Shining Sea Read online

  “Okay, good night. Oh, hey, what about Logan? I mean as far as tonight.”

  “Um, right.” Logan. A guy who actually wants to be around me, a guy who doesn’t run away every time we talk. And, bonus, Logan isn’t someone who’ll make the hair on my arms stand up—except maybe in a good way. “Will you tell him I’m up on the deck?”

  STARGAZER

  “She’s got a place inside

  It’s like the night sky.

  You keep on giving her the moon and the stars

  But you can’t fill her up and you don’t know why—”

  Hearing the door opening, I quickly put my guitar in its case and lean back against the bricks of the lighthouse.

  “Hey.” Logan throws himself unceremoniously down on the deck, so close to me I can smell his shampoo. “Can you play that thing?” He nods toward the guitar case.

  “Not really,” I fib. Play for Logan right now? No way. “What’s up?”

  “Nothing’s up with me, but what about you? What the hell were you doing today?”

  “Today?” Denial seems the easiest route. “What do you mean?”

  “Oh, c’mon! The rules-and-regs exam isn’t a ‘swim test’ as your friend put it—the one you left with, I noticed—so what were you doing? Besides giving me a heart attack.”

  “I guess . . .” I hug my knees into my chest. Half a minute ticks by.

  “You were saying?”

  “I don’t know.” I try to remember what Mary said, try to make my voice even like hers. “I didn’t eat, didn’t drink anything. I guess I was just—hot.”

  I have no clue what I was doing, but trust me, no one’s more freaked out about it than I am.

  Logan takes a deep breath—then seems to change his mind about something. “Hot, huh?” His smile flickers and spreads. “Tell me more about that.” He slings his arm around my shoulders, like, no big deal.

  I make a face at him, but nervous laughter bubbles out of me. His shampoo actually smells really good. Kind of minty.

  “It’s getting chilly, right?” I say this like it’s an excuse for his arm being around me.

  He draws me closer, pulling me against his black leather jacket, and looks up at the stars.

  “You know . . . I was really worried about you today.”

  “I know. Mary told me. I’m sorry.” The sound of the surf hitting the breakwater carries up to us and we fall quiet, listening. Turning my head slightly, I look at Logan’s familiar features. Stargazer. The stargazer lily is bold, dramatic—

  “What is it?” he asks, obviously sensing that I’m staring at him.

  “Um—nothing.”

  “Nothing.”

  “Well, it’s just—you have really long eyelashes.”

  “So I’ve been told.” He squints up at the sky. “You can probably imagine—I give a wicked butterfly kiss.”

  I swallow, not moving.

  He turns toward me, nudging me forward, his arm sliding from my shoulders to my waist. My stomach goes swoop as he bends his face toward mine, and I feel his breath warm on my lips, his hair brushing my cheeks—

  Suddenly the ringing—louder than ever—invades the night. I leap to my feet.

  “Can you hear that? That ringing?”

  “No . . .” Logan stands and joins me at the railing—worry creasing his brow.

  “Look! Logan, what—who is that?” But even as I point toward Summers Cove, I know.

  He’s bodysurfing. Expertly catching the next wave, he rides it in, then steps out of the water and picks up a shadow—which turns out to be a surfboard.

  Bo Summers. Surfing by starlight. He heads back into the waves.

  “Let me grab the binoculars,” I say eagerly.

  “Yeah, okay.” Logan follows me into the watch room. “Actually, I’m gonna get going.”

  “Oh. All right.” I’m an idiot. Like Logan wants to watch Bo surf? “Wait. Maybe—do you want to do something over the weekend? How about I give you a ring?”

  “Sure.” He heads for the stairs. “But I’ll only say yes if you get down on one knee.”

  “You’re so funny,” I shout after him as he disappears down the dark spiral. I almost follow him then, thinking maybe I’ll ask if he wants to stay just a while longer, listen to music, or—something. But even as I’m thinking this, I step out onto the deck and hold the binoculars up—

  Just in time to see Bo leave the beach.

  How long had he been out there? Who does that anyway? Surfs at night, in Maine water.

  I wish more than anything that Lilah was here. Her voice in my head—had been right.

  Bo isn’t just a boy. He’s proved it again and again.

  But then, Lilah, what is he?

  Anxiously, I listen for her voice.

  But it’s gone.

  PHANTASM

  After slipping into the white cotton pajamas that Mom gave me before I left San Francisco, I lie down on the bed, white emptying into white . . .

  Emptying into night . . .

  I wake in a sweat, sitting upright, legs dangling over the edge of the bed, feet just above the floor. Adrenaline pumps through me, along with pulsing music—music? Even as I strain to hear it, the driving music dies, disappears like Alice down the rabbit hole.

  A dream. It was just a dream. Trying to remember it now, I close my eyes—and seem to hear the creak and sigh of the pines. A path, that’s all I can remember, a path of sand and dirt—

  Beneath my back.

  A chill runs through me, and I snap my eyes open—

  I’d been on my back, and this boy, this man, was leaning over me, his wet hair dripping water on my neck, the side of my face. This beautiful boy with—

  Wings.

  It seems I’ve dreamed of Icarus—with a strangely familiar face. Although I can’t picture it now, can just see his hair, gleaming wetly.

  I pull my own hair back now. Wrap it around itself in a loose knot. Draw my knees into my chest.

  From the water below the cliff I saw something with enormous wings, circling. It hadn’t been a bird, and I don’t believe in angels, although when I saw those wings so high up in the sky . . .

  Bo. He’s certainly not an angel, but he’s done things I can’t understand, things that prove he’s not just—human.

  The dream . . . but there’s nothing else to discover. It was only a dream. Still my mind struggles to make a connection.

  A vibrant streak of orange appears in the still-dark early-morning sky, running along the horizon like a tongue of fire . . .

  At the bonfire Logan talked about Standard Smith and his colleagues. He talked about how Smith had lost his life trying to build the lighthouse at Devil’s Claw—

  Smith’s partner. Of course. The partner in Smith’s venture was Summers, Bo’s grandfather—great-grandfather? Whatever. Dad said the Summers’ land had belonged to them forever.

  So what? I rock gently back and forth.

  Professor Summers is a science rock star. Plus, Dad told me the entire family excels at scuba diving and sailing. Bo’s an amazing swimmer. He surfs.

  Big deal. He swims. He surfs.

  It’s no use. All I really know about Bo is that water is his thing, and that he’s dragged me out of it twice now. If it weren’t for him I’d probably be dead, because—

  Hypothermia kills.

  And yet. When Bo helped me out of the icy water below the cliff, he showed no signs of hypothermia, or even exertion. He held me against his bare chest, and his skin was warm. Obviously I lived. I’m alive. But Bo, with his ocean eyes, their black pupils eclipsing aureate suns, is even more alive. He thrums with energy.

  There’s something recalcitrant about that energy, but I don’t care; I want to know him, to know everything about him. Those eyes . . . Not many people looked directly into Bo’s eyes when they spoke to him yesterday at Seal Cove. Nobody—except me.

  The Ocean Zone Institute has a cluster of research laboratories in Portland. It also has a huge archival faci
lity. In fact—OZI’s collection of texts relating to aquatic life is the largest in the world. The Institute is open to the public for certain lectures and exhibitions, but there’s no online access to its resources. To view material at the Institute, you need to be approved. RHHH students are preapproved. Could there be a better place to find out about Bo?

  But. I have no way of getting to Portland. I shut my eyes, trying to think.

  The dream—I need to write it down. To write what I remember, at least, then maybe more will come. I cross the cool floor, then take a seat at the desk and open my notebook.

  But nothing shows up on the page. No details. No revelations.

  Only now—I remember the music, the forceful rhythm of the bass-heavy melody I swore was playing when I woke up. I remember it so clearly now, it’s almost as if I can still hear it. Almost as if, somewhere, it continues to play.

  Softly, I begin to hum, and after a few minutes, a curling melody begins to wend its way inside of me, an aphotic song, slipping to the tip of my tongue . . .

  I reach for my guitar.

  RESEARCH

  “Drive to Portland to do research?” Alyssa is obviously appalled.

  “No, huh? Okay, well, do you know where Mary is? I tried her at home, tried her cell—”

  “She’s having some kind of drama with Kevin. We’re getting together later, though. In fact, our plans are right up your brainiac alley.”

  “Really. What are you guys doing?”

  “Study session.”

  Maybe my ear thing is getting worse. “What?”

  “Study. Session.” There isn’t a chance to voice my disbelief before she says, “Mary and I’ll be by to get you at one,” and hangs up.

  But that afternoon when she picks me up, Alyssa says, “Mary texted. She can’t make it.”

  “Hey, Arion. Do you know what’s up with her and Kevin?” Sarah is slouched in the backseat. I do a double take. Her hair is no longer peacock blue. It’s purple—although the roots are black, and gleaming, which makes me wonder why she covers its naturally dark luster.

  “Ah—no. Who are we listening to?”

  “What, did you and your BFF take a vow of silence?” Alyssa scoffs.

  She’s annoyed, apparently, that Mary and I have a connection that doesn’t include her.

  “No, it’s just that—their relationship is their relationship, you know? So what’s playing?”

  Sarah launches into a scathing critique, and she’s right: the band actually does suck. But they’re worth talking about to change the subject. I reach over to turn up the volume. Sarah groans. Alyssa grins.

  We drive toward town, and I let their girl talk roll over me. Guys, clothes—clothes, guys. As a contribution to the conversation, I mention my sweater deficit, though what I really need is answers. Then Sarah—whose all-black-all-the-time look doesn’t create the impression that she’s some kind of artist or goth girl or nihilist but actually makes her look kind of witchy—basically reads my mind.

  “So why is Bo Summers hanging around you if there’s nothing going on with you guys? I saw him at the library last week. He was, like, lurking in the stacks by your table.”

  “Huh. Didn’t notice. I was probably working on that paper for O’Keefe’s class. Did you finish reading The Return of the Native yet?”

  Alyssa snorts. “That’s not the native Sarah’s talking about.”

  They’ve probably already micro-analyzed every detail of Sarah’s story. Of course she’s wrong. Bo had definitely not been waiting for me to talk to him. Alyssa plainly agrees.

  “That family is totally antisocial. I doubt Bo was interested in anyone noticing him.”

  “Your opinion may be slightly biased,” Sarah says. “Not everyone lives to party.”

  “The people who matter do,” Alyssa contends.

  “So what’d you say to Mr. Model Man?” Sarah asks. “He bolted like he’d seen a ghost.”

  “And Pete told me, you mistook Bo for the book drop.” Alyssa sniggers. “That you showered him with fine literature. Way to get a guy’s attention, Arion. But there must be more. What were you two really talking about on the beach? Tell us, what did you do for that boy?”

  “I didn’t do anything.”

  “Oh, come on,” Alyssa says. “How about the rules-and-regs test yesterday? That was convenient. You practically jumped into his arms!”

  “He was there doing community service,” I mutter, putting on my sunglasses.

  “Yeah, well, he can service me anytime.” Alyssa cackles. Sarah laughs.

  And finally, I start laughing too, realizing that they don’t have a clue about my obsession with Bo. They’re only teasing. And they’re both right. The idea of me with Bo is laughable.

  “Of course I know someone who’d never dream of running away from you,” Alyssa says. “He’s tall, dark, and handsome—and pissed off at the world. Except when you’re around. Though I hear his temper’s nothing compared to the short fuse his brother had. Guesses?”

  Luckily, as she asks this, Alyssa turns into a driveway and parks.

  Surprisingly, we aren’t at the library but at a house nearby. Still—the timing’s good.

  “Can we even fit another person back there?” I ask, twisting around to gesture to the pile of clothes that tower over Sarah.

  I stop midturn.

  Sarah is sitting still as stone. The hair on the back of my neck stands up.

  In a heartbeat the atmosphere in the car changes completely. It’s like we’re on a sailboat, and the wind has died, leaving us in irons.

  “Sorry, Sarah, didn’t mean to bring him up.” Alyssa starts digging through her purse.

  “Yeah, no, it’s okay. I’ve got to get over it. I can’t get upset every time I hear his name.”

  “You know about Logan’s brother, right?” Alyssa asks me. I nod. “Well, Sarah had a thing for him.”

  “But it never went anywhere,” Sarah blurts, “because he had Beth—Beth, who never loved him. The messed up thing was, Nick knew she had feelings for Logan. But he wouldn’t let her go. She could have made Logan happy. Instead? She made Nick miserable.”

  So that’s what Logan left out of his story. Beth was in love with him.

  “Maybe she could still make Logan happy,” I suggest.

  Alyssa looks at me like I have a contagious disease. “Uh, except—she’s dead?”

  A nasty chill goes through me.

  “She drowned,” Alyssa says. “With Nick.”

  “I came to Rock Hook in August,” she continues. “A year before you, Arion. When school started, it was like a bomb had dropped or something. The flag was at half-mast for months. It was totally dismal. Sarah was—well, just look at her. She’s still wearing black.”

  “Ha-ha.” Sarah kicks the back of Alyssa’s seat. To me she says, “It’s cool that Logan likes you. He needs someone. Losing Nick had to be like losing his right hand or something.”

  Or his heart. Lilah’s face flickers in my mind’s eye like a pale flame. But Lilah is alive, while Nick . . . And yet, Logan’s always trying to make me feel better.

  “That’s probably why he’s drawn to me,” I say. “I get it. Get him.”

  “Please—I know about your sister,” Alyssa says. “Shocker, right? Not really. You must have noticed that Rock Hook Harbor isn’t exactly a teeming metropolis; we all, unfortunately, know each other’s business. But it’s not about your sister—Logan’s into you.”

  The generosity of Alyssa’s comment surprises me, but before I can think of what to say, she goes on. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you. He walks you to class, follows you to lab—after school he’s always on the front steps waiting for you, puppy-dog style. It’s pretty obvious you’re more to him than just some girl who has”—she stumbles over the words—“a sibling with problems.” She cracks her door as if she can’t wait to escape the conversation.

  Sarah shuffles her bracelets. “If only Beth had told Nick how she felt about Logan—”
>
  “He would have killed her!” Alyssa says. “Some people think he did.”

  “Jeez, Alyssa. You didn’t even know him!”

  “But I know all about him. And Foster Care Girl. Her parents—guardians, whatever—are alkies who came here on vacation and decided to stay. Old news. Nick’s the star of the tragedy, the one everybody still talks about, another hot, hot-tempered Delaine. She and Nick had something sick, that’s what I heard. No wonder she wanted out.”

  This is definitely beyond me. “Why would you stay with a guy if you didn’t want to?”

  Alyssa shrugs. “Maybe she liked it rough, who knows. And he was rough, that’s what I heard. Caught it from his dad. Mr. Delaine used to hit Nick. Beat him. Not Logan, just Nick.”

  It’s hard to picture Mr. Delaine hitting anyone. Then again, I’ve only met him once.

  Alyssa looks out at the house in front of us. “Let’s go,” she says. “We need to lighten up.” She hops out of the car. In just about the same second, the front door of the house opens.

  Pete Hill and Bobby Farley step out onto the porch.

  “I hope you guys have beer!” Sarah pushes her way out of the backseat.

  Closing my eyes, I let my head drop back. A Saturday-morning study session? Right. Not only do I not want to spend the day partying, I need to get to Portland. Somehow.

  “What’s wrong?” Sarah leans in the window.

  “Um—” Think. “I don’t feel so well.”

  “That sucks. What is it? Headache? Stomachache?”

  “Both.” I try my best to look pathetic.

  “Hey, Al, wait up. Arion doesn’t feel good.”

  “Don’t call me that,” Alyssa snaps. She comes back over to the car. “Problem?”

  “I think I’m sick, or—going to get sick.”

  “Don’t puke in my car.”

  “Do you think you could drive me home?”

  Alyssa purses her lips. Then she turns toward the house. “Hey, Pete, can Sarah borrow your car to take Arion home?”

  Borrow a car. Great idea.

  “I’m not planning on driving,” Pete says with a grin, lifting a beer as if in a toast. Then holding his cigarette between his lips, he reaches into a pocket with his free hand, and, squinting against the smoke, tosses over a set of keys.