Undertow (4 page)

“So, what’s the verdict? Is this going to be your Jeep, or stay in my garage until someone else comes along?” MJ parked the Wrangler back in its spot at the shop and cut the engine.

“Mine,” I said firmly and we got down to the business of car ownership.  We haggled on the price, when to finalize the money and papers, and when he could bring it by my house.  I was thrilled with my purchase, but was frustrated it would take a week to get the Jeep as he said he needed to tweak a few things.

“So, does this purchase come with limo service to school for the next week?” I asked, suddenly bold. “After all, it won’t be mine until Friday, so technically I am still Jeepless.”

“Are you asking me for a ride to school?”

My boldness wilted slightly, “Yeah, I guess I am.”

“Well then, yeah, I can do that! Pick you up at 7:05.  I can give you the lay of the land.”

“And where the minefields are, right?”

“It won’t be that bad,” MJ said, a broad smile spreading across his face, “Of course, I did grow up here, so I may be biased.”

I half groaned and then remembered I needed to get back for the workers. I told him I would see him soon and kicked it into a run for home.

As I glanced back one more time I saw MJ talking on his cell phone. I found it odd that his face could change so quickly, for his happy, free spirited smile had been replaced with the squared jaw of someone who was very serious.

I could only wonder who was on the phone and why they stole his sunshine.

3

I spent the better half of Sunda
y
organizing the endless sea of boxes that found their irksome way into my walking path wherever possible. By nightfall, I felt like I had eaten a jar of ants and they were line dancing in my stomach. 

My nerves about the following morning at Barnstable clouded my mind. I had visions of spiteful cheerleaders and baffling miles of hallway. I was grateful that MJ was going to give me a ride, but asking him to be my personal anti-anxiety pill all day long was a remote option.

I barely touched dinner with Mae, who examined me carefully, but said few words. She was less than pleased with my vehicle choice, no doubt having hoped for something with ten airbags and a solid roof.  She must have had a touch of sympathy about the new school however, as she kept her pointed opinions about my black beast to herself.

When I climbed into bed that night, I had trouble unwinding my racing imagination long enough to doze off. Finally, in the wee hours of what was technically Monday, I fell into a deep sleep
, but my restless subconscious rose to the surface in the form of an uneasy dream. 

I stood in the darkness, slowly making out landmarks. Timeless, tall-masted ships graced the harbor and the black water rolled under the white light of a f
ull moon.  I took everything in -- the gas lamps, the cobblestone street and smell of the sea. My clothes were too heavy and the skirt I wore weighed me down, nearly rooting me in place.  I heard the faint thrum of running water and turned to see a fountain, tall and pillar-like, next to me. I seemed to be in the center of a small square near the harbor. 

A dark haired man, probably in his 40s, stood casually next to the fountain. As soon as my eyes met his however, I was seized with a crushing fear. It was as if I was alone in the sea and knew a hungry shark was circling beneath my flailing feet, waiting to pull me into the abyss.

The dark man started calmly walking toward me.

“Elizabeth,” he purred.

As I drew a sharp breath, the view suddenly swiveled and I became the spectator watching the man and a young woman. She was dressed similarly to me and she had taken my place near the fountain.  In one fluid movement, the man lunged at her and grabbed her by the throat.

My heart nearly leapt from my chest, my terror fueling it on, as I knew she was about to die.
  I screamed to her, willing her to live, but I was thrown to the ground by some potent, invisible force.

Suddenly I was awake and on my bedroom floor, wedged against the frame of my bed with my legs still hiked upright by the tangle of sheets. I lay there, eyes wide, taking in the cracked ceiling and allowing my heart to slow.

My hands tingled from the adrenaline still loose in my veins and I quickly pulled myself up on my elbows and scanned the room looking for the man, but finding only the quiet of my bedroom surrounding me.  It was a nightmare, but it felt far too real.

I stayed there on the cool floor as time slipped by, trying to cautiously remember the dream that had shook me, but was fading fast from memory.
  As I finally extracted myself from the sheets and reset myself into my bed, all I could remember of the dark night was a fountain, softly lit under the light of a full moon.

The nagging call of my alarm clock woke me at 6am and the vague recollection of sleeping like crap crept back into my mind. Of course, what really ruined the morning was the knowledge that BHS was looming in the very near future. 

Dragging myself out of bed, I got ready for school and pulled my hair into a loose ponytail.
I looked at my reflection in the bathroom mirror and realized I could hide better behind my mane, so I pulled the elastic free, releasing a mass of darkness around my face.

Forty minutes later I was waiting in the kitchen, looking over what little our chatty gardener had accomplished over the weekend.
  The protesting crunch of seashells heralded the arrival of MJ and his ancient SUV. Determined to face my classmates with a scrap of dignity, I sucked up my courage and grabbed my backpack, pushing through the screen door.

Approaching the old brown and black Bronco, I saw MJ through the passenger window reaching with all his might across the ripped vinyl seat. His long arm grabbed the old, silver door lock and he yanked it up with a snap and then pulled the handle, opening my door. I stood in the open passenger doorframe, looking at my classmate nearly flat on the bench seat, his arm still outstretched.

“No automatic door locks, eh?” I smiled.

“Hey Chicky, don’t laugh!” he protested as he sat back up and I climbed in, “You did notice that the Jeep lacks power locks too, didn’t ya?”

No, I didn’t
. “Of course I knew that, but at least the span isn’t ten feet,” I smiled.

“Ha ha,” he said dryly. “Listen, don’t knock the limo service, or you can take the mommy-mobile. This mechanical marvel was my Dad’s,” he declared, stroking the faded dash. “It has great sentimental value.”

I raised an eyebrow suspiciously as I slammed the 4-ton door shut. He tried to stare me down, but I was a pro.

“Okay, FINE. It is a pile of scrap metal,
but
it was F-R-E-E!” He knocked the gearshift into reverse and backed the Bronco down the drive, hooking a left on to Main.

BHS was only a few miles from my place, but the neighborhood was centuries apart.
  Whereas Main Street was lined with declarations of wealth from yesteryear, the street that led to the high school was a reminder of the 1960s race to build small, cramped cottages by the sea. I watched out the window at the passage of time as defined by the homes that slipped by.

“So, how do you like the Cape so far?” MJ asked, one hand fiddling with the chipped radio dial, searching for a station.

“Well, I haven’t actually had much time to see anything except the inside of my house and this weird ice cream shop called The Milk Way. Okay, and maybe the grocery store and the beach.  But what little I have seen so far is welcoming. I hope I’ll like it here.”

“I think you will,” said MJ, slowing the Bronco to a crawl behind the line of cars snaking their way into the BHS parking lot. “I mean, it’s real quiet here in the winter, but everyone knows one another and I, at least, like that small, tight community.  On the other hand, there are no secrets here, so don’t badmouth too many people,” he said with a wink. He pulled the rumbling chariot into a parking spot next to another large, fast-looking older car, though this one appeared to be a true classic by anyone’s account. 

As he cut the engine, the door to the black two-door opened and out stepped a lithe girl with short, spiked blonde hair. Her delicate features and huge blue eyes made her look like a pixie on the lam from the Lost Boys, though I was quite sure she could bench-press the Bronco on attitude alone.

She came over to MJ’s side and he excitedly wound down the window. “Hey Ana!  How the heck are ya? I haven’t seen you for weeks!” proclaimed MJ, a happy smile beaming at the petite athlete.

“Dude, I was working on my baby at the shop most of this month,” she replied, nodding towards her ride with the massive gold falcon on the hood. “Come to think of it, I was also working on YOUR tricked out Wrangler this summer, which begs the question: where is the source of so many slave hours? If you wrecked it, I may have to kill you!”

“Calm down, calm down. I had to sell it. Needed the cash and you knew my Dad had this fine automobile sitting out behind the shed.” As if on cue, the Bronco’s engine snapped with heat as it cooled. I cleared my throat.

“Oh yeah,” added MJ, turning slightly in his seat, “This is Eila. She bought the Jeep over the weekend. And, get this . . . , “ he added in a conspiratorial whisper, “She lives in the Walker place.”

Ana raised a suspicious, dirt blonde eyebrow and looked at me with a slight grin, “Hey Eila. I’m Ana Lane.” She hooked her arms over the driver’s door. “I hope you plan on taking outstanding care of your new ride. Many hours went into that Wrangler, most of which could have happily been spent surfing Nauset if it weren’t for old friends.” She reached in and wildly rubbed MJ’s head as he sat there like a contented dog. 

I crisscrossed my finger over my heart, “Promise. I’ll take great care of it.”

I opened my door and hopped down, crossing in front of the Bronco as MJ stepped out his side. The sound of
hip-hop music and someone wolf whistling caught my attention and I turned to see a white convertible slowly heading up the school’s main driveway. Behind the wheel was a life-size Barbie doll, tossing her dark hair to the side as she chatted with another girl in the passenger seat. A third girl sat in the center back seat, her arms outstretched on the caramel leather.

Inadvertently, I caught the driver’s eye and she stared me down, a
superior smile to her candy-apple lips.  I felt my cheeks burn as her roasting gaze dragged from my face down to my sneakers and up again. She inclined her head toward her co-pilot and said something brief, her eyes never leaving me. Her stick-thin passenger looked at me appraisingly and snickered. Before I knew it, they had passed by our parking spot and disappeared around the building to the other lot.

Ana had not missed our silent exchange and stepped next to me. She nodded to where the white car had disappeared, “Those, my friend, are to be avoided at all costs. They are part of the cheerleading squad and can make your life a living hell if you piss them off. But don’t worry. You’ll be fine.” She slapped my back for encouragement, but it felt like she realigned my spine.

MJ slid up next to me and put his arm around my shoulder, giving me a quick, friendly squeeze. “Welcome to BHS!” he announced enthusiastically. 

I had not even entered the building and already I wanted to toss my cookies. Resigned, I followed Ana and MJ into my new high school as they explained the finer points of avoiding sadistic cheerleader, Nikki Shae, and her PomPom Mustang Gang we had seen drive by.

After figuring out the maze of hallways thanks to my personal escort service in the form of MJ and Ana, I found myself at first period Literature class. I managed to claim a chair with a right-handed desk attached to it in the second row and dropped my backpack by my feet.  I leaned over and fished out a pen and pad of paper as more students filtered in through the door, chattering to one another as they took seats. 

A boy with dark velvet skin and a red and white letterman jacket sat down next to me and nodded. I gave a quick smile back. To my great relief, none of my English Lit classmates resembled the clique from the convertible.

Varsity Boy cleared his throat and I turned to him. “Hi. I’m Jesse,” he said, extending his palm. I reached out and shook his wide hand.

“I’m Eila.”

“I know who you are,” said Jesse, smiling.

“Seriously? How?” I asked as a stray curl tickled my cheek and I absently brushed it away.

“It’s a small town. That, and I have Nikki Shae in my homeroom and she was talking about a new gi
rl who was hanging out with MJ and, well, I saw you get out of his retro Bronco in the front parking lot.”

“Man! Word travels fast here.”

“Better than fast - I’d say light speed,” he said, leaning back slightly and crossing his arms, proud of his knowledge. “For instance, I also know that the Walker place has new residents. I know this because my family’s slow-as-dirt landscaper, babbled on about the mother-and-daughter pair that now lives there,” said Jesse, leaning in toward me and dropping his voice to a lower, conspiratorial tone.

“And he said the daughter was very sweet and had beautiful, long dark hair similar to the original Elizabeth Walker, whose photo is at the hysterical society’s museum.”  He leaned back again in his chair,  “So, using my brilliant deducing skills, I figured
you
must be none-other than Eila Walker.”

I looked at him for a moment more, my eyes dropping to slits.

“Okay, okay, someone pointed you out in the hall and filled me in.”

I laughed, “I see. Well, it’s mostly true although I will say word gets around.”

“Yeah, it’s like six-degrees of separation the way people know each other here. And all their business!” said Jesse.

“More like two-degrees if you ask me.”

“Damn straight! Welcome to the Cape, Eila!” he said, smiling.

“Thanks,” I replied.

As the last few seats started to fill, a gray-haired, rounded man shuffled into the class, coffee mug in one hand and several folders tucked under the other arm. He placed both mug and paperwork on his desk at the front of the classroom and turned to write his name on the blackboard.  As he wrote, the class quieted down with a few whispered conversations continuing. 

The door opened again and another boy stepped into the classroom. He wore a gray hooded sweatshirt, which was pulled up over his short, dark blonde hair. Through his sweatshirt I could tell that he was well built, with broad shoulders and defined arms.  Whereas MJ was athletically lean, like a swimmer, this boy was solid, like a member of the lacrosse team. His face was hard to make out under the hood, but I felt compelled to look at him. 

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw that Jesse glanced at him as well, then surreptitiously at me. Sweatshirt Boy dropped a yellow slip of paper on the teacher’s desk and continued to the back corner of the room and the last remaining seat.