of sand that separates the cliff face and the bay. The golden, grainy strip will eventually lead to where tourists found me lying face down on the sand. It’s closed off, but I hope to go the long way around. I hadn’t died at the beach. No. I died at the hospital. Failing lungs. Trauma. That’s what the doctors told me. But now I need answers as to why my hair has magically regrown after my haircut. And what my mum will say when she finds out.

  Freak out on me, most likely.

  I lower the brim of my hat so no locals spot me and report back to my mother what I’m doing.

  The wind whips the ends of my hair so close to the water and determination swells inside me. I will find the answers I’m searching for. Why I survived when all the others died. I can’t stop now. The breeze is incredibly refreshing. Alluring. The rocks are flat black, and water laps against their sharp edges that are mired with bits of fishing line, shells, stray hooks and dead, little fish. Kelp, too.

  Camera. Document everything.

  I take a few snaps of the green seaweed from different angles. Since I have no idea what’s happening to me, it’s best to just photograph everything no matter how insignificant. I take pictures of the rocks, water, discarded hooks and a few sail boats out on the bay. I peruse the sandy beach for ages, loving the scent of the water. Wet sand coats the bottom and sides of my reef sandals and makes it harder to walk. I duck under the yellow tape the police have put up to cordon off the areas I need to investigate.

  Something niggles in the back of my mind. An instinct telling me I need to go back over the rocks again, they have so many hidey places.

  Sighing, I traipse back and pull up the rest of the seaweed. It’s long. My arms strain with each wad of kelp I throw up on the rocks. The stench is terrible. After the last wet, mushy slap on the stones, I stand up and rub my back, then mosey on over.

  What I first think is a fishing net is a bag. Curious, I hook my fingers through the handle and pull up the dark green mesh. The seaweed is partly enclosed inside and looks absolutely disgusting. It smells worse than the local public toilets.

  “Oh.” I grimace and then shake the bag open with my other hand.

  Two pearls drop onto the stones, bounce once and then plop into the sea.

  ≈≈≈

  MUM LOOKS AT me with raised eyebrows. “You took your time. Some boy came to visit when you were gone.”

  I frown. “What?”

  She laughs. “Boy. You know the opposite of a gi—”

  “Right.” My skin is sticky and gritty from the salt in the wind at the waterfront. I can’t imagine who it is. Cal maybe? “What did he want?”

  “He seemed unhappy that you’d gone for a ride along the water. He just left. You never told me you swam so well at the school trials, and the coach may want you to train.” Her voice strains. “Well done, honey.”

  Lakyn came to my house. OMG. I stand there, frozen to the spot, staring at Mum. The world must’ve tipped off its axis. “You’re kidding.”

  “He asked you to call him. He lives at the local hostel. I’ve heard about it at work. Displaced, disadvantaged teenagers and adults go there until they find their feet. He’s an orphan, did you know? He works part-time at the Yacht Club.”

  “Yes, he told me.”

  Her eyes are curious, piercing. “From the clues he threw out, I’d say he’s going to come back and visit you again. Perhaps you should ring him. Or I can drive you to the hostel and wait outside.”

  I shake my head. “I can’t. Look at me.” I gesture to my clothes and hair. “Anyway, aren’t you mad I was in the trials?”

  Mum wrinkles her nose. “Don’t worry about me. And you look fine.”

  I frown and shake my head. “No, I don’t.”

  “Well, then go get changed. Or call him, but he’ll just be over here again to see you.”

  I hate it when she’s always right. Lakyn is nothing if not persistent. “Don’t worry about driving me. I’ll text him.”

  “Was everything all right along the esplanade?” Mum asks softly.

  “Sure.”

  “The police talked to me at work about this other boy’s death. They wanted to know if you remembered anything yet. They said a curfew will be imposed even though they’ve arrested that man. I called the school and they said they handed out a notice, which I found on your desk.” Her voice sounds slightly reproving.

  “Sorry, I had a lot of things on my mind Friday.” The last thing I need is for Mum to start asking questions I can’t answer. “I don’t stay out late anyway. I’d better text Lakyn.” I trudge into my room, shut the door and sit on my computer chair. I set up the camera dock and upload all the photos. Thoughts of those two pearls fill my mind, but they fell into the water before I could grab them and take photos. Why was somebody collecting
pearls in a bag like that?

  Maybe Bethany can give me ideas, but I bet her uncle will know more.

  I grab my iPhone and quickly type: Y do u want 2 c me? Then send it to Lakyn. My phone buzzes with an incoming message. I open it up.

  What?

  A wide grin curves my lips. Right. He’s not up to speed on the whole text messaging thing. This is his first cell phone. I fight the urge to have fun. Why do you want to see me?

  My phone signals with another message.

  To talk. Do you want to go the beach with me today?

  I sigh. What is it with him and going to the beach? I type in: Already been but not for a swim. Found the strangest thing there. I went to the part that’s closed off.

  A long silence intervenes and, finally, all of my photos upload on to my computer. I flick through the pictures one by one, frowning at the queasy sensation in my belly. I drop my hand to rub my abdomen and then open the next message.

  What did you find?

  I line up blank photo cards in the printer and then click the print icon. I finally text back: Show u at school tomoz

  20

  FML. KMS.

  We’re at the pool again. I’ll sink and get disqualified. Maybe Coach Williams will be kind to me. For once. Yeah, and maybe I’ll get an A on my maths exam. I hide in line with all the other students queuing up in black swimsuits. Mine is . . . a little different. The black, boy cut swimsuit bottoms hide my hips, but I also wear a light blue bikini top to distract gazes from the lower half of my body.

  Bethany raises her eyebrows. “New suit?” She sidles over, pushes up her glasses and then gives me the once over. “Not bad.” Her grin is sly and knowing, but not as bad as what she whispers next. “Lakyn will notice you for sure. Why the heck didn’t I think of something like that?”

  Because you don’t have to worry about sores appearing on your hips. A sick nausea builds up inside my stomach; something in my body doesn’t feel right. Like an itch you feel is on your head, but when you scratch, you can’t find it, then realise the tickle is in your ear. Inside me is a strange flutter I can’t reach. Tying the bikini top around my wider-than-normal rib cage is confronting enough. I want to go back to a time when none of this happened, when I hadn’t died. When my father came home from work every day. “That’s not why I wore them.”