The Islanders (4 page)

“At least it wasn't a comic kiss,” she pointed out.

He looked at her skeptically. “What would a comic kiss be?”

She drew him down to her again, pressed her lips to his, and made a sudden loud, razzing noise.

Lucas jumped back, laughing and rubbing his mouth.

“That would be a comic kiss,” Zoey said. She let Lucas pull her onto her bed, and they lay back on her comforter side by side.

“That's the kind of dumb joke I'd expect from Nina,” Lucas said. “You know, if she liked guys.”

Zoey rolled onto her side. “What do you mean by that? Nina likes guys.”

Lucas shrugged. “You know. I just meant Nina doesn't go out much. Even back before I went away, she wasn't into guys.”

“Well, she's not gay or anything,” Zoey said defensively, “if that's what you're thinking. Not that it would matter if she were. At least, it wouldn't matter to me. Besides, back then she was just fourteen. Lots of girls don't date when they're fourteen.”

“Has she dated since then?”

Zoey sat up on the edge of the bed. “Once or twice, maybe,” she said, feeling uncomfortable.

“She's a very pretty girl,” Lucas said. “Not that I've ever looked at her in that way. I mean, when she took Benjamin to the concert down in Portland and she was all dressed up, I was surprised.”

“I don't think Nina thinks she's attractive,” Zoey said. “She's always going on about how Claire used up the family's quota of breasts and good looks. I think Nina just has an inferiority complex about her sister.”

“I'll bet tons of guys would go out with Nina if she would give them a chance. But you know how she is. She's a ball-buster.”

“A ball-buster?” Zoey repeated the phrase distastefully. “What exactly is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” Lucas said innocently. “Just, you know, any guy who might ever want to ask her out would be afraid she'd shoot him down.”

“She probably would,” Zoey admitted. Nina's total lack of a love life was a topic Zoey had always instinctively avoided. Aisha had asked her about it once and gotten quickly chopped off. “I don't like prying into other people's private lives,” Zoey said.

“You are her best friend,” Lucas said. “Doesn't she pry into yours?”

Zoey found herself grinning.

“What?” Lucas asked.

“Nothing,” Zoey said, but her grin spread. “Okay, you're right. She does pry. She asked about you versus Jake.”

Lucas sat up, looking wary. “What do you mean, me versus Jake?”

“She asked, you know, private stuff.”

“Like what?”

“Oh . . . you know,” Zoey teased.

“No, I don't know,” Lucas said, suddenly very serious in a way that made Zoey laugh. “Like what?”

“Like—you know, about how you kissed compared to how Jake kissed.”

“How can you compare things like that?”

“That's what Nina was asking.”

Lucas gave her a dirty look. “Are you going to tell me what she asked you?”

“It was a private conversation,” Zoey said.

“It was about me,” Lucas said almost desperately. “You can't just go around discussing me with all your friends, talking about . . . all that stuff.”

“Why not? You were just trying to get me to talk about Nina.”

“That's different,” Lucas said dismissively. “What did you tell her?”

“Them. What did I tell them,” Zoey clarified. “Aisha was there, too.”

“Oh, great.”

“Really, most of it was too embarrassing to repeat. You know, stuff like when we make out, do you, you know . . . and what do you do then, and what do I do, and so on. And then we were talking about . . . well, never mind.”

“Uh-huh. You know, guys talk about things, too,” Lucas warned.

“I'm sure you do,” Zoey said indifferently.

Lucas lunged suddenly and grabbed her around the waist. He threw her down on the bed and began tickling her ribs.

Zoey squealed and tried to squirm away, but Lucas was too strong.

“Did you say I was the best?” Lucas demanded.

Zoey gasped for breath. “You're going to make me pee.”

“It's your bed. Did you tell them all I was the best?” he asked again, renewing his assault.

“Yes, yes, yes!” Zoey screamed.

He stopped tickling her instantly. “All right, then,” he said. His face was just inches from hers. “And what did you tell them you liked the most?”

“I can't remember,” Zoey said. “Let's go over it all and I'll try to remember.”

 

I was different when I was eleven than I am now. People who know me now probably wouldn't even recognize eleven-year-old me.

My big concern back then was would I ever get my period. Zoey already had, of course, since she's a year older, and she was going around acting like she was a WOMAN. You know the kind of thing I mean—she'd stare off into space and sigh, and when I'd ask her what she was sighing about she'd just smile and say, “Oh, Nina, you're too young to understand.” And Claire had started around age three; so . . .

But while I was worrying about becoming a woman, my mother was dying. It hurts to this day to think how preoccupied I was with myself while she was suffering. And I know I'll never, ever be able to think about her without wanting to cry, and feeling all over again how her death tore a hole in me that will never heal.

That's why my dad decided to send me away to stay with my aunt Elizabeth and uncle Mark. Dad said it would be good for me, change of scenery and so on. I guess it's true that my mom and I were especially close, just the way Claire
and my dad are close. Not that Claire wasn't a wreck, too. I hope I never see my sister that upset again. It's especially terrible when these cool, unemotional, in-control-type people start to lose it.

Anyway. I was gone for two months.

Soon after I came back, I had my first period. I thought it was punishment for what had happened while I was at my aunt and uncle's house. Other times I thought it was punishment because I had somehow failed to save my mother. All I knew was that it was punishment, because I was sure I deserved punishment.

Like I said, I was different when I came back home from my aunt and uncle's house. It was like the real me never did come back. I started having dreams, often the same dreams over and over again. Some are so familiar now that I have them numbered. Dream number three, dream number four, and so on. Not pleasant dreams, but the sorts of dreams that after you wake up seem to echo through the rest of the day.

I miss my mother every day.

And I miss me, the way I was before.

EVERY MORNING BENJAMIN PASSMORE AND
the rest of the high-school-age kids from Chatham Island caught the seven-forty ferry. It arrived in Weymouth at five after eight, allowing exactly twenty-five minutes for the walk from the dock, uphill along Mainsail Drive, to the school. More than enough time.

It was a distance of about a quarter mile and involved crossing eight separate streets. Benjamin had each of the distances measured out in strides. So many from the corner of Groton to Independence, so many more to cross the street, then another number from Independence to Commerce. All in all, Benjamin had memorized more than thirty blocks since losing his sight years ago, allowing him to move confidently within all of North Harbor, Chatham Island's only town, and parts of Weymouth. Some areas he knew so well that keeping count consciously was no longer necessary. They had become as familiar as his own home. In other areas he could keep his count almost subconsciously.

But on this morning there was a complication. Benjamin heard the high-pitched warning horns of heavy equipment backing up.

“Damn,” he cursed softly. He was at the corner of Mainsail and Independence. Judging by the rumble of diesel engines and the oily smell of exhaust, he figured the equipment was probably just across the street.

Benjamin concentrated and could hear a familiar voice coming up the street behind him. Aisha. Then, as expected, he heard Zoey's voice.

He disliked relying on his little sister, but there were times when he had no choice.

When he could hear that Zoey was close enough, he smiled in her general direction and shrugged. “I think it's exactly twenty-two paces into an earthmover.”

“Yeah, it looks like a water pipe broke or something,” Zoey said. “It's a mess. I don't think this would be a good idea for you. Pipes and mud everywhere.”

“Probably not,” Benjamin agreed.

“You guys go on ahead,” Zoey said. “I'll detour with Benjamin.”

“I'll take him,” Nina's voice said. A tractor roared, and Benjamin could now smell a whiff of natural gas.

“Hi, Nina,” Benjamin said. “I didn't hear you.”

“I know. Unusual, huh?” Nina said. “Come on with me. Go ahead, Zoey. You know I'm never in a hurry to get to school. We'll take the scenic route.”

Benjamin put out his left arm and felt Nina insert her elbow. She had led him before and knew the routine. “Later,” Benjamin said in the direction of the others.

Nina led him left, down Independence, through the busy, bustling early morning commuter crush of Weymouth. “You didn't have to do this,” Benjamin said. “Zoey usually gets stuck.”

“I know you don't like to ask your sister,” Nina said.

Benjamin smiled. “You do, huh? How do you know that? Is that what Zoey thinks?”

“Nope. I just know,” Nina said. “You always get a certain way when you have to ask her for help. Embarrassed or something.”

Benjamin felt uncomfortable. “I'm not embarrassed,” he said in a tone that was grouchier than he'd intended. He softened it a bit. “It's just that I don't want Zoey spending her life as my guide. She needs to live her own life.”

“I know,” Nina said.

“Oh, you know that too?” Benjamin said.

“Sure. We have known each other forever, Benjamin.”

“Mmm. I just didn't realize you were observing me,” Benjamin said. “It makes me nervous.”

“You like being mysterious,” Nina said.

“What is this? Nina Freud time? I should have had Zoey take me.”

“Coming to a corner. Sixth Street. We have to cross here. Execute right turn.”

“Okay.”

“Light's red.”

“I know. I can hear the traffic moving past. The cars over there”—he pointed to his left—“are waiting for the light to change. I could probably have done this on my own. It's just three sides of a square, right? Then we hook back up with Mainsail.”

Nina sighed. “It's a good thing I don't wait around for you to be grateful. It would be such a long wait.”

Benjamin grinned. “Sorry, kid. I am grateful.”

“Come on. Curb. Can I ask you a favor?”

“How can I say no? You could just spin me around and leave me to wander through traffic.”

“I don't like it very much when you call me kid. Curb, step up.”

Benjamin stepped onto the curb, caught a seam of the sidewalk, and stumbled forward a bit before regaining his balance. “Hey, that was exciting.” He walked along, swinging his cane in a short arc to the right but relying on his contact with Nina
for truer guidance. “Why don't you like me to call you kid? I've always called you kid.”

“Because I'm not a kid,” Nina said a little heatedly.

“Oh. All right, if you say so. It's just that the only picture I still have of you in my mind was when I was twelve, so you were, what, nine or ten? You were a kid then. I have this image of you with your hair cut short, with barrettes. And I think you had braces.”

“That's how you think of me? Braces on my teeth and really bad hair? Jeez, what a sad thought,” Nina said. “But you've missed most of my later zit phase, so I guess it isn't all bad.”

“I have no idea what you look like now,” Benjamin admitted. “I have no idea how anyone's looks may have changed in the last seven years.” He laughed to lighten the mood. “It used to be strange when I was going out with your sister. The Claire I was making out with looked about ten in my mind. Slightly bizarre at times.”

“Fortunately for you, by the time Claire was ten she already looked like she was twenty,” Nina muttered.

“Anyway,” Benjamin said, fighting off a wave of sadness at the mention of Claire. They had broken up only a short while ago. He hadn't even begun to get over her. He wasn't sure he wanted to start.

“Anyway,” Nina said, “I stopped being a kid years ago.”

“Yeah? What exactly is the cutoff age for not being a kid anymore?”

“Eleven,” Nina said.

Benjamin thought he detected a trace of bitterness in her tone. “Eleven? Why eleven?”

“Good question,” Nina said.

Yes, she was definitely sounding angry, or resentful . . . something. “Well, I won't call you kid anymore. But it's hard for me not to see you in my mind as a kid with braces.”

“I got rid of the braces.”

“Yeah, I kind of assumed that.”

“Turn here. Come on, we have a green light, curb, step down. Yes, I have very straight teeth now. I can eat corn on the cob very neatly.”

“I'll be sure to update my mental picture. Braces out, teeth in.”

“Step up. Let's blow off school and go do something fun,” Nina said suddenly.

Benjamin laughed. “Right, Nina. Dragging me around by the elbow; that would be major fun for you.”

“I think it would be.”

“You're a sweet kid,” Benjamin said.

“I'm not a kid,” Nina said.

“Good morning, students. These are the morning announcements.”

Zoey glanced up at the intercom box, then over at Aisha, two aisles away. Aisha was talking to another girl, so Zoey returned her gaze to her book. It was a paperback historical romance novel of the kind she hoped someday to write. The actual book was about two inches thick, with a lurid cover depicting the heroine, spilling her plump breasts out of her décolleté dress and clutching a nearly naked man with long blond hair. But since the entire book was too big to hide easily, Zoey had torn out a thirty-page section and concealed it inside her biology textbook.

“. . . I would appreciate any information on the person or persons who caused the third-floor boys' bathroom toilets to overflow . . .” Mr. Hardcastle, the principal, droned on.

Zoey heard a noise beside her and saw Claire scuttling forward from her own desk to sit in a vacant desk behind Zoey. Zoey clapped her biology text closed.

“Too late, Zoey,” Claire whispered over her shoulder. “I know you're reading one of your bodice-rippers.”

“I am not,” Zoey lied automatically.

“You are such a lousy liar,” Claire said disgustedly. “You really shouldn't try it unless you're willing to practice a little more.”

“. . . On another topic, we have reexamined school policy and taken the matter up with the school board, and it remains the official policy of this school that no student may smoke cigarettes on school grounds. And this does, I repeat
does
apply to cigarettes whether or not they are lit. I hope this will put an end to . . .”

Zoey grinned. It looked as if Nina had lost another round. She heard Claire sigh.

“Is it possible to divorce your sister?” Claire muttered.

“Nina's an original,” Zoey said. “You should be proud of her.”

“She's just odd, Zoey. And you should be ashamed, reading crappy books like that. What would Ms. Rafanelli think if she knew you read that stuff? It would probably disappoint her. Disappoint her terribly, given the high opinion she has of you. Probably break her heart, thinking of her star pupil poisoning her mind with stories of virgins being despoiled by knights or whatever. I only hope she never discovers the truth.”

Zoey turned slightly to look over her shoulder. Claire was looking carefully innocent, a sure sign she was up to something. “Oh,” Zoey said as the realization dawned on her. “You're blackmailing me.”

“Duh,” Claire said.

“What do you want?”

“I want to look over your notes on the English assignment. I didn't get to the reading.”

“
You
didn't get your homework done and now you want to borrow mine?” Zoey looked at Claire incredulously. “Why do you care? It would take a lot more than that to mess up your
A
.”

Claire looked uncomfortable. “Okay, look, you're right. But Jake didn't do his homework, either. And he's shaky in that class.”

“You want me to give you my homework so you can give it to Jake?”

“I know. It almost sounds kinky somehow, doesn't it?”

Zoey turned back toward the front of the class. She could just imagine why both Claire and Jake hadn't gotten their work done. Not that it was any of her concern now. After all, she and Jake were finished, so what did she care if Claire and Jake spent the evening groping?

Or whatever it was they were doing.

The possibility made her frown. She doubted Claire was doing
it
with Jake, but again, that wasn't her business. She glanced back over her shoulder. “So I should give you my homework because you and Jake were too busy doing . . .
whatever
?”

“We weren't doing
whatever
,” Claire said. “The truth is, I was watching him get faced on beer at the end of the breakwater and trying to figure out if I was strong enough to drag him back
out of the water if he fell in.”

Zoey raised a skeptical eye. “Jake doesn't drink.”

“Things change,” Claire said. “I think he's really pretty messed up over all that's happened. It was probably just a onetime deal. He'll get over it. You know Jake.”

“I
do
know Jake, which is why I'm having such a hard time picturing this scene.”

“Okay,” Claire said. “If you don't believe that, then we were making passionate love till dawn. It was magic. He made a woman of me.”

Zoey grumbled under her breath and dug in her three-ring binder for the homework. She pulled it out and handed it over her shoulder. “Just have it back to me before class.”

“No problem.”

“You weren't, were you?” Zoey asked.

“We weren't?” Claire echoed coyly.

“You weren't,” Zoey reassured herself.

“. . . and nominations for homecoming king and queen must be made by the end of this school day. Once again, please do not submit the names of fictional individuals, musical performers, animals, cartoon characters, or the deceased.”