Also. Also last night in bed I thought more about Caleb, my feelings such a surprise—what to do I don’t know probably nothing, because although in theory my heart is brave, in reality it twists backward like my foot.
I get dressed and leave for school without seeing my mother. Her door is closed, which is good because as much as I want Tori to be my sister I am still just the tiniest bit angry at my mother.
For basically lying to me, not that I am guilt-free in that department.
In the hallway at school there is a low buzz of kids talking and eyes are wide and shoulders are hunched. I am halfway aware and halfway not because I am thinking about Tori—about learning sign language (will she already know it?) and about sharing my bedroom as there is no third bedroom obviously. I am willing to redecorate in any style even pink canopy twin beds, although maybe Tori will be okay if only her bed is a pink canopy, not mine. If Tori is into it we could have a Disney wallpaper border such as Elsa and Anna (sisters!). Also if in the winter we build a snowman, Georgia can be part of it too because a snowman (or maybe better a snowwoman) would look good holding a stick. Temporarily of course. I would not leave Georgia out in the cold.
Or maybe I’ll move to school and live in the dorm with a roommate and visit my mother and sister on weekends . . .
But as I get to my classroom it penetrates my stupid skull that there are these small groups everywhere huddling and whispering, and some people are actually crying and Olivia Fourier is having hysterics. She’s leaning against her locker and her sobs are operatic. (Not that I have ever been to the opera.) Her best friend Anindita is patting her back and sees me and makes a face full of woe.
I say, “Is Olivia all right?”
“Oh, just really, really upset. They went out freshman year.”
“For six weeks!” Olivia looks up, her eyes glistening. “I never forgave him for dumping me! Why didn’t I forgive him? We were fourteen! Now it will be on my conscience forever!”
Anindita gives her an extra pat.
“I wasn’t here then,” I say. “Who didn’t you forgive?” Then belatedly the clues come together. “Wait. Did someone die?” As I say it I know it must be true and horror fills me: Who was it?
Olivia is incredulous. “You don’t know?”
“Antoine Dubois,” Anindita says. “A car accident yesterday evening. That old car!”
“I was in it once!” Olivia bursts into renewed tears. “Ellie Mae!”
Anindita says, “They say it was quick at least.”
Antoine.
No. It can’t be. No.
I mutter something to Anindita and Olivia and then Georgia and I hobble away very carefully and find the door to my classroom and go inside and sit. People are talking about him in here too so I learn everything that happened.
For all of last night, Antoine was dead.
This morning therefore he is not at school and never will be again.
Because he is dead.
I think of his knees poking out of his jeans when I went to the carriage house and he welcomed me. The knees were alive and now they are not.
Evangeline said his mother wanted him dead and now he is dead.
In a car accident.
Yesterday Caleb and Antoine went away in Antoine’s car.
My heart has a tiny seizure.
Nobody has said Caleb is dead however.
To calm myself I try to meditate which involves consciously staying in the present moment, you do not think of the past or the future. I have never shown much talent for meditation and now I get why, it is because whenever it occurs to me to try meditating I am desperate which means that the present moment sucks and therefore I don’t want to be in it. An announcement comes on about an all-school assembly which is happening now, proving again that now is a dreadful thing. Everybody files out but I don’t, I stay in my homeroom, and the teacher doesn’t notice because she goes out with everybody else. I am not so sure I can walk, to be honest. Even with Georgia. Anyway I stay behind with Georgia, and five minutes later Kenyon and Evangeline and Caleb find me and when I see Caleb I breathe sharply in because he is okay (except his expression says he is not okay). Then I remember that Kenyon called me last night and wanted me to text her this morning only I forgot because of Tori. She must have wanted to tell me.
Then I focus on Evangeline.
She loved him she loved him, her friend, her friend is dead.
I say her name but I say nothing after that because everything I might say dries up and sticks to my tongue.
Evangeline is the one who talks.
She says, all in a rush, “Saralinda, the three of us are sort of running away together for the night so that we can talk, we need to figure out what to do about Antoine and his mother, was this an accident or wasn’t it. Can you come?”
I look at Caleb. He was with Antoine, he nearly died too and now his face. His face.
“Please come,” says Kenyon.
“You were in the carriage house,” Evangeline says. “You belong with us. We need you.”
Caleb nods.
What I think is this: Evangeline is my friend and Kenyon is my friend and Caleb is Caleb, so come what may, if they want me with them, then I am with them.
Antoine is dead.
I just want to be with my friends.
I think about asking where we are going and what we are doing but I don’t because to be honest? I don’t care so long as I can be with them.
“Of course I’m coming,” I say.
Chapter 23. Caleb
You sit in the passenger seat of Kenyon’s Kia while Kenyon drives and you navigate using your phone. Saralinda and Evangeline are in the backseat. The four of you are going to Fire Island, where there is a beach house belonging to friends of Kenyon’s.
You keep returning to what Evangeline thinks. That Ellie Mae’s brakes should not have failed, not the way Antoine took care of her. That Ellie Mae shouldn’t have exploded either; she was hit broadside.
Evangeline has moved into take-charge mode, explaining things to Saralinda.
“So what we’re doing is, we’re giving ourselves some private time to discuss Antoine’s mother. Here’s what we know: Antoine believed she wanted him dead, right? She tried to stage an accident that would kill him along with—incidentally— the four of us. It didn’t work, so what I think—what we think—is that she sabotaged his car, the brakes, hoping for an accident that would do the job for her. And it worked.”
“It almost killed Caleb too,” Saralinda says.
You angle yourself in the passenger seat so that you can see Saralinda’s face.
Evangeline nods vehemently. “Yes. She didn’t care who else she hurt or killed, obviously. So long as she got Antoine. He gave other people rides in his car all the time! She could have killed more people!”
“If she did it, we’ll find a way to prove it,” Kenyon says calmly. “We’ll sit down together and talk it out in peace and quiet, and then we’ll do research and put our case together for the police.”
You wonder if that will work or not.
“We have to get Antoine’s mother,” Evangeline says.
“If there’s evidence. If she did it,” Kenyon adds.
Evangeline directs a glare at Kenyon’s neck. “She did do it.” Then she leans in toward Saralinda. “Are you in?”
“Of course I am,” says Saralinda, simply. “But um . . . can I ask a question?”
“Okay,” says Evangeline.
“Should we talk to Dr. Lee too? He’s already suspicious about the carriage house, right? I mean, he seems like a good guy to me . . .”
You remember what Antoine said about Dr. Lee’s file—the one about you.
“That’s not crazy,” says Evangeline slowly. “But . . .”
“I’m not saying we shouldn’t all go awa
y to be together and think and stuff,” Saralinda adds. “I mean, I want to. But what if, you know, Dr. Lee has already found evidence about the carriage house?”
“Caleb? Kenyon? What do you think?” Evangeline asks the two of you.
Kenyon says, “I like the idea of having an adult on our side. If he’s trustworthy. Caleb?”
“Let’s keep talking about it,” you say. The fact is, you don’t know. You have never known what to think about Dr. Lee. You’re even more confused by his supposed opinion on your “narcissistic asshole” father. You say, “We don’t have to loop him in tonight. It could be later, after we’ve all talked. Tomorrow.”
“Oh, I definitely don’t want to loop him in tonight,” Evangeline says fiercely. “I want this just to be us tonight. We’re the only ones who—who—” She stops. Swallows.
“So that’s settled,” you say. You’re relieved. The thought of making yourself vulnerable to an adult terrifies you. Talking to Dr. Lee, asking him to listen, to believe you . . . about Antoine’s mother . . . about anything . . . it makes your stomach clench. Why should anybody believe you? You don’t believe you.
You look at Saralinda. “Just us tonight. Okay?”
She nods.
After that, there is silence until you see the sign for the Fire Island ferry. “Wait, we have to take a boat?” you say. “There’s no bridge?”
“It’s because cars aren’t allowed on the island,” Kenyon explains as she drives the car into the line for the parking garage. “It’s a short walk to the cottage after the ferry dock. We won’t need the car.”
“I’m not afraid of walking,” you snap. “Although maybe you should be, Kenyon. You just dumped your crutches and you’re still in a back brace.”
“I’m doing fine. Also I have plenty of Tylenol.”
You stare at the ferry. “We could find a hotel or something.”
“Yeah, but we’d need a credit card for that,” says Evangeline. “My stepmother is totally over-controlling. She might check and find out where we are before we’re ready. We agreed on Fire Island.”
“My friends’ place is free,” says Kenyon. “And nice. There are three bedrooms!”
The car behind you honks.
“All right,” you say at last. It’s not like you have a reason for your sudden objection. It’s more a feeling. You just . . . would rather have the car.
Kenyon pulls into the garage. None of you say anything else as she finds a space to park. You grab Antoine’s copy of Dracula, which has not left your side, and stuff it into your pocket.
Evangeline buys four round-trip tickets with cash; her paranoia about any of you being tracked by your parents has caused her to make everyone promise to keep away from debit and credit cards. You don’t have a lot of cash, the four of you, even when pooled, but it should be enough.
You board the ferry as a group. Saralinda has her faraway expression on; the same one you saw on her face during the drive, when you sneaked looks at her. You wonder what she’s thinking.
You’re glad she agreed to come.
You admit it to yourself now: You have a thing for Saralinda de la Flor. It’s not a big deal. It’s only physical or chemical or whatever. It’s a thing. It isn’t mutual; of course it isn’t. Even if it were, you’re dangerous and she should stay far away from you. She belongs in some super-safe place with some nice—no, you won’t imagine her with some imaginary nice guy. There are limits to self-torture.
You wonder who will look for which of the four of you tonight, and if the various excuses all of you left will hold up.
You’re pretty sure your father won’t be checking up on you. You can go weeks without a text between you.
On the ferry deck, you pull the ocean air into your lungs. There are some other passengers boarding, but it’s far from crowded. You move away from the girls and stand on the deck alone to read the first couple pages of Antoine’s book. By the time the ferry pulls up at the dock, Dracula’s Jonathan Harker has been warned that when the clock strikes midnight, all the evil things in the world will have full sway.
You stuff the book back into your pocket and disembark with the girls.
Fire Island has nothing in common with Castle Dracula. Well, maybe signs of wealth. There’s a fenced marina next to the ferry dock. Its slips are filled with sailboats, motorboats, and sleek large yachts. You stare at the ten-foot chain-link fence around the marina, which you doubt is about boat theft. The fence says: If you don’t have a key, you don’t belong here.
In the same way that Jonathan Harker doesn’t belong in Transylvania. He’s an innocent heading into trouble. Like Antoine was, you think.
“Caleb?” says Evangeline. “Coming?”
“Coming,” you say.
Chapter 24. Saralinda
As we walk on Fire Island, with me and Kenyon and Evangeline abreast and Caleb trailing by himself a few yards behind us, I think of questions. These are the questions it did not occur to me to ask back at school before I got into the car, and mostly they are about what my mother will think. Running away is a rash thing to do. But then again how can it be bad for the four of us to be together? We have to figure out what to do about Antoine’s mother, who must be brought to justice.
Also, we need to grieve. Evangeline needs it especially. I wonder about making a ceremony tonight, such as lighting a candle and standing in a circle and maybe there could be a poem?
We are not running away running away because we are not children and it is only for one night. I rehearse telling this to my mother later. The thing is, I have never been away from her for an entire night before. I was never allowed.
Now I’m allowing myself.
We have to do this. It is not fair and not right about Antoine. He was already destined to have his life cut short and now the rest has been stolen from him. Also I hope he didn’t know what was happening and didn’t have time to feel oh God the smash, the fire, please let Anindita have been right about it being quick at least.
Please.
It is obvious why the island has the no-car rule. There are no streets, just narrow sandy pathways and boardwalks for people to walk on. It’s quaint and appealing, and though it is the off-season there are a few people around, such as a woman riding an old-style bicycle and a male couple walking toward the beach.
“Kenyon, what did you tell your friends about us?” Evangeline asks as we walk.
Kenyon smiles at her and at me. “Nothing! See, my friends gave me a general invitation to come anytime, and they showed me where they hide the spare key.”
When Evangeline doesn’t reply, Kenyon’s smile fades. “Does that meet with your approval?”
“I guess. It seems, I don’t know, over-generous. Who are they? How did you meet them?”
“They’re friends of a teacher—who is also my friend—from my last school.”
“What are their names?”
“What is this, the Spanish Inquisition? They’re Erin and Cordelia. They’re adults, in their thirties. Does that meet with your approval?”
“Yes. I guess so. Sorry, okay? I want to know. What’s wrong with that?”
“Look, Evangeline. My friends figured there might be times when I’d want to get away. They understand me. Also, they understand what happened in my life.”
Kenyon’s voice is tight and angry. The tension between her and Evangeline is too much for me. I slow my steps and let them go on ahead.
Caleb comes up beside me.
“I thought they got past their first reaction of hating each other,” I mutter to him. “And now Evangeline knows about Kenyon’s mother . . .”
He shrugs.
I sigh.
He says, “Maybe she doesn’t want to treat her differently than she would otherwise.”
I recall my first reaction to Caleb. That was not a positive one either. I sneak a gl
ance at his profile.
I now know for sure that he is not the thuggish boy I once thought. If he were, there would never ever be the kind of look on his face that is on his face at this moment.
Suddenly he looks at me too.
I look away.
Oh, God, why am I here, why? At least I should have already called my mother, so what if she is working on her grant. My mother has so much love that she needs two daughters to express it. She has taken care of me all my life and she does not deserve to have me run away, she will worry (if she knows I am gone). And then I realize that my mother will also worry about my insulin level, but I have insulin and the glucose tabs in my emergency kit that I packed just last night in my backpack, and of course my glucose meter to test with, isn’t that odd and lucky?
It makes me feel better to think of that—like fate intervened, like I am meant to be here. I am meant to be here with the others, and maybe my fairy godmother is not useless and obstructive after all.
Ahead of Caleb and me, Kenyon and Evangeline are now silent.
I look at Kenyon’s vulnerable bare neck. I say, “Kenyon? Are you all right? I mean, your back and—and things?”
There is a very long pause and I think she will not answer in which case I will not press her. Then she says, “You know what’s funny? Antoine’s mother—it makes me think about my grandfather. I keep remembering how he was when I was little. When he loved me. Before everything happened. Now I don’t call him Grandpa anymore, you know? I don’t call him anything.”
Evangeline says, “I don’t call my stepmother anything either. She’s ‘hey, you’ to me. She only married my father for his money.”
I don’t think her stepmother has anything to do with anything, and also Evangeline has interrupted Kenyon. Yet I am curious and cannot stop myself from asking.
“How much money do you have, Evangeline?”
She hesitates, then shrugs. “Forty million, give or take.”
My eyes bug out, seriously I feel them bulge and in front of me Kenyon twitches.
“It’s not so much.” Evangeline’s voice is defensive. “Also I don’t have it yet. Not until I’m eighteen.”