Nobody's Damsel
Page 21
He laughs, which is a relief. Mom's obsession with her art has been raising teachers’ eyebrows all my life, back to the day when my first grade teacher took me aside and asked me if I felt loved and safe at home. “There's living for your art,” my fifth grade teacher once said, “and there's escaping life altogether with an obsession.” I'm the first to admit that their fears aren't unfounded. If I was lying on the kitchen floor with a bleeding head wound, my mother might very well step over me to get to her workshop in the shed and her precious pottery.
“Family can be overrated,” he says. “I shouldn't say that, but some days, when my grandparents and my parents are on my back about my grades, I wish I were an orphan.”
“Well, I guess I don't know what I'm missing, so I can't really miss it.”
By now we've walked well away from the campfire, which is a tiny glow in the distance. The endless ocean is on our left and sheer cliffs on our right. He finishes off the beer with a long pull, then crushes the can and stuffs it in his pocket. See, that's how things are in Pelican Bluffs. Underage drinking gets you in trouble, but littering on the beach, that gets you in serious trouble.
Jean-Pierre stops by a waist high boulder and turns around to lean against it. “Here.” He reaches out for me to lean next to him.
I do and he slips an arm around my waist. Adrenalin surges in my veins as he leans over and nuzzles my ear. “This okay?”
In reply, I turn to look at him and he kisses me on the lips. Don't panic, I think. Pretend like you know what you're doing. The truth is, though, that I've never kissed anyone before. I'm certain I'm doing it all wrong, and when our lips part, I'm sure he's going to laugh at me.
My phone rings.
I pull it out and answer. “Hi, Kail.”
“Okay, I'm super bored now. Let's go.”
“Um... well-”
“Where are you?”
“Uh...”
“And why are you breathing so hard?”
“I'm not-”
“Just get back here, okay? I want to leave. Now.”
“Okay.” I hang up. To Jean-Pierre's querying look, I say, “I'm sorry. I've gotta drive Kailie home.”
“Right now?”
“I...” Madison, I think, you are a moron. Why didn't you stall with her? Claim to be much farther away?
“It's all right,” he says. “Listen, for right now, can we just keep this between us?”
“Y-yeah. Okay.”
He kisses my cheek. “See you 'round.”
Confusion swirling in my mind, I jog back across the rocky beach towards the fire, my heart pounding like I've just run a marathon.
I find Kailie throwing rocks at Alex, because apparently she's lost her mind. “You creep me out!” she screams. “What's with the silent act all the time?”
He just stares back at her, shifting slightly now and then to dodge a rock. She doesn't have great aim.
“Okay, we're going home.” I grab her arm and haul her towards the parking lot. “Sorry!” I call over my shoulder, though why I'm apologizing to Alex, I'm not sure. I wonder how he even got on her nerves in the first place.
Kailie stumbles as I haul her towards her car.
“How much did you drink?”
“Dunno. Don't care. I'm so mad at him.”
“Well, he's gone now, so it's okay.”
“He never showed up!”
“Who are we talking about?”
“Ben.”
“Oh, Ben? I thought Ben wasn't coming.” Ben lives in Sequoia Ridge, and I didn't see anyone from there at the party.
“He coulda showed up.”
That lets me know she's had more than a few drinks in a very short span of time. I'd hoped to ask her what, if anything, she said to Jean-Pierre, but while she's like this, I won't get much more than a lot of angry swearing as an answer. “Give me your keys,” I say.
She fumbles them loose from her pocket and drops them on the rocky ground. It takes me a minute of poking around to find them, during which time Kailie starts to yell obscenities to the stars.
“Yeah, okay,” I say. “Let's go.” I get her to her car and fold her into the passenger seat, then walk around and climb into the driver's seat. I don't have a license, but that's beside the point right now. Pelican Bluffs has one police officer, and he's not always on duty at night.
My friend passes out and slumps with her cheek smushed against the window. I start the car, ease it out of its parking space, and drive us to my house, where I try to get Kailie out without dumping her on the ground. She groans, but doesn't throw up, which I'm grateful for. “Okay, okay, I'll walk.” She gets unsteadily to her feet and I close and lock the car door behind her. We crunch across the rock garden, and then it's not easy to get her into my room through the window, and there's no way I can get her to move any further than my bed, which is fine. I yank her boots off, wrap my comforter around her, and fall asleep next to her on the mattress.
“Fun night?” That's Mom, standing in my doorway. “Fun enough to be worth ending my career?”
I sit bolt upright and look at the clock. It's five a.m. and Kailie's still asleep beside me. “Get up,” I tell her. “Kail, get up.”
Here's the thing. Kailie's parents own the Pelican Sky Gallery, which is where Mom sells her pottery. The last thing Mom needs is for them to find Kailie at our house when she should be safe in her own bed.
Kailie mutters something and tries to push me away, but my bed is a daybed and I'm lying on the side against the wall, so when she tries to push me, she ends up almost pushing herself onto the floor. She startles, then settles back down, still asleep.
“No.” I shake her. “You have to get up and get home, now. Before your parents get up.”
Her eyes snap open. “What time is it?”
“Five,” says my mother.
Kailie swears, jumps out of my bed, and digs around on my desk for her keys, which I produce with a jangle. “Thank you! Sorry! Thank you!” She darts past my mom and a second later we hear her go out the front door.
Mom shakes her head as she leaves without another glance in my direction. I hear the back door open and close and know she's gone to the shed in our backyard, which is where she does her pottery. It's got her wheel and kiln and lots and lots of shelves.
Several hours later, as I'm drying my hair, the doorbell rings, or I think it does. I turn off the hairdryer and listen. Sure enough, it rings again. I put my hair up in a ponytail.
When I go to answer the door, I find those same two Mormon missionaries from the other day on my doorstep. “Madison, right?” he says the blond one. His name tag says he is Elder Britton.
Kailie must've told him my name.
“Madison... Udall?”
Udall is Mom's last name, and the way Elder Britton breaks off lets me know that he saw my reaction. “No,” I say.
“Madison...” He frowns, deep in thought. “Lukas?”
Now I just stare. How on Earth would he know my last name?
At that, the missionary's eyes moisten with barely contained tears. “Listen. My name's John Britton, and I'm your brother.”
-End of Sample-
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Before I began writing as E.M. Tippetts, I was Emily Mah, the science fiction and fantasy writer, and don’t get me wrong, I still am. Science fiction is where my heart will always be and is where I got all of my training. In 2001 I attended the Clarion West Workshop for Science Fiction and Fantasy, where I and sixteen other students were taught by six professionals in the field (Octavia Butler, Bradley Denton, Nalo Hopkinson, Connie Willis, Ellen Datlow, and Jack Womack). Within five years, all seventeen members of our class had made professional sales of our work, and we may be the only class with that distinction. If not, it is nevertheless very rare.
In 2012, we decided to reunite in an anthology, to provide readers with samples of where we are now in our writing. So if you like me as E.M. Tippetts, come check out the people I’ve learned writing with and from in Under the Needle’s Eye, so named because the Clarion West workshop is in Seattle, with its famed Space Needle. I helped edit this anthology, and was responsible for pulling it all together, and yes, I have a story in there as well.
Nobody’s Damsel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, business establishments or locales is entirely coincidental.
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. All rights reserved.
Cover design © 2012 Emily Mah Tippetts
Copyright © 2012 by Emily Mah Tippetts
Table of Contents
One: My Glamorous Life
Two: Distress Call
Three: The Victim
Four: Entering the Crime Scene
Five: Crime Scene Investigation
Six: Puzzle Pieces
Seven: Kyra
Eight: Lunch and Lecture
Nine: Off Key
Ten: Quest for a Lead
Eleven: Fame
Twelve: Control
Thirteen: The Ties That Bind
Fourteen: Suspects
Fifteen: Respite
Sixteen: Nobody's Damsel
Seventeen: Blood Ritual
Eighteen: Siempre Esperanza
Remembering Daniel Pendergrass, the Dedicatee
Author's Note
Acknowledgements
Sample: Castles on the Sand
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