exactly the way I liked, and when I took a single bite I realized I was starving. I bolted the whole thing and promptly fell asleep. When I woke up, Jess was concentrating on my face, squinting the way she did when she was trying to memorize something so she could draw it later.
“Your eyes and your lips look just like mine,” she informed me.
“They do?” I felt a swell of pride. “Maybe it’s because we’re sisters.”
“Duh.” Her eyes got that irritated, impatient look, and I knew she was done talking. She jumped to her feet. “Let’s play that we’re mermaids. No, twin mermaids!”
We were engrossed in a complex mer-family saga, standing in the shade of the rocks, when it happened.
Two motorcycles roared up from each side of Haystack Rock. The riders wore shiny helmets that made them appear inhuman. Identical blue uniforms. Then a squad car with the lights going and a megaphone on top. I was so startled and so scared that my heart suddenly felt huge and sore in my chest. Later we found out the bus driver had tipped them off. They said a bunch of words, probably—inretrospect—something meant to be gentle and calming to a couple of little kids; but all I heard was my own heartbeat, the jumbled buzzing noise of their Whispers, and Jess’s scream.
She grabbed my hand and started to run. My shorter legs could barely keep up, but her grip was so tight I thought my hand would break off if I fell behind. One of the cops spoke through a megaphone, going on about how no one was going to hurt us and we weren’t in trouble and that our parents were very worried. There was nowhere to go. We were surrounded. But we ran through the sand anyway, tripping on rocks and glass and garbage, running toward the waves and into the freezing ocean, soaking Jess’s jeans and my pink overalls to the waist, and all the while her grip on me never loosened, her frantic Whisper never changed: I wish I could save you, I have to save you. I need to save you.
6
At first after Icka left, I stood alone by the old dry creek bed, trembling. I didn’t know why I felt so cold, or even how long I stood there. It could have been one minute, or twenty. I just couldn’t stop shaking, teeth chattering, head down, hugging myself. Then, without my consciously planning it, my platform-stilted legs started moving me back toward school.
I drifted into the caf, where I bought a hot chocolate I knew I wouldn’t drink. Something warm to hold on to. My stiff fingers fumbled, and I dropped all my coins and had to apologize to Esperanza, the grouchy lunch lady.
Slouching on a splintery quad bench, I clutched my Dixiecup and watched as chocolate-scented steam vanished into the air. A trio of geeky boys passed by and ogled my outfit. I tried to smile winningly, but my smile flickered and backfired, refusing to stay up at the corners.
Relax, I thought, willing my shoulders to drop. It’s going to be okay now. Look for the silver lining, right? At least I finally got through to her.
But was that true ? Or did I only believe it because I wanted to? I shook my head and sighed. I was so tired of Icka playing games with the truth, confusing me about what was real and who was right. My cell phone bulged in its special pocket on my bag’s strap. I could reach for it, dial Mom’s work extension, blurt out the story to her. She’d know just what to say, she’d dole out advice and help me feel better….
Then, with a flash of humiliation, I remembered Icka calling me Mom’s clone, her Mini Me.
Maybe I didn’t need to call Mom. Icka, much as I hated to admit it, just might have a point that I relied on Mom an awful lot for a fifteen-year-old. In my defense, my Hearing brought up issues normal teens simply didn’t have to worry about, and Mom was the only one who understood. Not to mention I slept down the hall from Daughter Number One, the cautionary tale of what happens when kids don’t keep their parents in the loop. Still, I was reaching an age
“Your eyes and your lips look just like mine,” she informed me.
“They do?” I felt a swell of pride. “Maybe it’s because we’re sisters.”
“Duh.” Her eyes got that irritated, impatient look, and I knew she was done talking. She jumped to her feet. “Let’s play that we’re mermaids. No, twin mermaids!”
We were engrossed in a complex mer-family saga, standing in the shade of the rocks, when it happened.
Two motorcycles roared up from each side of Haystack Rock. The riders wore shiny helmets that made them appear inhuman. Identical blue uniforms. Then a squad car with the lights going and a megaphone on top. I was so startled and so scared that my heart suddenly felt huge and sore in my chest. Later we found out the bus driver had tipped them off. They said a bunch of words, probably—inretrospect—something meant to be gentle and calming to a couple of little kids; but all I heard was my own heartbeat, the jumbled buzzing noise of their Whispers, and Jess’s scream.
She grabbed my hand and started to run. My shorter legs could barely keep up, but her grip was so tight I thought my hand would break off if I fell behind. One of the cops spoke through a megaphone, going on about how no one was going to hurt us and we weren’t in trouble and that our parents were very worried. There was nowhere to go. We were surrounded. But we ran through the sand anyway, tripping on rocks and glass and garbage, running toward the waves and into the freezing ocean, soaking Jess’s jeans and my pink overalls to the waist, and all the while her grip on me never loosened, her frantic Whisper never changed: I wish I could save you, I have to save you. I need to save you.
6
At first after Icka left, I stood alone by the old dry creek bed, trembling. I didn’t know why I felt so cold, or even how long I stood there. It could have been one minute, or twenty. I just couldn’t stop shaking, teeth chattering, head down, hugging myself. Then, without my consciously planning it, my platform-stilted legs started moving me back toward school.
I drifted into the caf, where I bought a hot chocolate I knew I wouldn’t drink. Something warm to hold on to. My stiff fingers fumbled, and I dropped all my coins and had to apologize to Esperanza, the grouchy lunch lady.
Slouching on a splintery quad bench, I clutched my Dixiecup and watched as chocolate-scented steam vanished into the air. A trio of geeky boys passed by and ogled my outfit. I tried to smile winningly, but my smile flickered and backfired, refusing to stay up at the corners.
Relax, I thought, willing my shoulders to drop. It’s going to be okay now. Look for the silver lining, right? At least I finally got through to her.
But was that true ? Or did I only believe it because I wanted to? I shook my head and sighed. I was so tired of Icka playing games with the truth, confusing me about what was real and who was right. My cell phone bulged in its special pocket on my bag’s strap. I could reach for it, dial Mom’s work extension, blurt out the story to her. She’d know just what to say, she’d dole out advice and help me feel better….
Then, with a flash of humiliation, I remembered Icka calling me Mom’s clone, her Mini Me.
Maybe I didn’t need to call Mom. Icka, much as I hated to admit it, just might have a point that I relied on Mom an awful lot for a fifteen-year-old. In my defense, my Hearing brought up issues normal teens simply didn’t have to worry about, and Mom was the only one who understood. Not to mention I slept down the hall from Daughter Number One, the cautionary tale of what happens when kids don’t keep their parents in the loop. Still, I was reaching an age
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