Wrecked (13 page)

Instantly, Teddy put both his hands back on the wheel. “Sorry,” he said contritely. Miranda saw a hint of sadness cross Teddy’s face. It was beginning. He, too, was beginning to treat her like a fragile baby bird.

“Sorry, it’s just that . . . ,” Miranda began, floundering for some sort of explanation. After all, driving down Faunterloy to the ferry dock wasn’t exactly the same as driving a boat in the middle of the ocean.

“I know. I was being an asshole. Sorry about that. But you do need to eat,” Teddy said.

Miranda sighed and pulled one of the pastries from its plastic wrap. She experimentally bit off a corner. The flakes tasted cold and sickeningly sweet in her mouth and suddenly, she was
ravenous. She took a bigger bite, trying not to gag at the oily taste that slicked her front teeth.

“Breakfast of champions. Here: Tart me?” Teddy asked, opening his mouth wide.

“You’re so gross!” Miranda said as she placed one of the pastries into his open mouth. She was
trying
to act like she would the month before the accident: sarcastic, joking, fun
-ish.
Maybe if she acted long enough it would become real.

But then the car crested the hill and Teddy turned onto Faunterloy. The green and white ferry was docking. Miranda’s stomach plummeted and she felt her heart race. She couldn’t do this.

“I can’t . . . ,” Miranda said, breathing heavily, sensing the now-familiar warning signs of a panic attack. First, it would become hard to breathe, then it would feel like she was drowning all over again.

“You’ll be fine,” Teddy said as he coasted down the ramp and flashed his student pass to the guy at the tollbooth, which allowed all students free entrance onto the ferry. Then, he drove the car onto the car decks. This was it. There was no turning back. Miranda closed her eyes and concentrated on breathing slowly, the toaster tart suddenly forming knots in her stomach. She felt better when she couldn’t see the water below them.

The ferry lurched forward and they began the agonizingly slow thirty-minute journey to the mainland. Around them, kids and commuters were getting out of their cars and heading up the steps to the passenger deck.

Unlike kids who had to go to school by bus, the ferry provided endless freedom. Usually, she’d park on the parking deck, then run up the metal stairs to grab the so-additive-filled-it-was-delicious hot chocolate from the snack stand and gossip with Genevieve or Lydia about the upcoming day. In the afternoons, the boat would take on a party-like atmosphere, complete with endless rounds of truth-or-dare. One time, she was dared to throw her uniform top at some cute twenty-somethings cruising by on a speedboat. Last fall, a few members of the soccer team had held an impromptu game on the upper deck. It was all horribly unsafe, but that was the thing: On the water, nothing bad ever happened.

Until now.

Next to them, Miranda saw Sam Watson get out of his car. He was a shoo-in for the Calhoun valedictorian, and because he was one of the scholarship kids from Bloody Point who drove around in a 1987 Cougar, he was always slightly separate from the rest of the Ferries. While they’d never been unfriendly to him, they’d never have gone out of their way to invite him out to a bonfire.

Miranda smiled tentatively. It was just nice to see familiar faces, a sign that not
everything
had changed.

Immediately, Sam’s preoccupied look changed to a grimace. Miranda quickly averted her eyes, down to her bitten-off nails. She’d never bitten her nails up until this month.

“Do you want to head upstairs?” Teddy asked as he cracked open the driver’s side door.

“You can go.” Up on deck, she’d have to see people. She wasn’t ready yet.

Teddy hesitated. “Are you sure?”

“Of course,” she said, feeling a tiny pinprick of relief when he slammed the door. Her heart and breathing had slowed down, but she still felt shaky and on edge. In the car, it was warm and safe. Nothing could touch her. She pulled out her iPod and scrolled through until she came to the Joni Mitchell album Gen always listened to when she was upset. Maybe that would make her feel better.

All too quickly, and before Gen’s hippie-music cure could work its magic, they’d reached the dock. Teddy quickly drove the mile up to Calhoun Academy and parked.

Miranda took a deep breath. Around her, everything was the same, right down to the cloud of smoke wafting around the willow tree in the corner of the parking lot, the not-so-secret place where kids went to smoke.

She threw her shoulders back and headed into the royal blue doors of Calhoun Academy. “You’ve got this,” she muttered to herself. It was the mantra she always used, whether she was about to try an especially difficult shot in soccer, take a practice SAT exam, or head into an interview with a college rep.
One step at a time.
She was so busy concentrating on those steps that she didn’t notice Dr. Carlson striding from the
guidance office into the sun-splashed atrium lobby until she stopped a foot away from Miranda.

“Miranda O’Rourke,” Dr. Carlson said icily. Miranda stepped back in surprise. She’d never heard Dr. Carlson use that tone with
anyone,
but especially not with her.

“Hi, Dr. Carlson,” Miranda said in a small voice she didn’t recognize as her own. She looked up at her guidance counselor. A freshly minted psychologist from the University of the South, Dr. Carlson had long ash-blond hair and wide-set blue eyes, and pretty much every male student from seventh grade on up had an enormous crush on her, while the majority of female students wanted to be her. She was the reason why guys jostled for guidance appointments as if they were invites for a hot party, and why girls tended to go to Dr. Carlson just as much to discuss guy drama as they did for academic advice. But now, Dr. Carlson didn’t seem anything like a big sister and Miranda felt slightly afraid.

“You’re not in uniform,” she said sharply, her eyes resting on Miranda’s crutches. Miranda held them tighter to her body, like a shield.

“I know you have the crutches, but we also can’t have students showing up without wearing
any
of their uniform. Tomorrow, you will wear your shirt, at least,” Dr. Carlson said. Miranda blinked in disbelief. Her friends had
died,
her boyfriend was in a coma, and all Dr. Carlson cared about was the fact she wasn’t wearing her uniform? It was the type of ridiculous
statement Gen would immediately comment on, and Miranda felt her resolve begin to waver.

“I’m sorry,” Miranda said helplessly. Kids were streaming around her on either side, and she could tell from the way they immediately stopped their conversations and slowed their walk to a shuffle that they were trying to listen in on her conversation with Dr. Carlson. She concentrated on a crack in the floor, just a few feet in front of her.

“Well, there’s nothing to be done about it now,” Dr. Carlson said crisply. “Now, do you have the schedule that was mailed to you?” she asked, setting her hand on Miranda’s shoulder. It was a gesture that was less reassuring than restraining. Maybe that was the point, so that Miranda wouldn’t be tempted to run anywhere. As if she had anywhere to go.

Miranda rummaged through her school satchel, trying to block out the whispered comments that she
knew
were about her. Every so often she could just make out the word
murder
or
kill
. “I think so,” she said, rooting through her lipglosses and notebooks, all untouched since last year, until her fingers touched thick cardstock. “Here,” she said, jamming the card into Dr. Carlson’s fingers.

“Good.” Dr. Carlson nodded. “So we’ll have you jump right in, since that’s what your grandmother seems to believe is the best thing for you.”

“Thanks,” Miranda said, taking the schedule back. But Dr. Carlson kept her hand on Miranda’s shoulder.

“One more thing,” Dr. Carlson said. “You’re still under the same standards of excellence as all the other students. Your grandmother said that you were ready, and that you’d be up to speed in no time, and that’s what your teachers, Headmistress Wyar, and I expect. We want everyone to feel as normal as possible. Is that clear?” Dr. Carlson asked, turning the corners of her mouth up slightly to form an impossible-to-read expression.

“Yes, ma’am,” Miranda said, relieved when Dr. Carlson released her grip. What Dr. Carlson clearly meant was that Eleanor had strong-armed Calhoun into allowing her back, but it wasn’t like they were doing it with open arms.

Tentatively, she walked into the labyrinth-like hallways of the academy, on her way to her locker. The school smelled the same: floor polish, too much perfume, and fallen leaves. Ordinarily, she and Genevieve would come in together, both clutching thirty-two-ounce coffees from the Ugly Mug café at the other end of the dock. Now, Miranda was alone with ten minutes before first period. Kids were streaming around her, but she couldn’t focus on any particular faces. It was as if she were moving in slow motion, while everyone around her was speeding up.

“She’s guilty. Look at her.”

“I heard that they’re going to charge her with manslaughter. But I think they’re waiting until her boyfriend dies to do it.”

Miranda whirled around. Two skinny girls were furiously
whispering with each other. She didn’t know them, but from the way they’d rolled their Calhoun skirts so the hem hit mid-thigh and the way their matching blue eyeshadow extended all the way up to their brow bones, she had no doubt they were seventh graders. By the time kids had been in Calhoun for a few years, they stopped dressing up to try to impress their classmates.

“Shh!” One of the girls hissed, and immediately, both turned to the Calhoun bulletin board. Miranda followed their gaze.

R
EMEMBER THE
F
ERRIES
D
ANCE
: B
UY YOUR TICKETS THROUGH [email protected]
.

L
AXERS FOR
F
LETCHER
. W
EAR YOUR SCHOOL COLORS TO SUPPORT
F
LETCHER
K
ING NEXT WEEK.
Q
UESTIONS OR COMMENTS, CONTACT [email protected].

R
EMEMBER THE
F
ERRIES
: A
DOPT A PARKING SPOT
! T
O DISCUSS DONATIONS AND DECORATIONS, GET IN TOUCH WITH [email protected].

Miranda sighed shakily. It was nice that Gray was doing all this, but why hadn’t she heard of it? And in a weird way, it almost seemed like Gray was
too
eager to help. Like she saw the accident as less of a tragedy and more as a way to finally feel accepted as a true Ferry.

As if on cue, Gray sidled up to her. Gray’s blond wavy hair lay long and loose down her back, and she had a roll of masking tape on her wrist like an improvised bracelet. She was holding a large stack of flyers.

“Miranda,” Gray nodded, appraising her with her large blue eyes.

“Hi,” Miranda said tentatively, her heart hammering in her chest. “How are you?”

“I’ve been better. We
all
have. I didn’t think you’d come back,” she said as she slid a flyer from the top of the pile and taped it onto the bulletin board.

A
SPECIAL CHAPEL TRIBUTE TO THE FERRIES TODAY.
C
OME WITH YOUR FAVORITE MEMORIES.
W
ANT TO SHARE
? F
IND
G
RAY
M
ILLER OR SHOOT HER A MESSAGE:
[email protected]

“There’s a tribute?” Miranda asked, scanning the text. What did that mean? Wasn’t this supposed to be “just a normal day,” according to Dr. Carlson?

“Yes,” Gray said crisply, turning on her heel.

“Can I help?” Miranda asked desperately. It was the last thing she wanted to do, but if she had to, she’d do it.

Gray smiled tightly and shook her head. “I think you’ve done enough, don’t you?” she asked, her voice low.

Miranda felt the color drain from her face. Had Gray meant what Miranda
thought
she meant? And if Gray felt that, that meant . . .

“What do you mean?” Miranda said, willing herself to not back down. She hadn’t done anything wrong.

“Look, we all know it was an accident, but you were driving the boat. You said you hadn’t even taken it out all summer . . . I just wish that you’d thought about that before you went out,”
Gray said, her lips set in a firm line. “I mean, I guess it could happen to anyone, but I don’t know,” Gray shrugged. “I mean, I’m not blaming you . . .” Gray trailed off and shrugged. “I just wish things had happened differently. But they didn’t. But I’m glad you’re okay,” Gray said, nodding curtly.

“Thanks,” Miranda said slowly, turning away. She felt like she’d been slapped.

“I can’t believe she came back.”

“I know. Especially since I heard they didn’t want her to.” Miranda whirled around, but she couldn’t see where the conversation she’d overheard had come from. She felt like she was going crazy, like everyone was looking at her but no one was acknowledging her. She was about to turn and run out to the car to escape when she felt a hand clamp on her shoulder.