by Sophie Davis
“Hey,” a voice said, startling me.
My head shot up, and I saw Devon standing in the doorway to the bedroom. “Did you find my necklace?” I asked immediately.
Devon shook her head, blonde curls bouncing around her shoulders. “Rick and I looked. Even with the flashlight app, it was too dark to really see anything. We can go back tomorrow.”
“Yeah, sure,” I mumbled. Disappointment clouded my words. The necklace meant a lot to me, but there was no telling where or when it had fallen. We’d have to retrace all of our steps; it was a tedious endeavor that I planned to endure alone.
“I’m sorry, Eel.”
“Not your fault,” I replied with a small smile. Turning my attention back to my foot, I tried again to grasp the silver sliver from the bottom.
Devon crossed the room and peered down at it. “What happened?”
“Cut my foot in the lake,” I said uneasily.
“On what?”
I shrugged. “Dunno.”
“Well, don’t use your fingers. I’ll get tweezers,” Devon instructed. She hurried to the bathroom and returned with a pair of eyebrow tweezers. Devon also brought two hand towels into the bedroom, one damp and one dry. When she handed me the wet one, I gently wiped the blood from the wound.
When I finished, Devon gave me a sympathetic look. “Ready? This might hurt.” Without waiting for a response, she pulled the sliver free in one swift motion.
It hurt like hell. Fresh blood poured as Devon hurriedly covered the wound and applied pressure. I winced as my foot throbbed in her hands.
“Keep the pressure on. I’ll find some bandages.”
Once I heard Devon rummaging in the bathroom cabinets, I examined the cut. It was deep and looked much more serious than I’d expected. The skin around the wound was a mottled purple and extremely tender. I prayed that it wouldn’t require stitches. My mother would never believe that I’d hurt my foot while at the Westwood movie theater.
After rewrapping the towel, I examined the thing Devon had removed from my foot. It appeared translucent when I held it up to the lamp on the bedside table. The color was somewhere between blue and green, and there was an almost metallic quality to the smooth surface. I expected the shard to be brittle, but I couldn’t break it between my fingers.
“What is that?” Devon’s voice startled me, and I dropped the tweezers.
“No clue,” I said.
Devon retrieved the shard from where it landed on the bedside table. She held it close to the light bulb and leaned down for a better look. “Sort of looks like a fish scale. Like, from one of those really pretty tropical fish that you see at the aquarium.”
A fish scale? My stomach flip-flopped. The lake creature hadn’t had legs, at least not that I’d seen. Was it possible that she was some sort of….
I wouldn’t let myself finish the thought. It was too absurd, even for my imagination. The creature in the water wasn’t real. I was hypothesizing that I’d encountered a fish person, a mermaid, and the experience had never truly happened. My friends always joked that I was rational to a fault. If they only knew the thoughts running through my mind at that very moment. I laughed as I imagined telling Devon that a mermaid had tried to strangle me.
“What’s so funny?” Devon set the tweezers down and began wrapping white gauze around my foot. Her mother was a nurse at Westwood General, and Devon was skilled in first aid.
“Nothing,” I said quickly. “It’s probably just a piece of rock or something.”
“Maybe,” Devon said, her brows knitting together. “It looks a little exotic for Caswell Lake, though. Everything that comes out of there is usually brown and smelly.”
Devon had swaddled my foot in so many bandages, it was five times the size of its mate. Then, she grabbed a pair of pajamas from Elizabeth’s walk-in closet and threw them to me. After changing into the plaid boxers and blue tee, I slung my own wet, dirty clothing over the bar of Liz’s shower.
“Be right back,” Devon said, heading into the bathroom once I’d emerged.
She added the dirty towels to the laundry pile. Water running, she scrubbed blood from her hands as I watched through the open doorway.
Outside, the party was in full swing. My friends’ voices drifted through the open window. Shouts of, “Whose hand is that?” and “Liz, where are more shot glasses?” wafted into the room. Part of me longed to join them and put the encounter in the water as far from my mind as possible. I was too tired, though. My eyelids felt like weighted blankets ready to cover my eyes.
“Take these. They will help with the headache.” Devon reappeared, holding two white pills on her outstretched palm. In the other hand, she held a fresh damp towel. “To wash your face,” she explained.
“Thanks.” I took the pills and swallowed them dry. Scrubbing the dirt streaks on my face, I winced when the terrycloth moved over the wound on my right cheek. The red patch I’d seen in the mirror burned and felt hot to the touch. Where had it come from? The lake creature hadn’t touched my face. The boy had, though; his fingers had skimmed my cheek when he’d brushed the hair back from my face. While I was vomiting lake water, of course. The skin-to-skin contact had produced a shock, was that was created the mark? The memory of it caused the muscle under my eye to twitch.
“What happened to your face?” Devon asked, pointing to the spot I was delicately fingering my cheek.
“Not sure.” I shrugged, the blood rushing to my cheeks. For some reason, I was reluctant to tell her about the static shock. She’d probably joke it was part of my strange quirk, since I did shock her all the time. Though I’d never left a mark on her skin.
Devon tilted my chin upwards, examining my face. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say that’s a burn. Like…an electrical burn? It looks like the patch my dad had on his thumb after he forgot to turn off the lamp before installing a new bulb.”
I averted my eyes. “I’m sure it’s nothing.”
Devon’s hands fell away. She sat down next to me. The concern was gone from her expression, replaced by a mischievous twinkle I knew well.
“So, tell me more about your mysterious new friend,” she said.
Heat rushed to my cheeks again. The color probably matched the burn by this point.
“There’s not much to tell.” I shifted uncomfortably on Liz’s bed. “My foot got caught on something in the water, I hit my head, and then I blacked out. When I came to, he was there.”
“You never thought to ask his name?” Devon pressed. “I mean, he did save your life.”
Right. Then, he burned me, I thought. Had I burned myself somehow, instead? Was that even possible?
“He’s totally your type,” Devon added when I remained silent.
“My type? I wasn’t aware I had a type.”
Devon shrugged. “Uber preppy. Electric. Boyfriend material.”
“Electric?” I asked, my voice squeaking slightly. Does she know he’s the source of my burn?
“That lifestyle blogger I follow started using it as slang for hot. Figured I’d try it out.” Devon wrinkled her nose and giggled. “Guess you’re not feeling it?”
I shook my head. “Not really.”
“Whatever. Mr. White Knight was hot. You should’ve got his name.”
A picture of his brilliant green eyes flashed in my mind, and another wave of heat deepened my blush. He was good-looking. Like, very good-looking. And I’d been drawn to him. Except, even now, I could recall the uneasy feelings he stirred up. There was something about him…something…off.
“I didn’t notice his hotness,” I lied. “It was sort of hard to look him in the eye after I power-puked for ten minutes.”
“Good point. Though, you kind of owe him doubly.” She shuddered dramatically. “I’ve seen you power-puke. It is not pretty, Eel.”
I glared down my nose at her. “Why are we friends again?”
She laughed and scooted closer until we were touching. Then, Devon rested her head on my shoulder and s
nuggled in like a cat.
“Because you’d be bored without me in your life, obviously.”
“I’m tired, Dev,” I said softly. “It’s been a long night.”
“Right.” Devon got to her feet. “I’m just saying, if some hot guy inexplicably appeared in my hour of need, I would be intrigued. Maybe I’d even look him up online, see what I could find.”
“That would be difficult without his name,” I pointed out, snickering.
“If he was at the lake, then he probably lives in or around Westwood,” Devon said, a mischievous twinkle in her eye. “Someone we know probably knows him, too. We could find him. I mean, I’m sure you want to send a I’m-sorry-I-yacked-on-your-shoes present.”
Did I want to find him? If I did, it wasn’t to send a bouquet of chocolate-dipped fruit.
“I’ll think about it,” I promised.
Devon stood awkwardly by the bed, shifting from one foot to the other.
“Go join the party,” I insisted. Forcing a smile, I added, “Drink one for me.”
“Are you sure? I don’t mind keeping you company.” The relief in her eyes contradicted her sentiments. Not that I blamed Devon. Hanging out with me was a drag when she could be lounging in a hot tub and gossiping with our friends.
“Positive. I’m going to fall asleep as soon as my head hits the pillow.”
Devon hesitated a moment longer, indecision flickering in her big blue eyes.
“Okay,” she said finally. “But I’m leaving my cell on the bedside table. Call Liz’s phone if you need me.” There was a soft clatter as she placed the phone on the wooden surface. “Don’t touch it unless you have to,” she teased. “I can’t afford to replace it.”
“Very funny,” I grumbled.
I curled up under the comforter as Devon headed for the door. She flipped the light switch and paused.
“I’m really sorry about the necklace, Eel,” she whispered. “Hopefully we’ll find it. Or, maybe, he’ll send another this year.”
I said nothing. Yes, I intended to go back and scour the woods for my dream catcher. I wasn’t getting my hopes up, though. Regardless, I knew Devon was wrong. My father wouldn’t send another one this year. I had six of them—well, five now—one for every birthday from my eighth to my thirteenth. He hadn’t sent a single necklace in the time he’d been away.
“I’m sure he’ll call, if he hasn’t already. Your phone is dead. He probably left a message,” Devon continued softly.
A phone call. That had been Dad’s birthday present to me these last five years. Truly, I cherished each and every minute of those calls just as much as the dream catchers.
“Happy birthday, Endora. Love you.”
With that, Devon was gone and I was alone. Tears burned the backs of my closed lids. With everything that had happened, my father’s yearly phone call—or lack thereof—had managed to slip my mind. Since my friends had snatched me from my bedroom, there hadn’t been a message from him on my phone. I’d called my voice mail every hour on the hour to check.
Of all the birthdays to miss, he had to pick my eighteenth, I thought wryly.
The room was eerily quiet. I had the urge to grab Devon’s phone and tell her to come back. As much as I wanted to fall asleep and forget about the incident at Caswell Lake and my absentee father, I didn’t want to be alone.
I started to reach for the cell. High-pitched giggles drifted up from Elizabeth’s back deck, and I retracted my hand. My foul mood didn’t need to ruin the rest of the night for my friends. At least someone should enjoy my birthday.
Two hours later, I was still awake when a chlorine-scented Elizabeth crawled into bed next to me. I practiced even breathing, so she would think I was asleep. It worked. Within minutes, Elizabeth’s soft snores filled the bedroom.
The last thing I heard before drifting off was Devon yelling that she needed more whiskey.
The dock swayed beneath my feet. Vertigo swept over me. A full moon cast a hazy glow over his beautiful features, creating a halo of light around golden-chestnut waves of hair. Blue-black water quietly lapped the wooden support beams, creating a soothing soundtrack for the evening. Spring was in full bloom, and lilac shrubs were sprinkled across the grass bank behind me. Their fragrance was an intoxicating addition to the ambiance.
He stood on the end of the wooden walkway, clad in a tuxedo with a single red rose fastened to the lapel. He held out a hand in my direction, and I moved forward to join him.
Silk swished softly as I walked. The strapless green dress fit me to a tee. The gown’s train trailed behind me, gliding effortlessly over the dock. In one hand, I held a pair of gold heels. The wood was rough against the soles of my bare feet, but I hardly noticed. All that mattered was reaching him.
He stood still as a statue, watching my every move with unwavering intensity. As soon as I was within arm’s reach, his hands darted out. They closed around my waist, and he pulled me against him.
When his lips touched mine, I didn’t flinch at the spark that passed between us. The kiss felt right. It felt familiar, like it wasn’t the first we’d shared. I threw my arms around his neck and deepened the kiss.
Lifting me off the dock, he spun me around in a circle. I laughed against his mouth, thrilled by the weightlessness. He released me. Instead of my feet finding the dock, they were met with nothingness. Suddenly, I was falling too far too fast. What felt like a dozen tiny hands grabbed the hem of my dress and yanked, speeding my descent.
Shock overshadowed my desire to scream or cry out. My eyes found his, silently begging him to say something, to do something. He stood motionless, watching me fall, his emerald green irises full of pain and remorse.
My back hit the icy water with jarring force. The hands slid over my entire body like slippery vines. The more I struggled, the tighter they held on. Just before my head disappeared under the water’s surface, he whispered in my ear.
“I’m sorry.”
I opened my mouth. Fishy water washed over my tongue and poured down my throat, cutting off any words I might have said. Panic engulfed me. Instead of fighting, I let the blackness take me under.
Chapter Three
Voices blared inside my head like a trumpet, singing off-key and out of sync. Flailing my arms, I bolted upright. My heart beat too fast. When I tried to swallow, my throat was on fire. The room spun, and my head felt too heavy for my neck to hold.
“Make it stop.” Elizabeth’s muffled voice came from somewhere beside me.
When my head cleared, I remembered I was in Elizabeth’s bedroom. Taking in the familiar walls covered with movie posters and photographs, my pulse returned to a normal rate. Nervous laughter sprang from my lips thinking how scared I’d been when I first woke up. Music still blasted from somewhere across the room.
“Make it stop,” Elizabeth repeated, burying her face deeper into her feather pillow.
I fumbled with the heavy drapes surrounding her bed. When I finally found an opening, I tumbled to the floor with a thud. My feet sunk into the plush carpeting as I limped toward the noise. My foot ached, and the bandages were stiff with dried blood.
“Practice,” I called to Elizabeth. She was still laying in bed and moaning.
“Let’s skip,” came her muffled reply.
“I can’t,” I said, already heading to her closet to scrounge up workout clothes. “Remember, I’m the captain.”
I was honored when Coach Peters chose me to be captain of Westwood High’s Varsity Women’s lacrosse team. But the responsibility that came with leadership sucked. Every girl on the team could opt out of three Saturday practices per season, except for me. As captain, my presence was mandatory.
“Well, el cap-i-tan,” Elizabeth drawled each syllable from her sanctuary. “I’m exercising my right to miss today’s practice.”
“You can’t,” I countered. “Devon already called dibs on bailing, and I need a ride.”
Our first game was the next Friday, and this would be Devon’s third misse
d practice. Coach Peters would be furious. Part of me thought she had made me captain in the hope that I would keep Devon in line.
Like me, Devon made varsity as a freshman. Without a doubt, she was the better player of the two of us. Devon was a natural at everything: academics, sports, popularity. She wasn’t used to losing. While Devon assured me that she was happy I’d been selected for captain, I knew it secretly bothered her. She was irresponsible and lacked focus—Coach Peters’ words, not mine—and had therefore been passed over for the position.
“Fiiiiiiiiine.” Elizabeth gave an exaggerated sigh. “Pick out some clothes for me, I’ll take a cold shower and wake my brain.” With that, Liz disappeared into her bathroom. After a minute, I heard running water.
Plodding down the hallway, I used the guest bathroom to get cleaned up. The cut on my foot looked better, though still puffy and red. As I showered, I tried to recall the dream that startled me awake. Other than water, I couldn’t remember anything. Not that I normally remembered my dreams after waking up; the only one that always stuck with me was recurring from my childhood and starred a green-faced witch that chased me into a cage. Yeah, I loved the Wizard of Oz. Still, my inability to recall the details of this one bothered me. Remembering felt somehow important, like it mattered in the grand scheme of life.
Since time was short, I skipped washing my hair even though the stench of lake water clung to the strands. When I tried to brush out the tangles, the bristles snagged at the base of my skull. Frustrated, I switched to using my fingers to comb through the matted pieces. Something sharp sliced my skin. It felt like a paper cut. On the tip of my finger, one small drop of blood welled. Feeling around the lump in my head, I discovered that several sharp pieces of something were stuck in my hair. My anxiety spiked as I worked them free. Dread settled in my bones when I finlly saw . My nervous thoughts were confirmed when I examined the small slivers. They weren’t glass. Instead, each shard was identical to the blue-green one that had been lodged into my foot.
I swallowed thickly, closed my eyes. Counting to ten, I fought to calm my racing heart.
