I hear the knock on my bedroom door as I wipe another drip from my tear-streaked face. “Go away!”
“Lyn?”
“Joanie?” I reply, hopping off the bed to unlock the door. “What are you doing here?” She takes one look at me, and I’m wrapped in a bone-crushing hug.
“What happened? I got a text from your Mom asking me to come over. I tried calling, but you didn’t answer.” I glance at the phone set to silent that is resting upside down on my dresser.
“I’m really sorry. I couldn’t bear it if he called.”
“Did something happen between you and Bryan?”
“He kissed me… it was a disaster… I should never have gotten involved in the first place. I’m such a freak!”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“I wish I was…”
“Evelyn Dae, no one breaks up because of one kiss gone wrong.”
“Well then I’m the first person in all of history to prove that isn’t true. He told me I taste weird and made fun of me all the way home.”
“Oh my God!”
“I thought he liked me.”
“Lyn, it’s not you, it’s him! He’s a jerk-face. We should come up with a plan to decimate his reputation at school tomorrow. Was it a good kiss at least?” Her face is screwed up in concentration and something about it makes me giggle.
“Not really. I couldn’t breathe.”
“Perfect! Preys on underclassman and is a terrible kisser!”
“Yeah, but I can’t let this happen again.”
“What?”
“This feeling. I’ve got a new rule.” Joan groans and collapses on my bed with mock drama. “Well, don’t you want to know what it is?”
“Let me guess… you won’t ever kiss another boy for as long as you live?”
“Well, technically I won’t date anyone first so the likelihood of getting kissed is remarkably low, but that’s a good one too. Maybe I should add both of these rules together to eliminate any possible loop holes.”
Joan throws a pillow at me, but I duck out of the way. “You are seriously messed up if you are going to let one stupid boy ruin everything!”
“I don’t see it that way. Besides, I’ve been completely sidetracked from my quest to find answers since he started paying attention to me. Time to get back on track.”
Joan sits up and motions for me to join her. I sit and she puts her hands on my shoulders. “Lyn, please don’t take this the wrong way, but maybe you need to let it go.”
“Let what go?”
“All of it. The quest. The rules. All these punishments you impose on yourself…”
I sigh, blinking back fresh tears. She doesn’t understand. No one does.
4:52 pm, October 7, 2008
I gasp and emerge from a nap clutching at the base of my throat. My homework lays strewn across the bedspread and I blink as I process the trail of ink slashed haphazardly on the side of my science notes. My hands still seek purchase for a non-existent pendant around my neck, and I grab a piece of scrap paper to capture its likeness before the image can fade. The resulting sketch is crude, but something about it grabs my attention. It feels familiar.
I’ve been collecting seashells for as long as I can remember. Over the years the buckets and bowlfuls, gradually became a single wooden drawer under my bed. Periwinkles are my favorite and somehow the dream and the illustration, collide in my mind sparking an idea.
I scramble off the bed, sliding the drawer from its dormant position. The shells are stacked in neat rows, organized by type, color and size. Everything inside is covered with a fine layer of dust. Has it really been that long since I’ve added to my collection? I scan the spiral shells, but after two passes it’s obvious I’m not going to find what I’m looking for in this drawer.
“How can it not be here?” I’m certain I’ve seen this shell before, or at least I think I am. I glance at the clock.
“If I leave now, I’ll have almost an hour to search…” I mumble to myself.
I reach the edge of the dunes in a record ten minutes. The air is moist from the crashing surf, and I untangle the tied sleeves of my hoodie, after discarding my sandals by the steps leading to the beach. I begin at the high tide mark, weaving back and forth two times. The third time across brings me as close to the water as I dare to get. The sand is damp and my toes tingle uncomfortably as my skin reacts with the prolonged exposure to the salt water.
The sun is kissing the horizon, and I realize I’m facing a long walk home in the dark. I turn my back from the breakers to retreat to the safety of my home when I see it. Only a portion of the shell is visible, but my heart leaps into my throat. Could I really find it so easily? I sink to my knees and tentatively touch the smooth circular pattern. The shell flips over and I pick it up for a closer examination. What I thought was a perfect match is only a small piece of what was once a magnificent shell. I throw the fragment away, surprised at the intensity of my frustration.
I collect my sandals and plod up the staircase. At the top, I pause to wipe the sand from the bottom of my feet. My skin has turned a strange pale green around the edges of my heels and toes. I grab a fistful of dry dune sand and scrub around my feet until they are pink and raw. Looking at them again, I wonder if the setting sun is playing tricks on my eyes. I rub the exhaustion from my face and trudge home knowing I’ll be back again tomorrow.