Summer of Yesterday (4 page)

My breath is loud in my ears. I feel like I know where I'm going, though I'm pretty certain I've never been here. In fact, I'm not even surprised when I stop suddenly, because out of the gloom appears a collection of shapes, hard to discern, and I slow down to take it all in. Man-made structures come into focus—wooden platforms and tall poles just sitting there frozen in a foot of swamp water. A dock for jumping off of and two suspension bridges for delving farther into the murkiness on either side of my view. I hear shrieking again in my mind. And this time I see someone grabbing a metal bar and swinging off the platform, whooping and hollering as he flings himself into the green water.

But when I blink again, there's nobody. And no water. Just an empty, slimy lake bed to my left and shallow marsh topped with a layer of algae in front of me. In another spot, two kiddie slides, embedded in big, reddish boulders, slope down and plunge into a patch of marsh grasses. Holy crap, that used to have water and kids playing in it. In fact, this whole abandoned corner of the world I am standing in now used to have hundreds of people swimming, laughing, and having a good time.

I can't believe it. I can't believe I'm seeing this.

River Country.

This is . . . there're no words for this. I swallow stagnant air and blink back the sadness rising in my throat. I hear country banjo music coming from somewhere.

Something white, winged, and startled by my presence rises into the air and disappears into the branches of a nearby cypress tree. Slowly, other structures come into view. Intertwined waterslides twist out and then retreat back into the great masses of brush, like ghostly snakes struggling to break free from the vines restraining them. Behind them are giant mounds of rock, and off to my left, other slides and ruins that might have once served a purpose. Now they sit rotting, completely forgotten by time.

Snap.

Another twig breaks somewhere in the trees, but I will
not
stick around to find out why. I take off running toward the bridge to my right, the one that flanks the lake. My feet disturb the still water, upsetting the slime layer that probably hasn't moved in years, making splashes that sound loud even to me. I jump onto the suspension bridge and run over the wooden planks, shaking and creaking the whole thing as I go. When was the last time someone walked on this thing? The ropes holding it up seem surprised at being tense again.

It's hot. Really hot. My dizziness returns. The sheer stupidity of going somewhere remote alone just four months after I had my first seizure slaps me hard; I honestly don't know what came over me. I can't think about it right now. I just need a place to hide. Luckily, I don't hear anyone behind me anymore, but I run to the end of the bridge anyway.

When I get to the end, I jump off, landing at the base of the rock mountain where the snakelike waterslides come out. My bare feet burn from running. A wooden sign lies on the ground.
WELCOME TO WHOOP 'N' HOLLER HOLLOW. FOR YOUR ENJOYMENT,
PLEASE
. . . STRONG SWIMMERS ONLY.
Somewhere, there has to be a set of steps leading up to the top of those rocks. From there I can probably find a service exit, water-pump shed, or some cavern to duck into while I text Dina.

“Haley!” she faintly calls from the general direction I broke in through.

“Dina!” I call back this time, my voice sounding loud in my ears and strangely out of place. Apparently, I'm not loud enough, because she doesn't answer me. And then the dream feeling is back, the disconnected, slow-motion wooziness that makes me feel as though I'm out of my own body, as though I'm watching this all unfold from behind a sheet of glass.

Carefully, I climb a set of steps carved into the rock structure all the way to the top, and just when I think I've outmaneuvered whatever it was, I hear feet again, shuffling down below. My stomach crunches into a ball. Now what? Quickly, I scan around for a place to hide, but it's even darker up here surrounded by more trees and brush. I turn, nearly slamming into a giant wagon wheel covered in vines. Suddenly I'm smacked with the feeling of air displacement. There's another presence just a few feet away. My body freezes. I don't breathe. In the shadows, whatever is there is waiting for me to make a move.

My damn phone starts ringing in my pocket. I can't silence it. All I can do is stand there, poised to pounce, listening.

“Haley!” Dina's voice sounds farther away than before.

I'm here
, I say in my head.

Feeling a presence near me, having nowhere to hide, and breathing the heavy heat and humidity swimming around my head, I start losing focus. I close my eyes to steady myself. My heart pounds loudly but feels uneven in my tight chest. I can't speak . . . can't respond to Dina . . . can't . . .

Oh, God.

A familiar gripping sensation overtakes me, and suddenly everything begins to swirl.
Oh, no, no
. I grab something—wood or rock, I don't know—to keep from falling. The trees seem to tilt, but it's not the trees. It's me, swaying, falling, body hitting something hard and blunt, cracking branches underneath me. Slow-motion dream and dark sky. Stars swirl above like a spinning light show, until I can't see them anymore.

Don't know where I am.

Tumbling, sliding, plunging down . . .

Tunnel.

Plummet . . . flail . . . into purple darkness.

Brace.

Hit. And then . . .

Billowy, underwater silence.

four

M
iss? Miss, are you okay?”

I cough water. My tongue hurts.

“I think she's waking up.”

“Don't crowd her. Give her room.”

All around me I hear water rushing, kids screeching, and people talking in hushed tones. Except for this one guy who sounds like he's in charge. “She's coming to.”

My eyes hurt. My head hurts. I'm outdoors. I know the sun is out because I see orangey red behind my eyelids. I'm lying on sand, I think.

“Miss, can you hear me? Are your parents here?”

I can hear you. My parents wouldn't be here together.

“Just give her a minute.”

A different voice, a woman's. “Did she slide with you? How come you didn't see her, Becky, for goodness' sake!”

“Mommy, she was already there when I slid down the slide,” a little girl cries. “I fell right on top of her!”

“Ma'am”—the guy in charge is talking again—“she couldn't have slid with her. The lifeguard up there makes each person wait until the person ahead of them passes the orange flag. Then they can slide.” I crack my eyelids open to peek at him. “My guess is she fainted when she entered the water.” He's crouched on his knees hovering over me, but he's talking to people around him. He has black hair and a white tank top. And a mustache. Like, an actual mustache.

“It might've been a seizure.” Another guy's voice, somewhere behind my head.

“But she wasn't on the slide, I'm telling you!” the little girl continues to argue with her mother. Her blond pigtails are dripping wet, and she has a pink one-piece on. “She wasn't ahead of me in line!”

“Ow. My tongue hurts.” I bit it.

The people around me—I see them now, there're like ten or more of them—are all watching me, though it's hard to see their faces with the sun shining directly above them. “She's opening her eyes. She's talking.”

“Told you it was a seizure,” that guy says again. This makes the tank top guy in charge come closer, taking up my whole view. He looks like a lifeguard.

“Miss, don't move. You passed out in the water. Now you're on the beach. Just tell me your name so I can find your folks.”

“I found you in the water,” the blond girl says, crouching close to my face, “or else you might've
died
.”

Thank you
, I say, or think I say. I don't even know where I am. What is this place? Where's Mom? Or am I with Dad today? Is this camp? I can't even think of my name. I can't talk. I have to get up. “Ow.”

“You sure you want to do that?” A whistle around his neck dangles above my face. He turns his attention back to the people standing around us. “It's common following a seizure for the victim to be confused.” He turns to me. “Are you confused?”

Right now, I'm more irritated by his questions than anything. I want a place to lie down that's not in front of a bunch of people in weird bathing suits. I sit up, trying to get onto my feet. The crowd makes room for me. The upside-down lifeguard offers his hand. “Here, let me help you.”

I look at this tanned hand a moment, then take it. He pulls me easily to my feet. He's wearing shorts that are a little on the short side. The lifeguard steadies me, then lifts a walkie-talkie to his mouth. “This is Jake at RC. We need a medic unit, pronto. Over.” He attaches it to his waistband and holds my arms as a reply crackles through the speakers. Jake says, “You need me to carry you?”

“Uh, I'm fine. This happens all the time. Thanks,” I say. Actually, I don't remember this happening ever. I think. Or has it? Yes, once before. In school, right before my exams.

The mustached lifeguard, Jake, taps the younger guy, the one who said I told you so, on the shoulder. “Jason, walk her to a picnic table. See if you can find her folks, and keep an eye out for the medics. I gotta get back to my post, man.”

“Sure thing. Come on.” Jason nods, placing his hand softly against my back. He's tall, tanned, and wearing a thin gold chain around his neck, and the hairs on his arm shine yellow in the blazing sunlight. Why I notice this above everything else, I do not know. “What's your name?”

“Haley,” I say, but for a second I'm not sure. Is it? Yeah, that sounds right. Haley . . . Haley . . . “Petersen.” I start heading across the sand. It's a weird beach. There's no ocean. Just a lagoon-type thing. Not sure where I'm going. And why don't I see anyone I know? I look at my guide again. “I take it you're Jason.”

“Yup, but this isn't Camp Crystal Lake, so you don't need to worry.” He laughs softly. I have no idea what he means by that. He must see my blank expression. “Uh, never mind. That was stupid, what I just said. Not everybody's seen that movie.” He shakes his head, chastising himself.

“It wasn't stupid. I just . . . I'm not . . . ,” I mumble. Is he talking about
Friday the 13th
? That's kind of a random thing to tell someone.

“Like I said, never mind.”

I shield my eyes from the sun to scan the beach. Are my parents here? Which one am I with today? Where the hell am I, and why are so many people wearing the same tacky shorts? They're like running shorts with a white border along the hem and side.

“It's all right. You're disoriented. That's why I shouldn't be joking with you. So, Haley, any idea where your folks are?”

Folks
. They really like that word around here.

I stop dead on the beach and really search for someone I know. Anyone. I don't remember coming here, but I couldn't have come alone, could I? I see green sun umbrellas, tan beach chairs, the old kinds, with plastic straps across the frames, and a lot of kids of all ages standing on a wooden bridge over the water, but no one I recognize. “That water's really green,” I say.

“It's from the lake. It's got bromine in it. You haven't the faintest idea where your parents are, do you?” He puts his hands on his hips and peers at me, his eyes squinching in the sun so that I can't tell what color they are. Even
he's
wearing the same weird shorts. High on the waist. It doesn't stop him from being cute, though, in a blond, retro-fresh, all-American way.

“Where'd you get those shorts?” I'm sure they must be a uniform. He's probably embarrassed to be wearing them. I force a smile to show him I'm just teasing.

He looks down at them. “JByrons, I think. What's wrong with them?”

“J-what?”

His eyebrows crunch together. He examines me from head to toe. “Well, I suppose a girl who dresses like a shipwreck castaway wouldn't shop there, huh?”

Shipwreck? I look down. I'm wearing the most normal tight white tank and jean shorts ever, artfully ripped at the hem, a little drippy at the moment, maybe, but he talks like he's never seen clothes before. It would be good if I could find someone a little less clueless to help me.

“Let's go wait for the medics over there,” he says.

“No. Listen, Jason, I appreciate your help, but I got it all under control. Seriously, this happens all the time.” It doesn't, but the last thing I need is medical attention when I don't even know where I am, and I feel fine now. I'll just call my mom; everything will be fine. Instinctively, I feel my pocket for my phone.

“I insist, Haley. Come on. They'll just check you out a minute, and you'll be on your way.”

There it is. I pull out a plastic bag, and—
why
is my phone in a plastic bag? “Sorry, I'm just going to call my—” I freeze, staring at my baggied phone. Now I remember. Dina—a girl named Dina told me to put it in a bag so it wouldn't get wet. We were going to swim. We were doing a scavenger—

Jason comes up to me and stares at my phone. “What in the world?”

“I know, I don't usually keep it in a Ziploc, but it's just that . . .”

He picks up the bag by the corner and examines it like it's dog poo. “What
is
this?”

“What does it look like?” Okay, now this is just silly. It's like I've landed on a different planet. He's never seen an iPhone? Oh, wait, he means he's never seen this model. “I know, it's the old iPhone. I was going to trade it in for the new one, but my dad's about to switch contracts, and, anyway, I want the new iPad for my birthday.”

Jason hands me back the plastic bag. “Sure, whatever you say.” He stares at me like I just fell out of the sky, like I'm the strange one, even though that girl standing there staring at me is wearing a headband and a rainbow one-piece bathing suit when she obviously has the body to be rocking a bikini.

God, I have
got
to find my way out of here.

“Hey, are you all right?” Jason asks.

“Yeah.”
No.

I've seen that bridge before. In fact, I've seen those waterslides, except they weren't so clean. They didn't have water gushing out, and they didn't have people on them. I have to sit down, gather my bearings, and call someone. I march all the way across the sand toward the tree-lined shore where there're fewer people. This place is really packed.

Bah.
I have no signal here.

I plop down and try to think, even though Jason, following me, has made it difficult. He sits next to me and draws in his knees. “You sure? Because you still seem a bit off-kilter. I don't feel right leaving you alone. I'm sorry. I know that's the chauvinist pig in me talkin', but I don't.”

“A what pig?” I ask, but then a familiar sight out across the water, behind a spattering of little blue and red boats, distracts me. I'd know that A-shape building anywhere. “The Contemporary,” I mutter, my eyes fixed on the famous hotel. Wait, I'm in Disney! I came here with my dad and Erica. I have a little brother and sister. We're staying in Fort Wilderness!

I look down at my phone again. There's an unread message—
r u inside river country? i'm here looking for u.

“River Country . . . yes,” I mumble.

I turn and take another good look around.

White sandy beach, people in old-looking bathing suits, Bay Lake, inner tubes, and those wooden beams and wire? Kids sliding down a zipline, holding on to a metal handle. They hit the other end of a wood pole and fall into the water. Behind that are the waterslides, and these people on the bridge? They're in line for the slides. The line starts at those big rocks over there. I remember those big rocks, but it wasn't like this when I last saw it.

“Yup. River Country,” Jason says, scooping up a handful of sand and letting it out slowly. “The ol' swimmin' hole.”

I press the center button on my phone to return to the main screen, but I hold it a tad too long and Siri's bloop sound pops up.

“Did that thing just make a noise?” He leans in to study my phone. “It looks like a personal video game machine. Can I see?”

“But . . .” I tear my eyes away from all the people and really look at Jason for the first time. Blue. His smiling eyes are blue. How is this possible? “But River Country is closed,” I say cautiously. Of course it is. I saw it empty and abandoned. That lake area was overgrown swamp, and that pool and kiddie area were drained and full of grass. I saw it!

“Closed?” Jason glances at his black plastic watch. He presses a silver button until it beeps. “Nah, it's Thursday.” He smiles at me. “Today we're open till seven.”