Learning Not to Drown (5 page)

“The same old stuff. Just going to be here around town. Lifeguarding at the lake. Again. Filling out college and scholarship applications and preparing for the next AP tests.” Is it too nerdy that I just confessed to
studying over the summer? Smart can be sexy. To some guys. I think. I hope.

“That's cool. I don't know if I'm going to do the college thing. I haven't figured that out yet.” Ryan shakes his head. “I'd like to just travel. You know? Everyone is in a rush to start working. By the time you retire, you're old. Why not do the stuff you want to do right out of high school and save the career for later?”

“I guess I never thought of it that way,” I say. I'm having a vision of what that would be like. Hopping on a plane, maybe even with Ryan, landing somewhere beautiful and taking the time to just explore. Not caring about which college is going to get me the best job, the best paycheck. It's a fantasy. But I sit with it for a moment and try to believe it's possible.

“There has to be a way to make it happen, right?” His tone has changed, evidence that he knows reality will trump his idea. Avoiding my eyes, he grabs a long stick and puts the tip of it into the edge of the fire. It smokes for a second, then lights.

“You'd think somehow.” I pause and try to come up with something witty, something to make him laugh. When nothing surfaces, I go with practical. “Are you good enough to go pro?”

“Nah.” He pulls the stick out of the fire, watching the flame slowly work its way toward his hand.

“You could open a surf shop,” I suggest, shoving my hands into my pockets.

“But then I'd have to do math.” As the flame grows, Ryan gives up and throws it into the bonfire. We sit for a
second in silence, before my brain finds the right thing to say.

“Then I see only one option for you. You can travel the world. Get paid to do it. And you will get to wear an awesome outfit every day.” I lift my lips into a teasing smile. “Flight attendant.”

He laughs. “Can't I at least be a pilot?”

“Sure. But you might have to do math.”

“I'll get to wear the swanky hat, right? It's a good trade,” he says, laughing again. This is fantastic.
This
is what I needed tonight. Ryan shrugs, then adds, “Maybe it's a good idea. My dad is always telling me that I need to start thinking of my ‘life plan.' ” He puts his fingers up as quotes. “I don't know. I guess I don't want to choose the wrong thing. Why are you thinking marine biology?”

“The ocean is . . . incredible. Fascinating. Mysterious. I'd love to explore it. And I like all the crazy creatures. But. It's not like I know that's what I want to do for sure. It just feels like it might be a good idea.”

“With your grades, you can do anything. That's pretty rad. To have all your options open.” I watch as Ryan grabs another long stick to put into the fire. I've always thought of him as so happy, so relaxed. It's strange to think that he's as unsure about what to do as the rest of us. Maybe even more because school isn't his thing. Then it hits me—Ryan knows I have good grades, which means he's at least aware of me. I'm about to say something else, when my cell phone vibrates in my pocket. My reminder alarm. It's time to leave so I can sneak back in before my parents wake up.

Drea's standing next to Omar. It looks like Chase and Skye are already gone. Even the bonfire has shrunk.

“It was great talking to you,” I say to Ryan. “But I've got to go.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, “it looks like the party's over. See you around, Clare.”

“Good night.”

I join Drea. As we walk away from the fire, a chilled breeze creeps through my sweatshirt. The full moon has set. Even the trees nearest the dirt road blend to a menacing black. We automatically quicken our pace without saying a word to each other.

In less than fifteen minutes my night out is over.

Drea drops me off at my regular spot a few doors down. I walk hastily to my house, slide my key in, open the door, fight with the key to get it back out of the lock. Try to close the door quietly, grimace at the loud click the latch makes as it shuts. Tiptoeing down the hall to my bedroom, I accidently hit a squeaky floorboard on my way. Damn.

Gently I turn my doorknob and push the door open. Carefully close it. Turn on my desk lamp. And scream.

My mom sits on my bed, tightly wrapped in her robe. Her thin arms are crossed against her chest.

“Are you trying to wake the whole house, Clare?”

“You scared me,” I whisper.

“Not as much as you scared me.” She stands up.

I keep my eyes down, away from her glare. I see her slippers have worn through; one of her toes is peeking
out the end. I'll have to remember at Christmas that she needs new ones.

“Sneaking in at three o'clock in the morning. After you told me that you were not going to the party tonight because you were too tired. I believed your lie.” My mother stands up and puts her finger under my chin, pressing hard on the bone. Raising my head. With her other hand she shakes the note. “Then this: ‘I couldn't sleep, so I went for a walk.' Did you really think I would fall for that? I was a teenager once too. I'm not stupid.”

“Sorry,” I whisper, looking into her eyes, red and swollen from the early hour.

“Young lady”—Mom grabs my arm tight, pulling me in—“do I smell beer? You've been drinking, too?”

“I had one. Just one.”

“Liar.” Mom leans in close to my face, her sharp nose practically touching mine, her night breath melting my skin. “Sneaking out. Drinking. Lying. What's next, Clare?”

Skeleton makes his entrance, twirling through the doorway, dramatically tossing his hat to the hook on the wall. He sits on my desk to watch the show.

I tell my eyes to stop watering. I swallow hard and look to my fish tank. Angelfish gracefully weave through the pearl grass.

Think fish. Think swimming underwater, bubbles and bright colors. I exhale, imagining the air escaping my mouth and floating to the surface.

“You're grounded. For a month. No car. No phone. No computer. No TV. No friends.” Mom holds her
hand out. “Give me your car keys and your cell phone.” Skeleton shakes his finger.
Shame, shame.

“What about school tomorrow? I need to drive to school.” My keys dangle in the air, suspended by two fingers over Mom's cupped-hand fire pit.

“Fine. But you'll be grounded for the whole summer if you don't come home immediately after.”

“I have to work at graduation. Junior honor guard. Remember?”

“Graduation ends at nine thirty. I expect you home by ten p.m. sharp. Not one minute late.” Mom and her holey slipper are at the door. “Did you hear me, young lady? Not one minute late.”

“Yes, Mom.”

I pull on my pajamas and sink into bed.

A month! She's never grounded me for that long before. And it's the first month of summer! I'll miss the party tomorrow night. Miss the opportunity to see Ryan again.

But as I try to go to sleep, it's not the thought of being grounded that keeps me awake—it's my mother's words and everything they imply: “Sneaking out. Drinking. Lying. What's next, Clare?”

“Why is Luke in jail, Mommy?” I raced in the front door. I'd been waiting almost all day to ask her.

“Who said he's in jail?” Mom stood up from the couch and helped me take my backpack off.

“Mandy Jordan. She told everyone at recess that her mom says Luke is in jail because he's a bad guy.” I bit my lip. “She said he doesn't even deserve bread and water.”

“You shouldn't listen to what other people say,” Mom said.

“I thought that he was visiting Granny. But some other kids said it's true. That he's in jail. And jail is where they put the bad people. Why is he in jail? Is Luke bad?” I bit harder.

Mom gave me a long look. “He was in the wrong place at the wrong time,” she said, pulling me into her lap.

“So he's not at Granny's?” I started to cry. “What did he do?”

“I told you. He was in the wrong place at the wrong time.” She grabbed a tissue and wiped the tears off my cheeks.

“When can he come home?” I asked.

“He'll be back by Easter,” she said. Easter! That was almost a whole year away! Before I could say anything else, Mom asked, “What do you have for homework?”

“A spelling worksheet, and some math, I think,” I said.

“Well, you'd better get started.” She steered me toward the kitchen table.

I had more questions, but I knew Mom didn't want to talk anymore.

At least I had an answer. Something to say when Mandy started picking on me again. “Mandy, Luke was in the wrong place at the wrong time. That doesn't mean he did anything bad.”

It felt good, to have that answer. For a little while. But then I started thinking more about it. Luke was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Someone can go to jail for that? Does that mean he wasn't supposed to be in jail and someone else was? Did he do something bad by accident? And what about me? What if I was in the wrong place at the wrong time?

Then—everywhere I went—I thought, Could it happen to me? At school: Will I have to go to the principal's office if the person next to me cheats, because I am in the wrong place? In the grocery store: If someone steals something while I am here, will I go to jail because I am in the store at the wrong time?

I was afraid to say anything to Mom or Dad about it. I could tell Mom didn't like talking about it, and I didn't want to make her sad. Or mad. If I asked
the wrong question at the wrong time, I'd be stuck grounded or have to do more chores. So I kept my lips tightly shut, the fear of going to jail—even though I'd done nothing wrong—filling my mind and growing, growing, growing.

“This frickin' thing's made for a girl,” Omar says. “Guess you'll have to wear it.”

“Nice try. You're the one who volunteered for this.” I yank on the zipper, trying to pull it past Omar's wide shoulders, moving it about a centimeter. “Hmmm. Looks like you're stuck. Literally. Zipper's not moving. Up or down.”

“Promise me you'll cut me out of this the second graduation is over.” Omar shakes his fist to the sky as dramatically as he can. “I can't live life as Stanley the Squirrel.”

“Um, sure,” I say, concentrating on getting him
into
the costume. “On three, you suck in.” Pulling the matted fake fur together with one hand, I grip the zipper with the other.

“Ready? One, Two, Three.” Yank. Zip. He's in. I pull the extra-extra-extra-large gown over his huge, furry arms, slip the paws onto his hands, and pop Stanley's head over Omar's own. “Great. You're all ready.”

“Aren't you forgetting something important?” Omar sounds like he's in the bottom of a well.

“Oh, right, the cap. Voilà!”

I guide Omar out of the storage closet, and we fall into formation with the eight other junior honor guard members—bridesmaids of the senior class. The seniors are giggling and singing songs, a cloud of alcohol and weed cologne following them.

Graduation is as boring as cleaning the kitchen floor with a toothbrush. Unless you're the person graduating. I'm not. I'm the idiot in the middle of the field, holding the Fighting Squirrels' purple and teal flag, on two hours of sleep. To keep from fainting from exhaustion, I practically lean on the flagpole, wondering if I look like a polar bear in my billowing white gown.

Know what I need? Something dramatic. Someone streaking through the ceremony, a pack of wild wolves carrying the principal away, a gigantic earthquake swallowing the field whole. But my only entertainment at this bore-fest is Omar's overly dramatic mimed congratulations to each grad.

Only a hundred and one more diplomas to go.

•  •  •

After the ceremony, grads are hugging and grinning, arms around necks and waists as flashes spark and cameras click. Aunts and uncles, grandparents, parents, godparents, brothers, sisters, cousins, nieces, nephews, neighbors, all gathered to wish them well.

“We're so proud.”

“Way to go!”

“You made it!”

Everything they say is so predictable.

One more year, that will be me. Thinking about it makes me feel jittery. Life after graduation, life as an adult, life without my parents' rules. What will
that
be like? Of course, thinking about the actual graduation is enough to make my stomach eat itself. Mom will have rules, probably more than usual on that day. Peter will most likely be drunk and hitting on my friends. Then there's Dad, talking about dead animals as casually as most people talk about the weather. On second thought, maybe I won't go. But then I remember Luke. Luke will defuse Dad's weird comments with a joke and convince Mom to drop a few rules, just for the day. Luke will be there. He will. It'll be my
graduation
. Of course he'll be there.

Skeleton taps me on the shoulder, reminding me that he, also, will be there for the joyous event.

Maybe when I'm done with high school, when I move away to college, maybe then Skeleton will finally leave me alone. For now I ignore him, walking toward my car and away from the scene.

“Clare. Wait!” Omar the squirrel runs after me, his shouts muffled by the massive stuffed head. “You promised to get me out of this thing!”

I rush over, grab the zipper, and with one yank, free him from the costume, saying, “Okay, bye. See you later.”

“That was fast,” Omar remarks as he pulls off his head. “Wait, you're not seriously going home?”

“I am seriously grounded, and will be for the rest of my life if I'm late. Have fun for me tonight.” I turn and run for my car, hearing Omar yell “See ya later” after me.