Beyond the Sea (10 page)

“I’m fine.”

Peter didn’t think she looked fine. Her hands shook and her face was pale. Her eyes were wide and she looked scared. “What do you want?”

“Sprite,” Melia answered for Jamie. “Thanks, Peter.”

“Good thinking,” Jamie said to Melia as soon as Peter was out of earshot. “Sorry to make him think you’re friends with a freak.”

“If he thinks you’re a freak for being a medium, then I’m in trouble,” she said with a grin. She patted Jamie’s hand.

“She was walking.”

“What?”

“Lana. She was walking on the shore. I know because there were little sharp things in the sand. Like little pieces of wood and rocks.”

Melia nodded. What was Lana doing in human form? “This opens up the killer to—to anyone.”

“Oh, Melia, I’m so sorry!” Jamie hugged her.

“I thought we were getting closer to solving this.” She rested her head on Jamie’s shoulder, fighting back emotion. After a minute, she straightened up, composed herself and said, “At least I don’t have to worry about the darklings.”

Before Jamie could ask what darklings were, Peter returned. Now Melia looked distraught. He wanted to hug her but decided to just sit on the floor next to her instead. He handed Jamie the Sprite and gave Melia her wallet back. Her fingers brushed his; she looked at him, into his eyes. The sadness melted from her heart.

“Thanks, Peter,” she said sincerely.

He liked hearing her say his name. “You’re welcome. Are you feeling better, Jamie?”

“Yea, I had a cramp. From working out. In my leg.” Jamie laughed nervously.

“Oh, ouch.” He looked at Melia again. “Ava keeps bugging me to ask you to do her hair again.”

She smiled. “Really? I’d love to.”

“I’ll let her know.”

Melia shifted her weight, letting go of Jamie’s hand and turning more toward Peter. She wore another dress today, this one was a deep purple. Her hair was pulled to the side in a fishtail braid, with a purple ribbon tied at the end. To Peter’s delight, Jeff, a shy boy he had never spoken to, came over to talk to Jamie, distracting her and leaving Peter more or less alone with Melia.

“Want to sit in the courtyard?” he asked. Melia nodded, and he extended a hand to help her up. Her skin was so smooth, he didn’t want to let go. Melia quickly put her books away, taking only what she needed for class.

“It’s your fault I’m tired,” she said coyly. They sat on a bench in the morning sun.

“It is? Why is that?” Peter smiled, leaning close.

“I dreamed about you.”

And I dreamed about you
, he wanted to say, but didn’t. “Well, if you dreamed then you slept, so I’m not sure how it’s my fault you’re tired.”

Melia smiled back. She liked being this close to Peter. Her leg touched his; his skin was warm. He smelled good. “Well, before I dreamed about you, I was thinking about you.”

“Really? And what were you thinking?”

“Oh, I can’t tell you,” she quietly said, not even realizing she was flirting. She had been up half the night wondering about him. What he feels like, his skin, his hair, his lips. She wanted him to hold her, hug her and kiss her. He moved closer. The fish wriggled around in her belly.

“Will you meet me on the beach tonight?” he asked, his voice wistful.

“Of course.”

“At nine.” He smiled again, though this time something mischievous glinted in his sky blue eyes. “Unless you can’t stand for me to keep you up all night.”

“I would like that,” she said without realizing the dirty implications.

“Would you?” He moved closer, tipping his head a bit.

He’s going to kiss me!
Melia thought. She didn’t want her first kiss to happen at school. That was not romantic. “Janet is staring at me.”

Peter pulled away. He had forgotten that people were around them. For a too brief moment, only Melia existed. “She’s jealous,” he explained. The first bell rang. Peter carried Melia’s books to class. Janet rolled her eyes and pretended to gag when Peter sat down next to her. He didn’t care. Nothing could shake the excitement he felt for tonight.

*

The clock struck eight. Peter counted each chime from the grandfather clock. He tapped his pencil impatiently on his notebook. He had been sitting at the kitchen table for twenty minutes in an attempt to finish his English assignment. No surprise, his mind drifted to Melia. Restless, he got up to get something to eat. After finishing the plate of chocolate chip cookies his mother had made just that morning, he sat down and forced himself to finish his homework.

“I’m going to bed,” he loudly announced at eight forty five.

“Alright, goodnight,” his mother called, not looking away from the TV. Mocha was snuggled on her lap. Peter knew that it was that little dog that could give him away. Though he was in no way, shape or form a guard dog, Mocha barked at the quietest noise.

“Night, Ava,” Peter told his little sister, stepping into her room to make sure her blinds were closed.

“Good night,” she mumbled sleepily.

Peter changed his clothes; it was stupid but he didn’t want to wear the same thing Melia had seen him wearing at school. He’d done this many times and never got caught, and all conditions were favorable tonight: his mother was glued to the TV, his father was in the basement doing the same and both his siblings were in bed. He closed his door, stuffed a pillow under his blankets, opened his window and popped the screen out. He carefully hid it in the closet. Next, he silently stepped through the window onto the roof. The night air was refreshing. Crouching, he walked past Ava’s room to the side of the house where he was able to grab hold of a tree branch, swing into the tree and climb down. That was easy. Getting back up was a different story.

He couldn’t take his car. The engine was too loud, and it would be too obvious if his parents looked outside and didn’t see it parked in the driveway. He had gotten his bike out of the shed and stashed it behind the house. Dreading every step past the living room window, Peter held his breath until he was safely away from the house.

Melia sat on the shore. The wind blew her hair. It was after nine. Where was Peter? She stood, tempted to jump in the water. For some reason she turned. Her heart swelled when she saw him. He waved to her and jogged over.

“Peter,” she whispered. “I thought you weren’t coming.”

“Sorry.” He stepped close. “It took longer than I thought to ride over here.”

“Ride?” she asked, thinking of horses.

“A bike. My parents don’t know I’m here. I kinda had to sneak out.”

“Oh.” She smiled. It was like in a movie. “I’m glad you came.”

“Me too.”

“Want to go closer to my house? There are people here.”

“Yea,” Peter agreed, though he knew the very small crowd would soon be gone. The beach rarely had people on it past ten on a school night. “So,” he began after they settled on the sandy ground underneath The Ridge. “Are your parents glad to be home?”

“They’re not home yet.”

“Oh, sorry.”

“It’s ok, Edward is presenting something, so he can’t leave yet.”

“You call your dad Edward?” Peter asked, shocked.

“He’s not my real father,” she explained, looking out at the ocean. “My real father died when I was three.”

“Oh, sorry,” Peter said again, feeling horrible.

“Thanks. It’s ok, too. I don’t remember him. He wasn’t around much when he was alive.” She shrugged it off and changed the topic. “Do you like birds?”

“Birds? Uh, I guess.”

“I do. I envy their ability to fly.”

It was a strange statement but Peter agreed. “I’ve been sky diving. That’s the closest we can get to unassisted flying, I think.”

She leaned closer to him. Her hair blew across his face. “What kind of bird would you be?”

“An eagle,” he answered without having to think about it. “What about you?”

“I don’t know. Sometimes I think I’d be a parrot and live somewhere warm, sitting in my tree eating fruit and nuts all day. But I’d also like to be a hawk.”

“So what kind of land animal would you be?” he asked, a small smile forming on his lips.

“A horse,” she said after a minute. The wind blew her hair across her face again. Peter reached out and gently moved it out of her eyes. Slowly, he ran his hand through it. He tipped his face down at hers. Melia opened her mouth to explain why she chose a horse but stopped. Peter tucked a renegade strand behind her ear. He slowly brushed his fingers down her cheek and across her collar bone. He let his hand fall into her lap, where her hands were, and intertwined their fingers. He wrapped his other arm around her.

Melia felt a rush of warmth, both inside and out, with Peter’s embrace. She closed her eyes and rested her head against his firm chest. She could hear his heartbeat. It was slower than hers, and she pressed her ear against him to listen.
 
But having that much of her body against Peter’s brought on a new sensation. Instead of flipping their tails, the fish did somersaults. A jolt ran through her body that reminded her of the time she got a static shock. Every part of her seemed awake and the closer she got to Peter the better it felt.

He knew his heart was racing and he hoped she didn’t notice. Having his arms around her felt so
right
. The starry night sky, the calm ocean, the warm breeze…it was all perfect. Slowly, he pulled his hand out of hers and ran it through her hair again. Gingerly, he lifted Melia’s chin. He gazed into her beautiful eyes, and though it was too dark to see their magnificent color, he was captivated. She put her hand on his side. He moved his hand from under her chin to her slender waist and kissed her.

Fireworks. Melia saw fireworks. They exploded inside her shut eyelids; their fiery hot debris landing on her skin and causing her to shiver. In a fury, her arms went around Peter, enjoying the warmth of his skin. Feeling the same desperate longing, Peter pressed his mouth to hers, hugged her tight, pulling her closer. When the kiss finally ended, both were breathless.

Holding onto each other, Peter leaned back, bringing Melia with him until they were laying in the sand.

“I’d be a lion,” he whispered. “If I could be any animal. That’s what I would choose.”

Melia wriggled closer. “Really?”

“Yea.” Peter tightened his arms around her.

“You’d eat me.”

“No, I’d let you live. We’d be the first lion-horse friends.”

“Promise?”

“Yes.” He propped himself up on his elbow and kissed her again. Peter knew he was insanely attracted to Melia. He knew there was something mysterious about her. And he knew that coming from a rich and powerful family made her oddly untouchable. Add all those together and she was even more desirable. He had expected to have feelings for her. He just never expected them to be this strong.

Melia ran her hands over Peter’s back. She hooked her fingers in his belt loops and pulled him on top of her. She had never felt anything like this. She thought she knew what to expect, after all the romantic movies she’d watched and all the love stories she’d read. But nothing had prepared her for how intense her feelings would suddenly get. She wanted to be closer to Peter. And she wanted it now. She grabbed the hem of his shirt, prepared to pull it over his head when a car alarm went off, causing them both to startle.

“I forgot we weren’t alone,” Peter said quietly, begrudgingly moving off of Melia. He stood and extended a hand to Melia. “Shall we?”

“Where are we going?” she asked as he pulled her up. She clasped her hands around his shoulders and pressed her hips to his.

“I-I don’t know,” he answered, working hard to resist the urge to throw her down and have his way with her.

“Do you like kissing me?”

“Yes. Very much.”

“Good.” She stood on her toes and kissed him again. A loud
plunk
caused them to pull apart. Peter stared at the seemingly dark ocean, not able to see anything. Melia, being able to see more than humans, scanned the water. Whatever had made the noise was underwater again. It very well could have been just a fish, Melia told herself. Peter took her hand and walked down the beach.

“And what if you could live in the ocean,” she began. “What would you be then?”

“Hmm,” he thought, letting go of her hand and wrapping his arm around her waist. “One of those colorful sea horse things.”

“Weedy sea dragon,” she informed him. “The males carry the babies, you know.”

“Oh, well never mind then. I’d be a shark.”

“An eagle, a lion and a shark. All fierce animals. According to those shows with the doctors, that says something about you.”

He laughed. “Well, what would you be?”

“I’d be a shark too,” she lied.

“You, a shark? You’re too sweet to be a vicious killer.”

Melia stopped dead in her tracks.
 
“People kill millions of sharks a year for their fins. They grab the shark, take a knife—which isn’t always sharp—and slice through the sharks’ thick skin, cutting their fins off. Then the poor, injured shark is tossed back into the ocean like garbage, where it can take hours and sometimes days for them to bleed to death. If they’re lucky, something else will eat them and end their suffering. Sharks aren’t killers. People are.”