by Naomi Fraser
She steps back and frowns. “It isn’t? Why then?” Her green eyes widen in penetrating curiosity. “Hey, are you all right? You’ve gone a funny colour, all pasty green. Why do you have your hair like that? You hate caps. You never put them on earlier than you have to.”
I’m not about to confess the reason in public or, heck, even in private. But now that the sores have disappeared, thank heavens, and my hair is tucked away, I don’t feel like a swamp creature about to swim with all the normal people. “My hair goes green sometimes in a pool. And, I’m all right. I hated the other suit.”
She plucks at the strap of her bathers and grimaces. “Yeah, they suck. My green one is ripped on the back. That colour suits you, though. It’s amazing Coach lets you get away with it when you won the trial.”
I try my hardest to quell the tumble of greasy butterflies in my stomach. Terror tastes awful on my tongue. “I hope Coach says I can’t swim. It would solve so many of my problems.”
She laughs and nods. “Ahh, another reason.” Then she frowns. “You should just tell him you have your period or something to get out of it. Any excuse will do. I don’t think it’s right they make you swim when you were found on the beach like that. Just tell him no. What can he do?”
Teachers know, they always know. That excuse works sometimes, because it’s true. But when male teachers give you that look, you know it means crap to them.
Confession fists in my throat. About my hair, and the expedition to the waterfront. Photos, questions. I can trust Bethany, I know, however I don’t want to tell anybody. Maybe this is a phase and it will all pass me by. Am I the subject of external forces in my life? Don’t I get a say?
Most of the girls chatter amongst themselves and look around, staring at my costume condescendingly. Which is fine. It’s better than their ‘you’re crazy’ looks. A ruckus starts at the gate, and all the girls glance over their shoulders as if they’ve been waiting for this moment. Some move off to recline with artistically bent, suntanned legs on the stainless bleachers. Me, I stand on burning, sun-white concrete and wonder if anyone will notice if I sneak home.
I hear the whispers, then the girls’ shouts. “Lakyn! Hi, Lakyn. Hey, wait up!” The near rush of bodies, like girls plucked out of line by a giant hand and flung in his path before he can even get to the pool. The swarm of popularity. What a lie.
I laugh at the idea.
A hot prickle of awareness slides up my neck. I swallow, refusing to turn. I will show him the photos, but not just yet. Not with all these people around.
The scent on the breeze fills my lungs, caressing my hot cheeks. I mindlessly turn back to the pool, soaking up the pull, the need to sink in up to my hair and have the cool wash covering my sweating body. Salt and sun fill my breath with needy delight and I lick the perspiration on my upper lip. My throat dries like concrete full of sand. The clear blue water invites me to ecstasy. I step toward the edge of the pool and bend to swish my fingers in the cold water.
So beautiful.
Staring at my nails, the white tips glitter in the sunlight. My vision doubles from the ripples in the water.
“Lakyn’s here,” Bethany murmurs behind me.
Uh huh. So what?
“So . . . he’s coming over here. Do you think he’s mad I posted those photos online? He doesn’t look too happy.”
Can’t be, Bethany. What would they think if I just jumped in?
A warm hand lands on my shoulder. “They’d think you’re insane. Are you even listening to me? Your eyes look all strange.”
A peculiar deafness affects my ears. Well, my legs then, I say. I’ll just put my legs in.
“Ellie!”
I blink, straighten and turn at my name.
“Hell,” Bethany says, “he just shouted your name clear across the pool. What’s going on between you two?”
His piercing blue eyes spear mine across the distance, and my heart thumps erratically. “I don’t know,” I say.
He saunters, his chest a wall of tanned muscle and streaky hair bright in the sunlight. He moves past other guys who wouldn’t look at me if their lives depended on it.
Ashly struts beside him, but he shakes himself free of her grasp and frowns at her. Ten metres away from us, his entourage stops behind him. Obvious uncertainty flickers in their gazes. Probably wondering why he wants to talk to me.
“He’s so hot! I’m outta here. Give you guys some time alone.” Bethany bounces on the balls of her feet. Her parting words are, “Get him, El.”
He finally stops inches away, and the breath stalls in my throat. All I can think about is him going to my place to find me and why the interest when he can have any girl he wants? I hear the lapping of the water in the pool and sigh. The scent of saltwater relaxes my guard enough so all my senses open.
“What did you find, Ellie?” His voice is hard. He stands straight and tall and water droplets glitter on his huge biceps and ripped chest. The reflection of the bright water ripples in a cascading movement against his tanned skin. Water—the promise of life.
I look back to the blue near my feet. The pool looks lovely, I say.
“Ellie, I can’t snap you out of it. Not here. I’ll talk to Coach.”
I jerk my head up, confusion clouding my thoughts. Snap me out of it?
He crosses his arms, forcing the muscles to bulge in his biceps. “Can you hear me?”
Sure. Do I want to is the question. My gaze drops below his arms to the constant eddy of light across his hard, bronzed eight pack and then lifts back up to the unimaginable blue of his eyes. Colour like that can’t be real, it’s celestial. From the small smirk on his lips, he must realise I can’t stop looking at him.
Who are you, Lakyn? Why do you care?
“Better me than the pool. I’ll talk to Coach in a minute. What did you find down at the waterfront?”
I reach into my swim bag, then pull out a wad of photographs. “Take a look,” I say in a rusty voice. The sound startles my ears as if I’ve been underwater too long, unused to sound.
He immediately grasps the stack of photos, his broad thumb brushing mine and I shiver at the contact.
“What are these?” Silence stretches. “Ellie, these show the water.” His voice quakes and he looks at me, his jaw tight as if he’s holding some raw emotion in check. “You went this close to the sea?” His voice wobbles, hands shake. A couple of photographs flutter to the cement. He crouches and picks them up, and then stands with head bent, staring at them in silence.
“They’re pictures I printed at home. That’s the bag I found.” I point to one of the photographs. “It was hidden in the seaweed, but two pearls were inside. They fell out and dropped into the water.”
His left hand clenches by his side until his knuckles turn bone white and a red flush charges up his neck, cheeks and ears. “Did you go into the water to get them?”
“No.”
“How could you put yourself in so much danger? Do you realise what could have happened?” His furious whisper startles me.
My head rears back. “What? I just said I didn’t go into the water.”
His eyebrows draw together until the skin creases between them and his lips compress. “Do you realise what could have happened to you?”
I shrug to hide my confusion. “Stuff has already happened to me, in case you didn’t notice. Bit late for that now, isn’t it? I had to go figure out some things to help explain . . . umm.” I reach up and scratch my head, but feel the plastic cap beneath my fingers. “No. Never mind.”
He’s all over that. “What things?” His piercing gaze drops to my shoulders and then roams down my arms and belly. He steps closer, and the heat radiating from his chest scalds me. He touches damp fingertips to my cheek. “Your skin is fine, isn’t it? What’s wrong with you?”
My body tingles from the light contact. What’s he looking for? Does he know about my skin doing weird things? I curl my lips in a half smile, left no choice but to reveal the heat rising to my
cheeks. No hair to hide anything. I have so much to hide. “I would tell you but then I’d have to kill you.”
He tenses, his gaze raking me from the top of my head to my tiptoes. Just like he did at the butterfly breeders. The icy scent of musk and lavender wraps around me. This close, the sunlight picks all the different colours in his hair, shades of deep brown, sun-tinted streaks and lighter strips of blond. His angular jaw looks to be made of smooth marble, and I breathe in deeply, unable to help loving his scent and wanting to move closer.
“Do you have the bag with you?” he asks roughly. “Do you know that you could have died going to that spot? Did you forget about other boy dying?”
I frown. “What? No, I don’t have the bag with me. Why would I? They’ve caught the killer. I just had to search for something.”
“Sure. Something.” He nods tightly and flips through the rest of the photographs, until he gets to the one of the boats in the harbour. He brings up the picture close to his face and then goes completely still. He swears in about three different languages. “You believe they’ve caught the killer.” He shakes his head.
“What?” I gasp at the deep sensation in my belly, lean closer to him and then look at the picture. “What’s wrong? You don’t think that?”
He points to a ripple, a disturbance in the bay, like a pale body slipping between the boats.
“Huh.” I tilt my head to the side. “I never noticed that before. What is it? Mullet?”
“No.” That’s when he looks at me, and his eyes are almost sad. “Not mullet.” He tucks the photos into the waistband of his blue shorts and stalks away.
“Hey, wait! Lakyn?” He doesn’t answer or even turn around. At my raised voice, twenty other girls glare at me. “Those are my photos,” I mumble.
“Mitchell.”
Great. Coach has found me, no doubt from my yelling. He walks over and then draws me to one side. Lakyn stands with Ashly and her three best friends. From his straight, stiff body language I can tell he’s not happy. Well, join the club.
I pivot back to Coach. “Yes?”
“I want you to be on the swim team.” He hands over a piece of paper, expecting me to grab it. “Get your parents to sign this permission slip as soon as you can.”
The black ink swims on the page, dancing i’s and c’s, and dots all in a line. I hold on to the terror and glee. “Swim team?”
“Tournaments. You’ll be in a group with a few of the others.” He jerks his head toward all the swimmers, mostly boys in tiny suits and caps standing behind him. Wide shoulders and narrow hips. Hot as heck. “First meet is next week, early Wednesday morning. Read the notice.”
My stomach clenches so hard, I can scarcely breathe. “But . . . I can’t swim,” I protest. “I can’t.” I know this. I know.
He frowns, and then laughs. “You beat the times of every single girl in your grade. If it’s a fluke, then so be it, but we need the top ten people. You’re in it. This year we’re going to win the championship.” He pumps a fist and grins a gap-toothed smile. “Watch us.”
I glare at the paper, refusing to take it. There’s been some kind of mistake, and here I am thinking I can completely miss this class for P.E. “Listen, this is wrong. I can’t—no. No!” My voice grows so loud it echoes around the steel bleachers. “No. This is wrong.”
“What’s up, Coach?” The words sound hard and determined.
My body stiffens, and I realise without turning around who stands behind me. All of a sudden, I’m freezing, but my lips burn. I don’t want to look at him, although every cell screams at me to do so.
“Just explaining the swim groups,” Coach says to Lakyn. “Now, Eloise you’ll need to be here at five a.m.”
My jaw works in mounting fury. “No. I can’t do that. I won’t.” I don’t care if I’m talking to a teacher who might give me arvos for the rest of the year.
Coach steps back at my words. “What? Why?”
“What are you dense?” I ask. “Why—”
“I think I know the reason,” Lakyn says, touching my arm. “She doesn’t have to swim here today, Coach.”
I turn to look into Lakyn’s eyes. They’re heart-meltingly tender, but the moment he smiles at me, I thrust out my chin defiantly. “Don’t even,” I say in a tone that could cut glass. “BTFO. And give me back my photos.”
“What?” His smile shifts slightly, but he nods, undaunted. “You’re afraid.” Then he casts a glance at the pool. His warm hand trails down to my hand. “The water can be a fearful place, but you’ll be with friends. Part of a team. My team.” He looks back at me. “It’s important I’m there when you train. If you like, we can make it a permanent thing. Just the two of us.”
“Train with you?” I ask incredulously. “And what about my photographs? Why did you take them?”
“Evidence.” He beams and swishes back his hair. “And yes, train with me. I’ll meet you at your house after school today.”
My face screws up. “Evidence? What for? And why my house after school?”
“Why are you repeating everything I say? I’ll talk to you about it after school at your place.”
“I don’t want to swim, Lakyn. And I don’t want to train with you.”
He frowns, but waits until we’re alone. “It might be the only chance we have to save your life,” he says cryptically and then saunters away to re-join his group.
21
“YOU’RE MAD,” I utter, “Stark, raving—deranged.”
Humour peaks Lakyn’s eyebrows and deepens the gorgeous dimple in his cheek. “How’s that?”
Does he really not know? He was the one to pay for a taxi to take us to the beach. “Didn’t they say this beach was closed?”
“Did that stop you yesterday?” He counters with devastating logic. “From your pictures I’ve noticed things have gotten worse, but you’re familiar with this area, so it’s a good place to start.”
“What do mean things have gotten worse?” I ask, fearful he knows about my hair. “Yesterday, I had no intention of swimming.”
I take in a deep breath. The breeze smells sweet this close to the water, like air from a candy store. A spear of longing and terror wedges into my chest. The way I feel about the water is a dangerous, disturbing mystery to me. I dig my hands into the pockets of my jeans and fake statue it.
He widens his stance, and the sight of him in black jeans and a soft cotton shirt is like a sexy blockade. “You said yes at the house.”
I nod, conceding the point, but my body shakes. “My mother will kill me when she finds out. She’ll be back soon. I don’t know why she wasn’t home or answering her phone.”
“Call her again,” he suggests. “But we don’t have a lot of time left to see what getting back in the water does to you.”
Why, because I’d died? And because I have to join the swim team? I think up polite refusals and some not so polite ones as I search for escape routes. The endless blue almost pens me in. There’s up of course, to the perfect, cloudless sky where airplanes zoom overhead. I don’t have wings. I consider going back over the rocks behind me and getting a permanent limp from the sharp stones. Or maybe along the strip of golden sand and into the receding water. Swim away.
I swallow at the hard lump in my throat.
No . . . back over the rocks it is.
“Sometimes your face reveals all your thoughts, did you know?” He laughs, shucking his shirt. His biceps bunch and the sun glistens on his muscled chest and bronzed abdominals. White hairs shine on his forearms in the light.
I suddenly think he’s older than he appears. My mouth dries, and I blink at the sharp V line revealed by his jeans, then glance the other way, trying not to ogle. There’s no way I will take off my clothes while he watches. I’ll make him look the other way. I don’t have a perfect figure and I know it.
“You can turn back around now.” Amusement creeps into his tone. “It’s safe.”
Older, definitely older.
He tosses the
shirt onto the sand, reaches into his black duffel bag and pulls out a long gun with a wickedly-sharp metal spear.
“Oh, hell no. I’m outta here.” I wave my hand, grab my towel and stomp toward the rocks, regretting my choice of footwear. I should’ve worn reef sandals, but noooo, I chose my blue Vans instead. The soles don’t bend properly around the rocks. Just one stupid decision on top of another—chalk it up to experience. I’ll monkey climb my way out if I have to.
“Ellie, wait!” He catches hold of my arm before I can get to the rocks and spins me around. “Listen, I know you’re terrified, I’d be blind not to see that, but I came prepared.” An easy grin splits his face, as if he’s expecting me to clap for his forward thinking.
“Are you kidding? Prepared for what?” I point with a trembling hand to the spear gun on the sand. My heart races so fast my ribs shake. “Killing a tiger shark? A whale?”
“No.” He glances back at the spear gun. “You would need something bigger for a whale.”
“Oh.” I slap my forehead. “This is so not going to happen.”
“Yes. Yes it is, Ellie.” He turns back, gently squeezes my upper arm and then says, “It’ll be OK,” in an obvious attempt to get through my fear, yet it only makes me more aware of the vast gap between his wants and mine.
“No.”
“How did it feel in the pool? What did you feel?”
Damn. My lips tremble, burning, and tears sting my eyes. I shake my head and run a hand through my hair. I can’t tell him everything. Truth is a hot swamp in my chest, pop, pop, pop, but I can’t let it all out, even if I might explode with the need of release. “Strange.”
