Undertow (7 page)

She leaned toward me, her eyes full of concern. “Eila, what did it smell like?” she asked again, slowly.

I could only think of one thing that came remotely close. That distinctive, telltale sent of an animal that didn’t make it across the road. I looked at her and Dalca, trying to forget that horrific odor.

“It smelled like death,” I said, swallowing back the urge to puke.

After the fiasco at Dalca’s, I was hurried out of her place under the notion that she needed to do some research about why I smelled, well . . . what I smelled. I, however, wasn’t buying it. Ana drove me home and when we reached 408, she cut the engine as we sat for a moment in the driveway.

“I think she knows something. I think she already knew before I opened the vial,” I said staring out the windshield.

“Knew what?” asked Ana.

“Whatever it is about me that she can tell from that stupid vial,” I replied hotly, the memory making my stomach turn.

“Oh please. It is just Gypsy weirdness.  It probably means you have a freakish sense of smell. Don’t go all
Super Girl on me just because you almost tossed your cookies after smelling the salt flat’s sand,” said Ana with a snort.

“Salt flats?”

“Yeah. Look Miss Landlocked, here in the world of tides and oceans, the bay can stink to high heaven during low tides. It can smell like dead animals or a backed-up sewer. I wouldn’t read into it if I were you. You just have a great sense of smell.”

I looked at Ana, seeking a chink in the armor of her story. I didn’t see the slightest bit of tall tale.

“Really?” I asked. Though she seemed to be telling the truth, I didn’t ever recall low tide smelling so horrific. And 408 was definitely close enough to the water to smell something THAT bad. I wanted to believe her, but something was wrong with the contents of that vial. I felt as though I knew what it was, but the information was hiding from my comprehension.

“Yes, really. Look, just take a breath and relax. I’ll see you at school tomorrow, okay?”

“All right. I’ll see you tomorrow. And Ana?”

“Yeah?”

“Sorry I freaked on you just then. Moving here has been a big change for me,” I said, eating some humility. She may really believe that there was just sand in the vial.

“Hey, no worries” she replied.

I stepped out of her Trans Am and she started the engine, backing down the driveway. As she drove away, I saw her talking into her cell phone and she glanced back at me.

She wasn’t smiling and her look was a familiar one.  It was the same expression I
had seen on MJs face when I left The Milk Way.

Something was up.

5

My new town, though smal
l
by many standards, has a frustratingly enormous high school. You could hide a small army inside and never know it. So I was very proud that I had finally learned the labyrinth of halls by the end of my first week (well, almost) and how to avoid collisions, planned and accidental. Occasionally, Nikki would see me in the hall, but I would manage to tuck in next to someone else and avoid further confrontation.

I also avoided The Crimson Moon like the plague.

Dalca was nice and all, but the vial on her neck kept me far away, like a talisman conspiring against me. I knew I was just being paranoid . . . I hoped.

Crap, what if she HAD murdered somebody? What if
the gray stuff really WAS a dead person’s ashes? Did cremated people even stink? Good grief, I sounded like a crazy person. This is Cape Cod for crying out loud; no one is murdering ANYBODY.

Well, except maybe Nikki, who wants to kill me.

On the plus side, I had found my little niche in school in which I felt comfortable. And the students, for the most part, were very welcoming. Jesse talked with me everyday in English, and I had met a nice girl in gym class – a redhead named Cara. She talked a mile a minute to the point that I was unsure how she didn’t pass out from lack of oxygen.

I even managed to swap out Chemistry for
Ecology, accomplished with no small amount of begging in the guidance office. Kids had begun to say “hi” to me in the halls and though I was terrible at remembering names, I was good with faces and always returned the greeting.  Nikki and her cronies, however, never smiled at anyone who was not on her ‘A’ list.  Or anyone who remotely said “hello” to me for that matter.

She made no attempt to hide her distaste for me, a fact that was undoubtedly accentuated by Raef. That girl loathed me and I knew it.  Most of the school knew it too. On the plus side, most of the school didn’t like her either, but they sucked up to her in order to avoid her wrath.

It wasn’t that she scared me – I simply didn’t want the drama that followed Nikki everywhere. And drama was Nikki’s middle name. She lived it, breathed it, damn near held court with it.

I did have one thing going for me when it came to Nikki . . . I wasn’t her only target. Everyone was on Nikki’s radar and if you were anything less than a perfect, adoring fan, life could be plagued with high school misery.  For the large majority of Barnstable High, it seemed that students fell into one of four categories in regards to Nikki:

1.
       
You actually worshiped her, in which case you were part of her “in crowd.”

2.
      
You feared her like an ancient deity and therefore sacrificed your dignity to appease her.

3.
      
You were enough of a geek that your existence was of insignificance.

And lastly . . .

4.
     
You were a most-loathed heathen and would be crushed like a bug.

I fell into fun category 4. Raef, I suspected, was on his way there as well, given his strange desire to be my friend. Why the most handsome boy in school seemed to enjoy my company was a fabulous surprise, but completely stumped my average self. 

We would talk briefly after English and he would often wave to me in the hall. He had even started to “eat” lunch r
egularly with MJ, Ana, and me, though technically he only drank protein shakes (no doubt a huge asset to his stunning physique). 

I did feel bad for Ana and MJ, whom I suspected had enjoyed the anonymity of category 3 until I descended on the school. Being my friend meant you were fair game in Nikki’s eyes. It was a fact that I apologized for profusely many times, though they all said that pissing her off was completely worth every moment of pain. 

Pain included writing not-so-nice observations on MJ and Ana’s lockers in ruby-red lipstick, stealing MJ’s backpack and papering the restroom with his academic accomplishments, and other such irksome issues. 

I could feel my irritation evolving into rage, but I managed to keep myself distracted, especially since I was due to take possession of a certain Jeep within hours.

Thank the stars it was Friday.  

             
Ana gave me a ride home from school in the afternoon.  When we pulled up to my house, I saw it, my Wrangler, gleaming in the falling sunlight.  I thanked her for the ride and hopped out, waving to her as she backed out of the driveway.

After watching her car disappear in the distance, I walked . . .  okay SKIPPED, over to my beautiful black and chrome vehicle.  Any and all memories of the week and near trampling in the BHS hall were a distant past as I basked in the thrill of such a fabulous ride.  I went to open the door, but it was locked. 
What the . . .?

I put my hand to the glass to shade the sun from my eyes and looked inside.  On the seat was a note with a dweebish smiley face:

Come find me at THE MILK WAY and I will give ya the keys!  Sniff . . . I MISS IT ALREADY!!! –MJ

I smiled broadly and trotted down the seashell driveway and across the road. 

Sixty seconds later I was pulling open the door to the fragrant shop as the rusted cowbell heralded my arrival.  The place was mobbed with classmates and the long chrome and green counter was jammed to capacity.  Even the smaller, side area of the shop where there were little booths and tables was standing room only. 

MJ and another girl sporting a mocha-streaked ponytail were zipping around the back of the counter, occasionally stopping to laugh with a friend while rapidly multitasking.  I decided to wait until MJ had a moment to breathe and stood against the wall near the entrance. 

I was reading down the chalkboard menu when I heard someone call my name from the table area. I looked over and saw Cara and Jesse waving wildly. “Eila! Hey Eila!  Get your butt over here!” yelled Cara in her high voice. I wandered over to where she and Jesse were sitting.

“Come for a root beer float?” asked Jesse, smiling warmly.

“The food is awesome and the ice cream is killer,” said Cara, her bubbly personality shining, near blindingly so. “Move over a bit, Jes!  We can squeeze her butt in with us!”

“Absolutely!” said Jesse, obediently starting to slide farther to the right. 

“Oh thanks, but that’s okay.” I said, waving off the warm invite. “I’m just grabbing something from MJ. I’m waiting for him to have a second.”

“Honey – look around,” said Cara. “This place will be crazy for at least another half hour. So please, SIT!”

I looked around. MJ and the girl seemed to be on rollerblades as they flew around the shop. Cara was right. There was no way I was getting those keys for a while.

The wafting, warm scent of fresh cream and fried food made my stomach growl.  I was fairly certain that if I licked the air, I could taste a mint chocolate chip French fry.  I nodded, “You know what? You’re right!  Live a little, eh?” I squeezed in next to Jesse who pulled a red basket of mini, circle shaped fries toward me.

“Help yourself, best around,” he announced cheerfully.

“They do smell awesome. I did hear the fries were great,” I said, tossing one into my mouth. 

Jesse looked at me, an
eyebrow raised. “Uh, that’s not a . . .”

As soon as I chomped down on the “fry” I knew it wasn’t a spud. I shifted the crispy, but chewy lump to one side in my mouth so I could speak. “Is this fish?” I nearly whispered, my stomach starting to twist. Even the thought of eating something with gills made me ill.

“No, no,” he said, waving off my panic. “Nope, not fish.”

I eyed him carefully and took a tentative chew.  It still didn’t taste like a fry.

“Seriously – it isn’t a fish,” protested Jesse at my obvious disbelief.  I finished chewing and swallowed, trying to convince myself it was some sort of veggie, but was having a hard time buying it. 

I wiped my mouth with a napkin and narrowed my eyes at him and the basket of suspicious, fried rings. “Not fish? Really?”

“Nope,” said Jesse, taking a swig of his root beer float. “It was a CLAM BELLY!”

“ACK!  CLAM?  Oh gross!” I wanted to puke, preferably all over Jesse.

Cara was chuckling. “Here – have some,” she said, sliding her milkshake toward me, a huge smile on her face.

“Oh thank god!” I said and greedily took a cool, creamy gulp to eliminate all remnants of my briny snack. The ice cream was truly a gift from the gods. “Wow.  Now
that
is ice cream,” I gushed.

Jesse’s cell phone rang and he snapped it open, greeting the caller loudly in some male-jock lingo that was tough to get a grasp on. I tuned him out.

“So, you’re buying MJ’s Wrangler, huh?  Nice ride!  I’m envious,” said Cara.

I looked at her, surprised that she knew I bought it and more floored that she actually knew what the 4x4 was called. “Uh, yeah. Came here to get the keys.  How did you know?”

“Hun – this is the Cape. Small town. That and, well, have you seen the hunk of junk he is driving now? No way he would willingly park the Wrangler and drive that old thing,” laughed Cara. She began chatting a mile-a-minute about who’s dating who and the local gossip, barely pausing to take a breath.  She was nice, but standing by the screen door seemed like a much better option in retrospect.

The weathered bell heralded the arrival of another patron and I glanced over. Coming through the door was none other than Nikki and one of the Pompoms. 

She didn’t see me seated in the far corner with Cara and Jesse.  She strode in, her superior mentality obvious in her every move.  Two younger girls, probably freshmen, were seated at the counter, chatting happily.  She laid her hand on the shorter one’s shoulder and squeezed.  The girl looked up and quickly vacated her seat with her friend, making room for the Queen and her Lady-in-Waiting.

Just the sight of her – the way she treated everyone around her – was infuriating. 

My two tablemates didn’t seem to notice her. Cara’s phone had chirped, breaking her monologue, and she was now texting someone, while Jesse was still on his cell.  I sat there, watching Nikki, the ambient noise in the room fading fast. It was as if I could see only her, my peripheral awareness Gonesville.

MJ hadn’t noticed the two, irritating new patrons at the counter.  He was madly scooping ice cream when Nikki reached past the counter and grabbed onto his sleeve. MJ, jerked short by her grasp, dropped the large sundae he had slaved over, and the tin bowl created a resounding clang on the tile floor. 

He turned, stunned, and saw Nikki. From her gestures, I could tell that she wanted to be served, quickly, and ahead of the already waiting customers. MJ, no doubt using all his willpower to not strangle her with his apron, nodded dutifully as he started cleaning the mess. Nikki tossed her flawless locks and turned to talk with her subservient sidekick.

I felt the darkness of rage, laced with a need for vengeance, overtake the saner part of my brain. The Queen had already shown her absolute distaste for me. I might as well kick the hornet’s nest and bring the rain. 

All sense of sanity gone, I turned to Cara, whose thumbs were flying over the microscopic keyboard of her phone. “How much is a milkshake?” I asked calmly, stroking the sweating, icy glass, which was nearly full.

“Hmmm?” asked Cara absently, her eyes never leaving the phone, “Uh, three-fifty.”

“Then I owe you three-fifty,” I said calmly, my plan solidified in my head. I stood up from the bench seat, the milkshake firmly in my hand.

“Wait. What?” said Cara, finally looking up from her phone, but I was already making my way through the packed room.

Stealthily.

Deliberately.

I could feel my body tingle with excitement and an absolutely fabulous feeling of imminent justice.

As I approached the far end of the counter, luck was for once on my side. Nikki had her back to me and was still deep in self-absorbed conversation with the Pompom, who was nodding obediently at everything she said.

I caught MJ’s eye and he, understanding my devious intent, started to frantically shake his head ‘no.’ I simply smiled back to him. If this girl was going to make our lives a nightmare, then it was my duty to repay the courtesy.

I saw MJ, still behind the counter, also start towards Nikki’s seat. I was almost to her, when she saw MJ out of the corner of her eye.

She turned slightly and yelled to him, “You know, if you were any slower, it would be prom season before I got what I wanted!”

The twit sealed her fate.

I pretended to trip, letting out a yelp. Nikki turned toward the sound of my voice just as a double thick chocolate shake splashed all over her face and perfect hair, soaking her True Religion jeans and top.

She launched to her feet, howling in rage and disbelief. Her mascara began a southern trek down her face, adding to her ridiculous appearance as she frantically wiped the ice cream from her eyes. The entire shop went completely silent.

Pompom was stunned.

It was as if I was David and got Goliath square between the eyes. No one could believe that I had just taken on the wrath of the beast. I heard someone at the end of the bar swear and looked over to MJ whose eyes were huge, but his mouth barely contained
a grin.