“Thanks Kate love you bye!” I say all in one breath, then take off toward the water before I can hear her say hello to Lena, careful not to squish my towel under my arm.
“Walk!” she calls after me, but I cannot be stopped. I need to get away from Lena and her phone calls. I need my New Life plan and I need it now. My feet shh-shh over the dry white sand and it’s the most delicious sound I’ve ever heard. Well, aside from the hush-hush of the waves and the wind whipping through my hair and around my arms and legs. A stripe of sunlight escapes from the clouds and falls right on my shoulders, warm and perfect.
Behind me, I hear Kate’s voice rising and falling. Talking to Lena. Talking to my mermaid. I go faster until they both fade away.
I stop when I hit wet sand. I place my towel on the ground and unwrap it, making sure I keep it out of Kate’s view. Then I take out a clear bottle that used to be full of root beer. Now it’s got the song I wrote for my donor inside, scrawled on a rolled-up piece of paper. I found an old cork from a bottle of wine Dave and Kate drank in celebration of the night I came home from the hospital and stuffed it in the opening, sealing the poem inside. I hold it with both hands as I move closer to the water and feel the sand under my feet.
It’s amazing.
Of course, I’ve walked on the beach in the past two years. I’ve felt the water, but today seems different. I inch forward and stop again, letting the waves come to me. The water slides over my feet and ankles and I nearly squeal. It’s cold. Really cold. Beautifully cold. I take another step and the sea greets me again, this time swirling around my calves like a little hello.
I think I cry a little and, hey, no shame here. You’d cry too if you had someone else’s heart in your chest and were now looking at the big ocean, feeling small and gigantic all at the same time.
The water gets it, though. I push forward and it rises up and hugs me. The waves are gentle today, as if the sea knew I’d be here and wants to take it easy on me. I go deeper and deeper, the water curling around my hips, then my chest, then my chin, until my hair floats around me. I wait for Kate to call me back, but she doesn’t. It’s just me and the sea and when I let it pull me under, the world goes quiet.
I stay still for a few seconds, testing out my lungs, feeling my heart do its job in my chest. The water presses me on all sides and it’s like I’m home. I never used to like opening my eyes under the ocean. The salt stings something fierce and it’s not like I could really see all that much. This time, though, I can’t stop myself. It burns for a second, but then my vision clears and everything is dark blue and hazy.
It looks sort of like my dead-dream. I half expect a mermaid to swim up to me, but she doesn’t.
She’s not in the sea anymore.
I come up and take a breath. The sun peeks at me from behind the clouds, bright and happy, warming my shoulders. I plunge back under, the bottle still gripped tight in my hands. I go as deep as I can, my tippy-toes just barely brushing the sandy bottom, and then… I let my song go.
I watch the bottle swirl and sway in the current until I can’t see it anymore. Maybe it’ll just end up back on the shore. But maybe not. Maybe the waves will carry it far, far away and someone will read it.
I got the idea last night when I finished writing the song for my donor. I didn’t want to send it to their family—I wanted to send it to them. Obviously, I know I can’t. I know they won’t ever be able to read it, but sending my song out into the ocean feels like they will. It’s cosmic and hopeful and maybe, just maybe, my song will make its way around the world and a million people will read it. And if they all read it, they’ll all know that I’m alive because of a super-brave kid who died way too soon.
And that’s enough for now.
I swim up and take another breath before diving back underwater. I feel all achy, like I need to cry, but I press my feet together and pump my legs like a dolphin, sending my body this way and that. My chest burns a little, but I don’t want to go to the surface yet. I used to be able to hold my breath for almost three minutes, way longer than Margot ever could.
“Maybe you really are a mermaid,” she’d say, and I’d smile, puff my cheeks full of air, and dive back under. She’d follow me and we’d dolphin-kick out to the sandbar at low tide, pretending it was our secret perch where we’d come up from the deep to rest and spy on the humans.
I push myself up for a gulp of air and plunge back down. The less time I spend on the surface, the better. Kate will just make me get out of the water to smear on more sunscreen.
Or worse, talk to Lena.
I’ve just grabbed another swallow of air and escaped back underwater when I see a dark silhouette swimming toward me from the deeper part of the sea. It’s fuzzy, but I definitely see some flowy hair and a pair of arms cutting through the water. I float, watching as it gets closer and closer, just like my dead-dream. My heart picks up speed, knocking against my chest like it’s trying to get out. I swim backward a little, but whoever it is keeps coming.
It’s a girl, around my age. She stops right in front of me and we stare at each other, the ocean deep enough to keep us both covered. Her legs circle just like mine, treading water, and I’ll admit I’m a little disappointed that she doesn’t have a colorful fin instead of legs.
But I don’t have time to think about that for too long because, hello, there’s a girl I’ve never seen before staring at me under the ocean. She smiles and lifts a hand to wave.
I wave back, my hand slow through the water. Her hair looks… blue, but maybe that’s just the water. Maybe my hair looks blue too, which would be totally awesome.
She holds up a finger and then swims backward a bit before doing a double somersault. I smile and do the same, but I add a twist at the end that takes my body to the side. She makes a slow clapping motion, then stretches her body out—she’s wearing a bikini way cooler than my new practical, scar-hiding one-piece—and spins like an ice skater twirling in the air.
I’m about to do the same—adding my own special flourish, of course—when I realize my lungs are screaming for air. I don’t want to be the one to stop our game, but I can’t wait any longer. If I drown in the ocean after all we’ve been through, Kate’ll kill me herself.
I kick and kick and my head breaks the surface. I gulp at the air, my legs still treading because I’m way farther from the shore than I meant to be. The girl pops up right next to me, taking big swallows of salty air too.
“You’re hair really is blue,” I say between huffs, and then wish I hadn’t. Of course she knows what color her hair is.
But she laughs and runs a hand over her wet head. “Yup. My mom lets me dye it whatever color I want.”
“It looks so cool.” And it so does. It’s not neon blue or anything, but more blue-black, with the tips brighter than the rest of her hair and streaks of blue all over.
“What color should I do next?” the girl asks.
I tilt my head and narrow my eyes, thinking. She’s pretty and has dark eyes, with smooth brown skin covered in water droplets. And, of course, the super-cool bikini, which is grass green with little pink lollipops all over it.
“Purple, for sure,” I finally say.
“Yeah?”
“Maybe lilac or lavender.”
She grins. “That’ll take a lot of bleach. You’ll have to do it with me.”
“Me? I don’t think so.”
“Why not?”
I open my mouth to say no way again, but nothing comes out. I’ve never really thought about dyeing my hair before. About a year ago, when Margot and I still talked every single day, she dyed her curly hair, but it was only to a natural-looking red. I remember because the dye left red trails in the pool. Margot said it looked like blood.
But me? Nope. Kids with heart disease don’t dye their hair. They don’t do anything fun at all. But now it seems like the best idea in the world.
“Um… maybe?” I say.
She narrows her eyes at me. “You should definitely go bl
ue. Like, aquamarine.”
I’m about to tell her that’s my favorite color when my chest starts to ache. We’re still treading water and I’m breathing hard. I really wish I hadn’t swum out so far.
“You okay?” the girl asks.
I nod but start paddling toward the shore. The girl comes with me. She slides through the water like a seal, while I suddenly feel like a flopping fish. My heart yells at me, pounding hard. I whimper a little and the girl puts her arm around my waist, helping me swim, so now not only am I possibly dying, I’m blushing as red as a maraschino cherry from embarrassment. I can’t believe Kate hasn’t called in the coast guard yet.
As I get closer to the beach, I see why.
She’s still on the phone. She’s not even looking at me. Instead, she’s walking around in circles with that little worry wrinkle between her eyes, yammering away.
Part of me is super-annoyed. Lately, she’s been sitting on the closed toilet lid while I take a shower to make sure I don’t pass out and crack my head open. She cuts up my food like I’m a baby, just to make sure I swallow it all okay. Then, the moment I feel like my heart might really be freaking out, she chooses to take a break.
The other part of me thinks… well, let’s just say I’d rather not get into the whole I have another person’s heart in my chest Thing with this new girl right now. Or ever. And Kate? If Kate saw me huffing and puffing, she’d definitely make it a Thing. A very loud Thing.
My feet finally scrape at the shore, shallower and shallower, until I collapse facefirst into the wet sand. So tired. So… tired.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” the girl asks, glancing toward Kate. “Is that your mom over there? Should I get her?”
I roll over and shake my head, but I can’t talk yet. Still, the ache is getting duller and duller, my breathing steadier. I just overdid it. I’m not dying. My heart still likes me.
I tell myself all of these things over and over while my body calms down. And also while this girl sits down next to me and waits, her teeth chewing on her bottom lip.
After a few minutes, I sit up. I press my hand to my chest—thrum-thrum-thrum, slower and slower until it settles into a nice, healthy rhythm. I glance behind me and Kate is still on the phone. She’s not talking anymore, though. Now she’s listening.
“Sorry,” I say to the girl, and leave it at that.
She shrugs. “That’s okay. I like saving the day.”
“You did not save the day.”
“I so did.”
“Look, I’m a great swimmer.” I turn so I’m facing her. The sand scratches at my legs. “Give me a week and I’ll kick your butt in a race.”
“Oh, you’re so on. I’m a great swimmer too.”
I stick out my hand and she grabs it, pumping it over and over. Pretty soon we’re doing all sorts of handshakes—hooking our fingers, fist-bumping, slapping the backs of our palms together. We bust up laughing when we try to high-five and it sends a sand shower down on our heads.
“I’m Quinn Ríos Rivera,” she says, rolling her Rs.
“Wow, that’s really pretty.”
“Right? I love it. Ríos was my dad’s last name and Rivera is my mom’s last name. My grandparents were born in Puerto Rico. A lot of people there use both names.”
“Okay, Quinn Ríos Rivera.”
I don’t say it as pretty as she does, but she doesn’t seem to mind.
“What’s your name?” she asks.
“I’m… Sunny.” I kind of mumble, heart ticking up into my throat while I wait for some eye-widening or wincing or, even worse, an oh you poor thing frown. I’ve never seen Quinn before, so she has to be a visitor or super-new to the island, but still. Our town is the size of a Mason jar and people just love talking good and loud about tragic stories. Like, say, the one about a motherless twelve-year-old who needs a heart transplant. And it’s not like my name is super-common.
But Quinn just smiles and shakes sand out of her hair. My heart relaxes into a rhythm. I can’t remember the last time I talked to someone who didn’t already know who I was.
“Do you live here?” she asks.
“Yeah.”
“Wish I did. I’m only here for the summer. I got here a week ago with my mom. She’s an underwater photographer and she has to get a whole bunch of photos of dolphins for National Geographic.”
“Whoa. Cool.”
She sighs and starts digging a hole in the sand. “I guess.”
“Does she just, like, jump in the water with her camera?”
“Pretty much. A boat takes her out really far and she scuba dives.”
My skin breaks out in goose bumps. I can’t imagine going that deep in the ocean, so deep the sun barely lights the way. I bet there really are mermaids down there.
“Do you ever get to go with her?” I ask.
“She won’t let me dive with her on shoots, but I get to go on the boat sometimes. The water near Australia is really cool. She took me snorkeling around the Great Barrier Reef.”
“No way.”
She nods and pulls up a nautilus shell, all cream and brown swirled together. “A lot of the reefs there are dying because of global warming. That’s what she was there to photograph, so it was kind of sad. But still really amazing. I guess it was both.”
Amazing and sad at the same time—I know what that’s like, but all I can get out is a super-smart “Yeah.”
“It’s just me and my mom,” Quinn goes on. “She travels all over the world for work. I’ve been to every continent except Antarctica.”
“Whoa,” I say again. I’m in awe. Literal, heart-thumping awe. But Quinn shrugs her shoulders while she picks sand out of the shell, as if she just told me water is wet.
“Hey, do you want to go with me to the beach movie tonight?” she asks. Now her eyes light up and her mouth curls into a big old smile. The beach movie is pretty fun, but I don’t know if it’s better than the Great Barrier Reef or deep-sea diving.
Every Friday in the summer, the island shows really old films, mostly in black-and-white. I love them, though, and almost all of them have at least one good kissing scene in them.
Margot and I used to go to the beach movie all the time back in elementary school. We’d drag Kate and Suzette with us, bags full of buttery popcorn with dark chocolate M&M’s mixed in, so it’s basically the best stuff on earth.
I haven’t been to one of those movies in a long time. Kate tried to take me a few times after I got sick, just me and her, but I’d always fall asleep before the sun went down all the way, right there on a towel for the whole island to see. It wasn’t even close to fun.
But Quinn… she’s not Kate or Margot. She’s not a Juniper Islander. She’s the first person I’ve ever really met. I’ve known all my friends—well, Margot—pretty much forever. The whole island knows that my mom took off before I even started kindergarten. When I got sick, they all knew. When I stopped going to school, they all knew why. I’ve never told my story to anyone. I’ve never had to.
Until now, I guess, but I don’t want to tell the same old story. This is my New Life, after all. I got a whole new heart. I should at least get to be a whole new Sunny to go along with it, right?
“Yeah, I’ll go,” I say.
Quinn smiles so big, my stomach flutters. I did that. I made someone smile instead of frown or fake-smile with worry.
“It’s going to be amazing,” she says. “Meet me here around six?”
I nod and then she squeals happily before pulling me into a search for an auger shell, one of those that look like a unicorn horn. My heart ticks along, good and excited. I could be anyone with Quinn. Kate could be my birth mom. My heart was never broken. My best friend never promised to be there for me no matter what and then committed the worst betrayal that betrayers ever dared to betray.
“Got one!” Quinn yells triumphantly, holding up a white and brown auger, spiraling like a soft-serve ice cream cone. She runs over to where I’m digging in the wet sand and pre
sses the shell into my hand. “You keep it.”
“What?” I say. “These are pretty rare. I can’t keep it.”
She shakes her head. “You can give it back to me when I beat you to the sandbar and back.”
“Oh, so you mean, I get to keep it forever?”
“You wish,” she says, but she’s grinning. I grin back.
Step One: Completed.
Step Two: In progress.
CHAPTER
7
I totally forget about Kate and her dumb phone call until Quinn says she has to meet her mom for lunch and runs off down the beach. I watch her blue hair flapping like a curly kite and try to remember what it was like to run that long, that hard.
When I turn back around to where Kate had been pacing, Dave is there too—in jeans, because I’ve never seen him wear anything but skinny rock star jeans, even on the beach—and they’re sitting in the sand.
He’s got his arm around her shoulders, and she’s wiping at her face like she’s been crying. My stomach knots up, wondering what she and Lena talked about that made her cry, but I don’t want to think about that or how a million questions are trying to jump out of my mouth right now. I want to think about the auger shell in my hand.
The auger shell and a new heart that didn’t go kaput in the ocean.
The auger shell, a happy heart, and an invitation from Quinn to go to the movie on the beach tonight.
When Kate sees me, she scrambles to her feet, grabbing Dave’s hand and pulling him up with her. Then she drops his hand super-fast, because she’s weird and won’t admit she’s madly in love with him.
“Sunny, sweetie, how’d it go?” she asks.
“It’s a miracle, I’m alive!” I singsong, doing a little skip and a hop and flourishing my arms.
“Not funny,” she says.
“Kind of funny,” Dave says, winking at me.
She elbows him in the stomach.
“You guys stop flirting,” I say, and they both turn candy-apple red. It’s just too easy.
The Mighty Heart of Sunny St. James Page 4
