Girl at Sea (15 page)

The task of explaining the rules to Aidan and Julia was not an enviable one. Julia put on a flat, unmoving listening face. Aidan second-guessed the logic at every turn. But when Clio started setting out and explaining the cards, Julia sprang to life.

“Why is this worth a hundred points?” she asked, holding up a card bearing a Greek vase.

“Because it is,” Clio said.

“This is a red-figure bell krater, a vessel used to mix water and wine. This one on the card happens to be in the Getty Museum.

And this”—she slapped down a five-hundred-point card—“is a Hellenistic fish plate. And not even a very interesting one. Why is this worth five times as much?”

“Because I liked the picture of the clam on it,” Clio answered.

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“You can see why this makes no sense. But I know that’s not the point. It’s a game. And a good game, so I hear.”

“Right,” Clio said. “It’s a game.”

And it was a long game, the longest game of Dive! she had ever played. This group was surreal. There was her dad, trying not to flirt with Julia and failing. There was Julia, smiling the most uptight-yet-sultry smile back at her father. Julia’s appeal was becoming devastatingly clear. She was petite, intense, obviously intelligent. She was like a more-commanding version of Clio’s own mother. Still, there was something a little bit . . .

off
about Julia.

There was Aidan, leaning across to Elsa, not really hiding the fact that he was looking at her chest. There was Elsa, causing the problem by doing some kind of magical lift-and-separate move, making sure that her breasts hovered over the board at all times, like cloud cover. There was Martin, trying to pretend this was all normal.

And there was Clio, wearing a paper hat and a name tag, looking down at her past. It had been a long time since she’d seen Dive! There were way too many memories embedded in the box, the experience. There was the two-hundred-point bronze statue card. She’d made that one from one of her mom’s old textbooks.

There was the whirlpool in the left corner—an accident, really.The board had gotten wet when she was painting it, so she’d swirled the damp corner with her finger. And bang—a new challenge had been developed. Her dad had incorporated it right into the game.

They were smart back then. Smart and lucky. She wasn’t feeling that so much now. Sitting there on that endless, terrible night, the smell of leftover curry taking over the entire cabin, 122

Clio had the sensation that she had already done the best things in her life. Eleven and twelve had been her peak years. She had a long time to go downhill.

And then the worst of it hit—she saw the board, the boat-shaped pieces moving around the squares of blue sea—and she saw her life, right now. How had she not seen this clearly before?

Her dad was playing Dive! in real life. He was guarding his cards, moving his boat, gathering his treasure. . . . He had snapped. And he had taken them all with him.

But what treasure was he looking for?

Even though she was barely paying attention, she led Aidan and Julia around the board effortlessly, leaving them out of the decisions entirely. She couldn’t help it. She knew every move.

The trick to avoid the pirates was to stock up on lots of low-point cards. The trick to getting lots of treasure was to make lots of quick passes on the board. Her dad was just as good, and he had gotten the competitive glint in his eye. She fought back, her mind readily serving up a defense to his every attack.

“Are you two going to let anyone else in?” Julia said.

The cool British voice cut into the heavy fog that had descended over Clio’s thoughts.

“There’s no point,” Aidan said, standing up. “You can’t play a game with the people who made it.”

Clio was grateful. She needed out of this room. She stood up and headed for the steps.

“Where are you going?” her dad asked as she retreated.

“Upstairs?”

“The dishes,” he said. “The galley is your domain, remember?

And we have to keep it shipshape.”

123

On hearing that there was cleaning to be done, the others scattered. Clio stood there, limp with a helpless rage. She stepped back into the galley, where every surface was covered with remnants of the dinner.

It’s fine,
she thought, taking a deep breath.
You need time to
think anyway. Just do this.

Before long, the galley had turned into a miserable little sauna of soap and steam. This was when Aidan wandered in, laptop in hand.

“I noticed you’re wearing your name,” he said. “The spelling was unusual. So I looked it up.”

He opened his laptop and balanced it in one palm. He had come to
flaunt
the fact that he could get online.

“Clio,” he said. “Let’s see here. One of nine muses, nine sisters. Daughter of Zeus, king of all the gods, and the goddess of memory. Invoked at the beginning of an artistic endeavor.

Muses inspire divine madness. Without them, the creation—

whatever it is—can be technically correct, but it will never be truly inspired or perfect. But . . . I see here that you are also a boat! Clio, the sea butterfly. I didn’t catch that one before. We’ve been riding around in you.”

“I know,” she said flatly. “Not my idea.”

“Ever see a sea butterfly? They’re pretty. Also technically mollusks, so you’re related to oysters. Your favorite. Also a
hermaphrodite.
That’s nice. They start life as males and mature into females. Have a look.”

He turned the computer around to show to her. This wasn’t something she really wanted to see, but she leaned in anyway. As she did, he snapped it shut.

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“Psych,” he said.

He rendered Clio speechless. She stood there looking at him, one hand soaking in the soapy, curry-stained water, searching her mind for a word that fit this kind of behavior. He pushed away the hair that had flopped onto his forehead, smiled, and left.

A full five minutes later she was still standing in the exact same position, mouth slightly open, forcing her brain to fire up the perfect comeback, when she heard the last of the water sucking down the drain. She lifted her hand and examined it. It was pruned, covered in pearlescent soap bubbles tinged with yellow. No one except her father had ever rattled her like this before.

That was it. From now on, her purpose was clear. Get online.

Get off the boat. And Aidan—he was going
down
.

125

The Snoop

The next morning, Clio woke up a bit earlier than she had the day before. Elsa was still out cold. There was a book on her side of the bed. She probably hadn’t slept again.

Elsa had been awake last night, though, and had poured out the entire story of her breakup to Clio. It
had
been rough. Elsa had been madly in love with Alex, a guy she had known since she was twelve. They had dated for seven months when Elsa found him making out with one of her best friends in the library, and there was no escape.

Clio’s dreams that night had been filled with images of English boarding schools—big ivy-covered buildings that looked vaguely like Hogwarts. There was an art supply store in the basement, but Ollie didn’t work there. The strange thing was, Aidan did.

She woke up with absolutely no idea where she was.

The boat had stopped. She went downstairs and found her father and Martin in their wet suits, preparing their tanks.

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“What’s going on?” she asked, stepping out onto the deck.

“Just doing a little dive,” he said. “Getting the lay of the land. We’ll be back up in about an hour. Have some breakfast ready!”

“Sure,” she said uneasily.

It had been a while since she had seen this process. There was so much stuff: air tanks and tubes and fins. There were even a few smaller pony tanks—tanks that divers carry in case their main tanks fail. The boat bobbed and rocked now that it was anchored in place, causing Clio’s stomach to flip a little. She realized she was clutching her arm.

She went back inside and set up the coffeepot and stuck her hat on her head groggily. Day two, and this ritual was already a little old.

It occurred to her that the others had to be around somewhere, possibly in the workroom mentioned below. It seemed worthwhile to have a little look and see what they were up to.

She went down the stairs as silently as possible. Some of the doors along the hall were open, but the only one with any noise coming from it was solidly closed. She went up to the door and pressed her ear as hard against it as she could.

“We haven’t started,” Aidan said. He sounded defensive. “I haven’t even put the tow fish in. He’s going on some numbers alone, which aren’t that reliable.”

“Just
let
him,” Julia said. “Let him do what he wants.”

“I’m just trying to—”

“Enough,” she said.

Clio backed away from the door quickly as she heard steps approaching it. Julia walked out.

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“I just came down for breakfast orders!” Clio said chirpily. “It sounded like you guys were awake.”

Julia seemed surprised to find her there, smiling, wearing a paper hat.

“Just coffee,” she said. “Thank you.”

“No problem,” Clio said. “I’ll take Aidan’s order too.”

It was completely obvious that Julia didn’t want Clio going into that room, but she wasn’t about to tackle her and throw her to the ground to stop her either.

“I’m just going to check on them,” Julia muttered, heading down the hall.

“Okay!” Clio said brightly.

It was probably good to have your possible future stepmother think you were a little nuts. It would keep her on her toes and dissuade her from trying to sit her down and have touchy-feely talks. Not that she expected that from Julia. Julia looked like she might head-butt people in meetings.

Aidan sat at his computer in the corner of the tight little room, rotating slowly back and forth, his arms wrapped tightly across his chest. He wore a thinning, torn T-shirt, and his hair was still wet and shaken up.

“You want my order?” Aidan said, the annoyance still in his voice. “Okay. I’d like burned bacon, soft scrambled eggs, and toast, as long as the bread isn’t whole grain.”

“We need to talk,” she said.

“Do we?”

“Yes. We do. You can get online. You came into the kitchen last night to make sure I knew this.”

128

“No,” he said. “I came to tell you the wonderful meaning of your name and to enrich your life.”

“Here’s the thing,” she said, leaning over. “I need to send a note to someone. You can help me send that note.”

The skin on his cheekbones got very taut for a moment.

“Could,” he said. “But can’t. Again, your dad’s rules.”

“Why?”

“If I told you,” he said. “I’d be telling you. So I can’t tell you.”

“Listen, haircut . . .”

“Did you just call me
haircut
?” he asked.

“Yes. You know there’s no reason we can’t go online. It’s crazy.”

“Why’d you call me haircut?” he asked, touching his hair. “Is it because I have a great haircut?”

“You figure it out,” she answered.

“I don’t make up the rules,” he said.

“Well, you can’t stop me from sitting in here,” she said. “I need somewhere to practice my Mongolian throat-singing. You know us rich kids. We take lots of weird lessons.”

She started to warble a deep gargling noise.

“Okay,” he said. “You’re not going to sit in here doing that.”

“You’d be amazed at what I’d do,” she said.

“No. I really wouldn’t.”

“I won’t tell on you. And you should remember this. I
make
your food
.”

She pointed to her hat. He got up and shut the door.

“Whether you like it or not,” he said, “I work for Julia.

Which means I now work for your dad. And I actually need my job. If I break the rules, I could lose my job. And I can’t 129

let that happen. Do you understand?
Please
don’t mess this up for me.”

The sudden seriousness stopped her. Whatever her dad was doing, maybe Aidan was as trapped as she was. Her father had tied up Aidan’s job in this scheme, whatever it was.

“Are you joking?” she asked.

“Do I sound like I’m joking? Your dad figured out that we were drinking the other night too. I got a lecture from Julia for about an hour. I really don’t want another one.”

He pursed his lips and stared at the wall. Clio could tell that it had bothered him to say that. He wasn’t as powerful as he would have liked to make out. He was being ordered around by everyone too.

“Fine, haircut,” she said, getting up. “I won’t make trouble for you. But you’ll eat what I make. That’s
my
job.”

The dive lasted about forty-five minutes, after which Clio’s dad and Martin emerged dripping from the water. All of the preparation and general hoopla didn’t come to much. They peeled off their gear and wet suits and quietly went back to what they had been doing before.

Clio watched this from the glass doors, shook her head in misery, got her sketchbooks, and sat down on the plush living room carpet.

Today she had a nice, complacent subject: Elsa, sleeping again. She stuck her earphones in and flipped to a new page. Without realizing it, she passed an entire hour doing the sketch. Time slid past so easily when she was absorbed in her drawing. She only stirred when Aidan passed in front of her carrying what looked like a massive toolbox. He certainly kept a lot of toys down there.