Tides (5 page)

He waited for almost a minute and couldn’t hear anything behind him. He was starting to worry again when he heard the girl exhale.

“I was trying to save you,” he said quickly. “Er, I thought you were drowning.”

She laughed, and Noah felt blood rush to his cheeks. He hated that he blushed so red—a family trait. He was glad he still had his back turned.

“Sorry,” she said, “to laugh at you, I mean. It’s just—I’m a pretty good swimmer.”

Noah found himself nodding and pasting an understanding look on his face, even though she couldn’t see it. “I’m sorry,” he said. “And my name’s Noah.” He started to turn around.

“I’m just getting my clothes on,” she said, and he froze. He concentrated on not remembering what she’d looked like, so suddenly in his arms, all black hair and white skin.

“All right. Turn around.”

Noah turned and looked at her. She wore a light blue men’s shirt that was far too big; it sagged over her shoulders, and the hem stopped halfway down her thighs. She’d looped a frayed length of nautical rope around her waist like a belt.

She turned and pulled herself up the low cliffs in a few fluid movements. Noah hoisted himself up after her.

She squinted at him, obviously annoyed, her round pale mouth twisted into a smirk. “My name is Mara. For future reference, I don’t need saving.”

Noah just barely managed to keep from rolling his eyes. “Look,” he said. “I was running by here, and I heard splashing and coughing, and I saw you under the water. I just did what most people would do. I didn’t think you’d be so nu—er, rude . . .”

“Nude?” she asked, raising her eyebrows. “Because I didn’t really need your help with that, either.”

“No!” he cried. “I’m sorry, okay? And I didn’t know you were, um, clothesless. I get that you didn’t need my help, but my intentions were good. You’ve got to give me that, at least.”

“All right.” She grinned, and Noah relaxed a little. She sat down at the edge of the rocks, and Noah joined her. “Noah of the noble intentions. Are you named after the sailor?”

Noah didn’t know what she was talking about—he’d stopped thinking about her words. Her voice was too distracting, smooth and clear and . . . “Sailor?”

“You know, the flood, all the animals two by two, the big wooden boat with the window at the top for the giraffes’ heads to stick out. Noah.”

“Right. Yeah, that Noah.” Somehow Noah had never put his namesake in the “sailor” category.

He looked at Mara, trying to think of something else to say. He was distracted for a moment by the water dripping from her hair onto her smooth, pale neck, down past her collarbone and under her shirt. He made himself look away.

“So,” he said, thinking it was her turn to be embarrassed, “are you in the habit of skinny-dipping at five o’clock in the afternoon?” He didn’t know what gave him the courage to make fun of her like that—it must have been because she already thought he was an idiot.

Her dark eyes flashed. Okay, maybe he hadn’t hit rock bottom yet.

“What about you? Am I the first damsel you’ve rescued, or does your day not start until you’ve stuck your nose in someone else’s business?”

Noah groaned. “Look,” he said, “I’m sorry. Again. If I’d known my attempt to help you would be so offensive, trust me, I wouldn’t have bothered. But I haven’t been here very long, I don’t know anyone, and since we’ve kind of broken the ice at this point . . .” He trailed off, once again surprised at his own bravery. He hadn’t talked to a girl his age this much since—ever.

Mara stared at him quizzically. He wondered if she ever blinked.

“I thought we could be friends,” he finished with a sigh. He knew exactly how stupid he sounded.

seven

F
RIENDS
. Mara hated how foreign the idea was to her. Still, she didn’t know how to respond to this boy, this Noah, who sat on the rocks beside her, still sopping wet, clearly intended for dry land only.

“Um,” she said.
Oh, brilliant, Mara. Um.

“If you want,” said Noah. “I haven’t had much luck so far, I mean, here . . .” His cheeks glowed still redder.

Mara reminded herself that she had the advantage over him. She knew exactly what kind of person Noah was: a tourist’s child, a summer islander, spoiled and boorish and so sheltered that he was years younger than his physical age. He was nothing like her.

Her uncertainty evaporated. She straightened her shoulders. “No.”

Noah looked down at the ground, and Mara flinched at her harsh tone. She tucked her hands under her legs. She knew she shouldn’t care, but she didn’t like hurting his feelings on purpose. “I just mean that I’m not around often. I have responsibilities. I don’t have time for . . . anything else.”

She met his eyes as she spoke and tried to put as much honesty as possible into her voice. His chagrined smile distracted her, but only for a moment. She
was
being honest, after all. She was very busy. She wasn’t even supposed to be here in the first place.

But why had she come, if she wasn’t supposed to? Wasn’t it precisely for this, to meet someone, to make a friend? Mara tried to be honest with herself, too. It wasn’t working.

She looked over at Noah again. He was so out of place here, all red and warm. His hair stuck out in ten different directions, drying in the sun. Mara’s own hair was perpetually slick and wet-looking. She cut it short to make it dry faster, but it hadn’t helped. Her brother Ronan, so proud of his own long and beautiful dreadlocks, teased her about it mercilessly.

She arched her back and stretched, letting the dry air move over her skin. She had a few hours left before she really needed to return home. Ronan had the younglings, and she wasn’t needed to take over until after dark. The Elder was away until morning.

Mara wondered for the thousandth time what they did, Ronan and the Elder, when they left. She warded off her sadness. She knew her family was close to falling apart, but
she
wasn’t Elder. There was nothing she could do about it.

“You know,” she said, “I actually do have a little time now.” She figured she might as well get as much out of her delinquency as possible.

“Oh,” said Noah. “Well, good.”

They fell silent. The wind was picking up.

“Do you like the hotel?” asked Mara. “It seems like a nice place to stay.”

He glanced toward it. “I wouldn’t know,” he said. “I’m not staying there. I figured you were.”

“No, I live here.”
Well, around here, anyway.

“Right. You don’t really look like a tourist.”

Mara looked away, hunching her shoulders. She’d hoped her clothes weren’t that unusual.

“In a good way.” Noah groaned. “I just mean that you look like you belong here.” He paused. “Maybe that doesn’t sound right either. I’m sorry. I’ve never said anything right in my whole life.”

For some reason, Mara smiled when he said that—but she quickly hid the smile away. If there was one thing she could do, it was hide. Concealing a form, concealing a thought—it was all the same.

“Well, I’ll believe you’re not staying at the hotel,” she said, “but you don’t exactly look like an Old Shoaler, and you’re too young to be one of the fishermen. You’re from the mainland, aren’t you?”

“Yeah. I’m living with my grandmother for the summer. She has the house on White.”

“The keeper’s cottage?” Mara had always wanted to explore the lighthouse. If she climbed to the top, it would be the highest above the water that she’d ever been. But it was too obviously occupied, and year-round, too. For years Mara had resented the old woman who refused to go back to the mainland in winter like most of the Shoalers. How she survived the island winters at her age, Mara had no idea.

“I guess,” said Noah, “but the lighthouse is automated. She doesn’t actually have to
keep
it at all. But you probably knew that.”

They talked about the lighthouse, the other islands, and the hotel. Gradually their conversation got easier, losing some of its sparring edge. Mara found herself smiling and laughing, and once she even touched his shoulder—but only briefly, and then she pulled her hand away.

Noah told her about his grandmother and his sister, and about his parents, whom both he and his sister were trying to escape for the summer. “Lo doesn’t have a job out here, like I do, but she wanted to get away from them even more than I did. And she likes to draw, and she likes to read, so I’m hoping she’ll be all right here while I’m at work, even though she’s mostly alone. I don’t know what I’ll be able to do to help her when I leave for college in the fall.”

Mara was startled. “You’re leaving your family?”

Noah raised his eyebrows and gave her a funny look. “Aren’t you, soon enough?” he countered. “You must be at least as old as I am. I mean—” He blushed again. “Haven’t you thought about leaving?”

“Not for a long time.” Mara looked out at the ocean. “I know exactly what I want to do, and it’s all here.” She thought of the younglings, just waiting for someone to lead them to adulthood. She knew she could do it if she got the chance. If the Elder would give it to her.

“Wow,” said Noah. “I can’t imagine living in the same place all my life.”

Mara listened to him describe the college he’d attend in the fall, and she told him what she could about herself.

“You have
five
siblings?” he cried. “I only have one, and she’s more than enough.” As soon as he spoke, he looked stricken. “I mean, I love Lo. She’s great. But you know.” He grinned. One side of his mouth creased under the pressure of his smile. Mara noticed freckles on his nose.

“Five younger,” she said. “I have an older brother too, but he’s less trouble than the others. Usually.”
Noah and Ronan would get along quite well,
she thought. Ronan couldn’t wait to leave his family either. A familiar ache twisted in her belly, and she tried not to think about Ronan’s plans.

“So, six siblings. I bet you’re never lonely.”

He was only joking, Mara knew, just as she knew it was her face that looked stricken now.

Noah’s mouth opened. “I didn’t mean anything by it,” he said quickly. “I guess anyone can get lonely out here.”

“I love the islands,” said Mara. “It’s only that—when you said I wasn’t lonely—” She paused. “I used to have another sister.” Mara hadn’t spoken of it, hadn’t heard anyone mention Aine out loud, in almost five years. It was strange how dangerous it felt to acknowledge her after so much silence. To acknowledge her absence.

And she’d told a stranger, too. She’d told someone she didn’t know at all, someone she certainly shouldn’t be able to trust. Mara’s whole life was built around hiding, around secrets. She didn’t like how easy it was for her to talk to this boy. How much she felt, without any reason for it, that she could trust him.

She stopped talking. She waited for him to prove her wrong.

“Oh,” he said. He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

Those words sounded strange to Mara, hollow and wooden, but when she searched Noah’s face, he looked truly concerned. Maybe it was just because the word was so apt. Loss.
Aine, where are you?

She looked at him, and he looked back. They didn’t speak.

She looked away. “I should go,” she said. “The sun is setting.” And it was, or starting to—just a little orange around the edges of the clouds, a shining, a broken path of white light skittering toward the horizon. The islands were beginning to glow.

Noah looked down at his bright, blinking watch. “Oh, God.” He sighed, standing up. “I should have been at Gemm’s a long time ago.” He stretched his lean arms into the sky. When he looked down at Mara, a strange expression came over his face. “Do you want to come? I’m sure Gemm would feed you, and you could meet Lo. I think you and she could be friends.”

Mara wasn’t sure how to take that, Noah’s going from wanting her to be his friend to wanting her to be his sister’s. But she got that odd feeling in her stomach again when Noah asked her to come back with him. She must be hungry.

The younglings could eat late tonight, she decided, though they wouldn’t be happy about it. She’d worry about that later. A voice in her head whispered that she’d been good enough for one day, one lifetime, that she deserved a little fun. No one would ever be the wiser.

She ignored the other voice, the Elder’s voice telling her to be careful, telling her the old stories about outsiders. But the Elder told different stories, too—like the one about the other Noah, with his ship full of animals. He’d saved them and then set them free.

She glanced at her Noah again. Maybe he was like that.

“All right,” she said, and found that she was smiling. “I can’t stay too late, though.”

She walked to his rowboat with him, not at all sure what she really wanted. Her will, her knowledge of herself, always seemed to evaporate when she was on land. Things were so much clearer in the water.

So she sat in his boat and let him push off. This was new, this being in the water and above it at the same time. The currents moved the boat, moved her, but she had no communication with them. She felt isolated and cramped, like a message in a bottle.

She distracted herself by watching Noah. It was strange to see him push against each wave with the long wooden flippers he called oars. They progressed through the harbor at a pathetically slow pace.

“Can I try?” she finally asked.

Noah gave her another sideways look, eyebrows raised. She’d known him only a few hours, but she already hated that look.

“You’ve never rowed before?” he asked. “You did say you live on these islands, didn’t you?”

Mara fought a strong urge to stick out her tongue at him. “Just let me try it,” she said, and he handed her the oars. She wrapped her fingers around the wooden shafts and pulled.

Water swirled in circles around the paddles, and she cut easily through each wave. She felt better now, in control of her movement through the water. The boat was a kind of second skin, in its way.

Noah’s eyebrows were still raised, but his expression had changed. “I guess you have done this before,” he said. “I’ll just shut up from now on.”