Violet Raines Almost Got Struck by Lightning (14 page)

So I was lying here all peaceful. Quiet. No tourists, which are the worst kind of trespassers. Until suddenly I hear a crash, someone jumping into the water on the other side. I sit up real straight, lean forward, and watch as a girl glides through the water, fast as a sailfish. Her hair flows behind her like a fin and she flashes with color. I sit even straighter now; why is she wearing regular clothes in the water?

Two hands grip the edge of the wall that surrounds the springhead, and she rises from the water.

“Hey!” I yell again, recoiling from the ice-cold splatters.

Water streams down her face, causing her to squeeze her eyes. She pushes her hair back and pops her eyes open. They are as black as midnight.

She smiles at me as she hoists herself out of the water, fully clothed in jean shorts and a black and purple T-shirt. “Hello to you,” she says.

I gape at her.

She's so pretty. Her long, dark hair shimmers with blue, reflecting the sun and water. She leans her head to the side, grabs her hair into a twist, and squeezes the water out.

Pointing to the hotel, she asks, “Would that door be open?”

I nod dumbly.

She flashes her Colgate smile again and winks at me.

I turn and watch as she glides up the lawn to The Meriwether. She barely pauses as she passes the dock and snatches a towel right off a cabinet.

Just as she slips into the side door, my brain starts working again and I want to call out the rules to her:
No running. No diving. Towels must be checked out
.

She's broken every one of them.

And, worse, the side door she just went in is Employees Only.

When I see her again, I'm going to have to set her straight. This used to be a five-star hotel; you can't be running around all splashing and grabbing things like that. But at the same time, she smiled as if she knew me. And when she winked, it was like she was including me in on a secret, just me and her.

Staring up at The Meriwether, I scan the hotel, but I see no movement, no sign of her in the windows. I look down at the concrete where she just passed. Already, her footprints are disappearing.

CHASE

Twenty-two hours cooped up in the car is enough for me. My butt's sore and I'm bored out of my skull.

“What're we gonna do first?” I ask Dad. I grab the pamphlets and scan them: parasailing, surfing, skim-boarding, waterskiing. Ah, man, I can't choose; they all sound good.

Dad cranks the wheel and we turn down a boulevard lined with palm trees. “I don't know about you, but I'm going to sleep.”

“What?” Is he kidding me? I've been sitting in this car for a whole day, eating nothing but drive-through junk just so we could get here faster. Florida is a long way from Ohio.

“Yeah,” Dad says. “I didn't get to take naps like you did.”

“I didn't take any naps.”

Dad smirks. “Yes, you did.”

“No, I didn't. I may have rested my eyes, but I didn't sleep.” Hey, it gets boring watching scenery pass by.

“Well, you rested your eyes for about three hours a while ago.” He takes a sip from a Styrofoam coffee cup. Where did he get that? Maybe I did fall asleep.

I shrug my shoulders. “But you're not really going to sleep, are you? It's only”—I glance at the clock on the dash—“eight thirty in the morning.”

“Oh, good.” Yawning, he rubs the back of his neck, then cracks it sideways. “I can sleep all day.”

“What's the point of driving all night if you're just going to sleep all day?”

“Chase,” he says, turning to me. His face droops— okay, okay, he does look tired. But sleeping all day? I can't be stuck in a hotel room on top of this drive.

None of the pamphlets in my hands show a guy taking a nap. “What am I going to do while you're sleeping?”

He shrugs. “You can watch TV—quietly.”

Yes! That's what I came to Florida for—quiet TV-watching. “Dad! Come on!”

He takes a quick look at me and sighs. “How about we check in, get some decent breakfast, and see how we feel after that?”

I nod, knowing I'll talk him into something over breakfast.

We turn from the boulevard down a drive that cuts through rolling hills.

“I thought Florida was flat,” I say.

“Not all of it,” Dad says. “Besides, this is hotel property. In the old days, this used to be a golf course.” Of course he would know that; he researched The Meriwether for the travel series he's writing.

He scans the horizon. I know what he's doing—he's writing. He's always writing. Even with no paper or pen, he takes notes constantly. I bet if I tapped into his brain I'd hear,
Century-old oaks shaded the lawn, their branches covered
—no—
their branches arrayed in the finery of Spanish moss
.

I've read enough of his stuff to write it for him.
You're a natural, he's told me. You write like someone much older than yourself
. It's true. It catches even me by surprise sometimes. I'll just be looking at something and my thoughts slip into a fancy way of speaking. My teachers all say I'm a good writer, too; they read my stories out loud.

I stare out the window. I thought this place would be all palm trees, but it's mainly oaks with heavy branches that dip low, some touching the ground before curving back up.

We climb a bridge and the hotel springs into view. It's like stepping into the old days. The place is like four or five stories tall, with peaked roofs and trim that Dad told me come from being built in the Victorian era. Mold eats at the wood under the windows, making the pale yellow paint look dirty. The porch colors are faded—purple, orange, and green—happy colors from a long time ago. Green shutters are missing from half the windows; a couple of them dangle at the sides.

Could a place like this even have cable?

We carry our suitcases in and stop at the front desk, where the guy is on the phone. College dude. Sandy hair, lanky build. He smiles at us and holds a finger up to Dad—
Just a minute
!

I put my skateboard down and push one foot on it. Nice! Great wood floor. “I'm going to look around,” I say.

Dad's shoulders drop. “Just stay here.” He glances at the guy, who is now flipping through paperwork, still on the phone.

I kick up my board and hold it. The hall stretches for miles. It's dark, lit up by chandeliers, and carpet covers the wood floor beyond the lobby. I see all kinds of alcoves and stairwells. “I'm going to check it out,” I say, already wandering away from Dad.

“Chase!” he says, but he's using the voice that means he's already given in. He knows he can't hold on to me.

This place is cool. The hallway is like a little street with tiny shops on both sides—ice cream store, a restaurant, a bakery. I'm not buying anything, though; I want to explore. I stop at a staircase that spirals up into darkness. Leaning against the handrail, I peer through the balusters.

“Dad!” I yell. He's still standing at the desk, waiting. I motion to the stairs. “I'm going up there!”

I can see his frown from here.

“I'll be right back!” The stairs are calling me. Come on!

He rolls his eyes. “You be right back,” he yells.

I'm taking the stairs two at a time when I hear him add, “And don't get in trouble!”

I just laugh.

DANETTE HAWORTH
held a number of writing jobs, including positions as a technical writer and a travel writer, before turning to fiction. Growing up in a military family, Danette lived up and down the East Coast and in Turkey and England; she now calls Orlando, Florida, her home.

www.danettehaworth.com

Books by Danette Haworth

Violet Raines Almost Got Struck by Lightning

The Summer of Moonlight Secrets

If you liked Violet Raines,
you're sure to fall for Gianna Z.

Walker & Company

Praise for

violet raines
almost
got struck
by
lightning

“Danette Haworth creates characters so real they stand out on the page. They tell a story of friendship on the cusp of adolescence so full of spunk and humor, I read more slowly as I approached the last page.”

—Audrey Couloumbis, author of
Getting Near to Baby

“A coming-of-age tale that is as full of sass as its uniquely named protagonist. . . . Violet is a worthy ally for readers navigating their own stormy evolution.” —
Kirkus Reviews

“Haworth takes on coming-of-age dilemmas with spunk, innocence, and a cast of believable, well-developed characters.” —
SLJ

“Danette Haworth's work is strikingly comparable to that of the great Judy Blume.” —
Curledup.com

Copyright © 2008 by Danette Haworth
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

First published in the United States of America in September 2008
by Walker Publishing Company, Inc., a division of Bloomsbury Publishing, Inc.
E-book edition published in September 2010
www.bloomsburykids.com

For information about permission to reproduce selections from his book, write to Permissions, Walker BFYR, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, New York 10010

The Library of Congress has cataloged the hardcover as follows:
Haworth, Danette.
Violet Raines almost got struck by lightning / Danette Haworth.
p. cm.
Summary: In 1970s Florida, eleven-year-old Violet's world is upturned by the arrival of a girl from Detroit who seems bent on stealing Violet's best friends, but by summer's end, Violet's relationships have only gotten better.
ISBN-13: 978-0-8027-9791-9 • ISBN-10: 0-8027-9791-1 (hardcover)
[1. Best friends—Fiction. 2. Friendship—Fiction. 3. Neighbors—Fiction. 4. Summer—Fiction. 5. Lightning—Fiction. 6. Florida—History—20th century—Fiction.] I. Title.
PZ7.H31365Vio 2008 [Fic]—dc22 2007049129

ISBN 978-0-8027-2240-9 (e-book)