3:08 pm, December 21, 2010
I glance at the clock again, and as soon as I move, I feel his eyes on me. I resist meeting his gaze with every fiber in my being, focusing instead on cleaning each millimeter of my work surface. “Three more minutes to winter break,” I mumble to myself.
I start counting in my head, and the bell rings when I hit one hundred thirty-seven startling me out of my stupor. I bolt for the door, but get caught up in the bottleneck of upperclassmen equally eager to begin the two-week vacation from school.
“Evelyn! Evelyn Dae, wait, I have something for you,” Oliver calls, reaching for my arm. I watch in disbelief. How can he want to talk to me after what happened? I cower, bracing myself for what is certain to be an unpleasant exchange. My eyes dart around searching for something, anything that will keep me from looking directly at him. I contemplate escaping, but then he is right in front of me. It’s too late.
“Thank you for waiting,” he says invading my personal space. His face is very close to mine, but I notice we’re both careful to avoid actual contact. He absentmindedly pushes a lock of hair from his eyes, and I see that his hand is trembling. “Happy Christmas,” he says shoving a small, wrapped lump in my hands.
Our fingers collide and I nearly drop the gift. Why is he giving me something for Christmas, doesn’t he despise me? I’m so confused that my shield collapses, and in that moment of weakness I do look at him. He’s nervous and wary, but there’s something else in his expression. Relief?
“I d-don’t know what to s-say.”
“Open it.”
“But I d-didn’t get you anything,” I say feeling the weight of the object in my hands. My eyes drop as curiosity overwhelms me. The paper is smooth blue foil with silver and white snowflakes, but the surface of the object underneath is bumpy. I tear the wrapping off in a frenzied motion, and suck in a gulp of air as I register what I’m holding.
It’s a small cube, no more than three inches across, and it is covered in seashells. I turn it over in my hands, admiring each piece. Then I notice the hinge, and I search the opposite side for the clasp hidden by a spiral shell set exactly in the center of the box. It opens easily, and the interior is lined with green silk. There is a tiny envelope nestled inside. I try to keep my hands steady as I pull it free and trace my fingertips along the sealed flap. His hands close over mine.
“Save that for later,” he whispers and I’m drowning. His breath is hot on my cheek, and I know all I have to do is move an inch to have his lips on mine. Hadn’t we settled this a week ago? Time seems to stretch out as he sweeps a tendril of hair from my face. The backs of his fingers graze my skin, electrifying my senses. My heart leaps into my throat, and my eyes close involuntarily in anticipation as I lean towards him.
“I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” Mrs. Watts says, and we jump apart. Our art teacher had followed the rest of the class out with the bell, and seems as surprised to see us lingering in her classroom, as we are to see her. “Have a nice holiday, and travel safely Oliver,” she calls, but I’m already halfway down the hall. I stuff the envelope back into the box, snapping it shut as I flee.
3:42 am, April 22, 2008
The searing pain ripples through my lungs spreading from the center of my body outwards, and although I’m surrounded by light, I see dark spots in my vision. I clutch at my throat, terrified. Hands hold me still; comforting hands, familiar hands, but I cannot shake the panic inside of me.
Another breath, I sputter, another round of pain.
“What can we do? She’s dying!”
I’m coughing; the black spots spread threatening to drown me. No, I’m already drowning. My eyes roll to the back of my head. I’m twisting, falling, but somehow I never hit bottom. It’s the hands again. They have rescued me. They clap me once on the back. I’m vomiting and the pain grips me harder.
“Vivian, hand me the adrenaline, quickly.”
Shuffling followed by a new, different pain stabbing me in the chest. It is intense and electrifying. My eyes fly open and then snap closed again. The image of the man is burning in my mind. In that instant, I recognize my father’s face floating over me as I tumble into the dark void.
WUMPF! My sleepy eyes flutter open as I regain consciousness. The last remnants of the dream float around in my mind as I survey the contents of my room. Nothing has changed except me. I’m on the floor instead of in my bed, and my sheet is strangling me. I detach myself and pad to the bathroom down the hall. When I finish, sleep is very far away. I wander to the kitchen in a daze, only to collide with a body when I stumble through the entryway.
“Umph, Lyn. I thought you were awake!” Mom cries, rubbing her arm.
“Sorry.” The kettle is already steaming, and I smile at her. “I’m awake, but my body doesn’t know it yet.”
“Want to talk about it?”
“No.”
“Was it the same dream?”
“What part of ‘no’ was unclear?” I retort sinking into the closest chair. I hear Mom sigh as I rub the bridge of my nose.
“You haven’t slept through the night since your birthday.”
“Mom…”
“I’m worried Lyn.”
“Don’t.”
“Maybe we should take you in to talk to someone. Someone professional.”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
I meet her eyes for the first time, putting my most intense glare to good use. A moment later, she is the first to look away, and I smirk in satisfaction. The teenager in me doesn’t want to give in, but the voice in the back of my mind agrees with Mom’s assessment of my new sleeping habit. Why am I having the same dream over and over, night after night? What is happening to me?
I tried dating once. It was a disaster, but there were several things I learned from my mistake. The two most important being never trust a boy, and never let him kiss you.
8:22 am, January 27, 2009
“Hey Lyn! Wait up!” Bryan Stratton calls across the crowded hallway. My face radiates heat as I watch him weave through the bodies. Bryan is a junior at Cedar Crest, a star athlete, and most importantly one of the popular boys. Why would he want to talk to lowly freshman like me? I look around. Maybe I’m not the ‘Lyn’ he’s looking for, but then he’s in front of me in his low-riding, beat up jeans and one-size too small, t-shirt that leaves little to the imagination about the muscles underneath.
“You’re talking to me?”
“Of course,” he says with a smile like he’s done this every day for a month. “I was wondering what you were doing after school on Friday. I’m hosting a little fiesta on the bluff and I’d really like you…” He abruptly stops as his eyes sweep from my face down. “Cool necklace. Where’d you get it?”
My hand reaches automatically for the hollow of my neck, closing protectively around the shell. Somehow I don’t think he was only checking out the contents on my collarbone. “I made it.”
“You don’t need to get all weird about it. So, what do you say? Friday?”
“Uh…”
“Awesome! I’ll pick you up at seven. See you later,” he replies before bounding off in the opposite direction.
“Lyn? Was that Bryan Stratton?” Stacy asks slyly as she materializes next to me. I’m too stunned to reply so I nod my head vigorously up and down like a bobble head. “And did I hear correctly? Did he just ask you out?” More nodding. “And you agreed?”
I look at her as a smile grows on my face. “Technically? No, but that doesn’t really matter.”
“How could that not matter!” she replies and I hold up my hand to calm her. The shell around my neck seems to grow heavy as I form the words in my head.
“Because, he’s picking me up on Friday night…”
2:27 pm, August 19, 2008
“I’m going to find them,” I say finally meeting Joan’s concerned gaze.
“Whoa, really?”
/> “What choice do I have? Wouldn’t you want to know? I don’t know when Vivian and Marcus are coming back…”
“Are you for real?” She’s sitting across from me on her four-poster bed looking decidedly disgusted.
“What?”
“You’re not going to call them ‘Mom’ or ‘Dad’ anymore now that you know you’re adopted. They’ll be crushed Lyn.”
I shake my head in frustration. “And how do you think I feel right now? My whole life is a lie!”
“Your life is not a lie. Look, I know you’re feeling really hurt and betrayed, but maybe they kept this from you to protect you from some horrible past. Do you remember anything before Oregon?”
I frown considering the question, but the idea shakes me to my core. In a panic I search my memories, but register nothing before my fifth birthday. What is my mind blocking out? “I don’t have an answer for you Joanie, but right now I need to find out something, anything about my biological parents.” There is a desperate edge to my voice that I don’t recognize, and it frightens me.
“Okay.”
“Okay what?”
“I’ll help you.”
“You will?”
“Of course! Do you have any idea where to start?”
“Not really,” I reply crestfallen. “Wait! My passport says I was born in Melbourne, Australia. They couldn’t have lied about that.”
“Okay then. Let’s start there.”
“Joanie, we can’t go to Australia. My parents would kill me!”
“Ha! You just called them ‘parents’ again. Score one for Joanie,” she exclaims notching the air with her index finger. I do my best to deliver a smirk, but really I’m stifling a giggle. “Come on. We can go anywhere we want… on the Internet. Let’s see what we can find.”
3:48 pm, February 10, 2009
“Come on Moth Boy, would you give me a hint?” I ask as Bryan slips his arm around my waist. His smile falters slightly. I know he doesn’t like my nickname for him, but I’m annoyed.
“No way. It’s a surprise. Don’t worry Lynie, you won’t be disappointed.” I frown at him. I hate surprises, but more than that, I really don’t like being called by that name. I let him lead me across the student parking lot to his red truck.
“I need to check in with my parents if we’re driving somewhere.”
“Oh, come on Baby. We’re just going a little ways. They never need to know. You’ll be home before six, I promise.”
My inner voice is surprisingly quiet about the wrongness of this, so I climb into the cab. He scrambles around to the driver’s side before I’m able to change my mind, and a moment later we are speeding down the one-oh-one. I watch the scenery rush by outside, pressing my fingertips to the vents. It’s the end of one of those crystal clear winter days, and I shiver involuntarily even though the inside air has warmed considerably.
“Um, you missed the turn to the bluff,” I say as we continue north past the two possible exits that would take us to the local beach. Where is Moth Boy taking me?
“We’re not going to the bluff. Sit back and relax. We’ve got a little bit of a drive ahead of us.”
My unease grows as we take an exit and turn onto Devils Road. Bryan looks completely relaxed with one hand on the steering wheel and the other slung over the back of the bench seat. He drives without saying a word to me. I retreat into the recesses of my mind, so much so that when he does stop, I startle. Before us is the vast Pacific Ocean beyond a deserted beach. The sun is low in the sky and the reds and oranges reflect across both the water and the sand.
He turns off the engine of the truck, and the sound of the surf rushes into my ears. His fingers rest on my shoulder, and I think back to the past times we’ve been together. Our previous outings have been spent surrounded by his friends, but now that we are completely alone, I feel awkward and unsure. The icy wind whips around the truck seeping in through every crack. I shiver again.
“Hey, are you cold?” Bryan asks, unbuckling his seatbelt and sliding closer to me. His arms reach for me and before I can react his lips cover mine. He presses into me, forcing my mouth open with his tongue. He is very warm, and I feel like he’s smothering me, but in the back of my mind I want to enjoy this; my first real kiss. I try to relax and tentatively touch my tongue to his. His reaction is instantaneous.
“Did I do something wrong?” I ask as he retreats licking his lips.
“What did you eat for lunch?” he shoots back, a confused look on his features. Inside I’m mortified.
“Um, a sandwich, some chips and a bottle of water.”
“Weird.” I stare at him waiting for him to elaborate. He stares back still licking his lips. “You taste…”
“What? Do I have bad breath?”
He shakes his head, and I watch in horror as he begins to chuckle. “You’re salty…”