Avalon High (10 page)

The wife’s mouth dropped open at this. Then she elbowed her husband, and he furiously started his outboard motor.

“This used to be a
nice
place to live,” the man said
pointedly, as he chugged away.

We watched as he and his wife made their way down Ego Alley…then exchanged glances.

“Some people,” Will said to me mildly, “have more money than sense.”

I sighed. “You can say that again.”

Then Will handed me down into the boat….

Which wasn’t easy, seeing as how there wasn’t a whole lot of room in there. I sat down and found myself squashed between Marco and Lance, while Jennifer found herself in the uncomfortable—or enviable, depending how you looked at it—position of being crammed between Lance and Will.

Not that it appeared to bother her.

“What was that all about?” she wanted to know.

“Oh, that was just Will,” Marco said, in a bored voice. “Playing the White Knight again.”

“Ready?” Will asked, ignoring his stepbrother’s jibe. “This is your last chance if you need something from shore. We won’t be seeing land again for a while.”

When no one protested, Will started the motor, and the motorboat began putt-putting toward the spot where Will’s sailboat, the
Pride Winn
, was anchored in the harbor.

I knew right then that, in spite of that unpleasant scene in Ego Alley, I’d made the right decision in coming. Oh, not that it was such a pleasure to see Will and Jennifer sitting so close together that their shoulders touched (with Lance’s shoulders brushing hers on her other side). Or that it was so fun to watch Marco make rude gestures at the people sitting in deck chairs outside the bars, watching us as we motored by (clearly no one had ever talked to Marco about Image).

It was just so nice to have the salt spray in my hair, and the cool bay breeze on my face. It felt good to feel the water rushing beneath us, and see the ducks, with their little lines of ducklings, hurrying out of the dinghy’s path.

And then, when we finally got to Will’s boat, seeing it sitting there, so long and gleaming, all glossy white with wood trim and a tall, slender mast, made even the unpleasantness back at the pier seem worth it.

There’s lots you have to do on a sailboat, it turns out, before you can take it out to sea. So we scrambled around doing what Will, and sometimes Lance, told us to do. At least, Jennifer and I did. Marco seemed to do what he pleased, although a few of the things he did appeared to have something to do with getting the
Pride Winn
sea-ready.

Mostly, though, he just grinned at me whenever Jennifer, scrambling over the deck, would find Lance in her way, and have to say, “Excuse me,” in a polite voice that I highly doubted she used when it was just the two of them together.

By the time we’d finally set sail, I was pretty sick of Marco’s secret smiles at me. I’d been hoping to have a moment for a word alone with Lance before we set sail—a chance to tell him about Mr. Morton, and then casually slip in the fact that I was on to him and Jennifer…but even worse, so was Marco. And ask him if he could do something about it. Such as come clean to Will.

But it’s not easy to find any privacy on even a fair-sized boat like the
Pride Winn
, and there was never a moment when I could speak to Lance without fear of someone overhearing.

And then when the sail suddenly billowed out and we were moving, gliding fast over the water, not even feeling the hot sun because of the cool ocean breeze, it was hard to feel worried about any of the stuff that had happened back on shore. Everyone seemed to feel the exhilaration of it, even the ever-sardonic Marco, who caught my eye and said, with a grin, “This is the life, eh?”

“Really,” I said, meaning it, and thinking maybe I’d been wrong about him. Maybe he wasn’t so bad after all. “You’re so lucky.”

“Lucky?” He looked at me curiously. “Why?”

“Well, because you’ve got a boat,” I said. “All we’ve got is a station wagon.”

He gave me a smile that actually looked sincere and said, “I’m not the lucky one. Will is. It’s his boat. Until my mom married his dad…Well, we didn’t even have a station wagon, let’s put it that way.”

And then the moment of warmth between us fizzled like sea spray when Marco suddenly shot Will a look I could only describe as…well, not nice. No, not a nice look at all.

But then Will, who hadn’t noticed the look, asked, “What do you think, Elle? We gonna make a sailor out of you?”

And I forgot all about what Marco had said, because Will looked so handsome standing there at the wheel, with the wind pushing back his hair, calling me Elle.

“Absolutely,” I said, meaning it. I was going to have to talk my parents into buying a boat. It would be hard, since they knew as much about the sea as they did about swimming pools. But this was really too good not to do on a regular basis. It even beat floating by a significant percentage. Because you can’t have a picnic lunch while you’re floating. Well, you can, but it’s messy.

Marco’s mom had packed all sorts of delicious stuff in this hamper, including crab rolls and a homemade potato salad that was even better than Red Hot and Blue’s. There’s something about being surrounded by blue water that makes you ravenous. As we ate, everybody talked about the party the night before and who had hooked up with whom (I noticed Jennifer talked about this the most—maybe in an attempt to ward off any discussion
about where she had disappeared to for the majority of the party?) and who had been wearing what.

I made a mental note to tell Liz that this is what the In Crowd—the female members, anyway—does after parties…talk bad about everyone who showed up behind their backs.

It was only as lunch was winding down that I got a chance to ask Will something that had been bothering me. And that was what was up with the name of his boat.

Marco, hearing the question, laughed out loud.

“Yeah, man,” he said to Will. “Tell her what
Pride Winn
means.”

Will shot Marco a mock dirty look, then said, looking embarrassed, “It doesn’t mean anything, actually. It’s just a name that popped into my head when my dad and I first started talking about buying a boat. And it sort of stuck.”

“Sounds like a grocery store,” Lance said, his mouth full of crab roll.

Jennifer kicked him playfully in the foot. “That’s Winn-Dixie,” she said.

“Still a lame name for a boat,” Lance said.

It wasn’t until the conversation eventually drifted from fellow students at Avalon High to teachers that I remembered Mr. Morton, and, abandoning all hopes for a private word about it—and other things—with Lance, I said, “Oh, Lance, I almost forgot. Mr. Morton stopped me at the game and says he wants to see us in his classroom first thing tomorrow morning.”

Lance looked up from the bag of barbecue chips he was polishing off.

“Are you serious?” he asked, with a pained expression on his face. “What for?”

“Um,” I said, suddenly aware that everyone was listening to us, and feeling embarrassed. “I think something to do with our research paper proposal.”

“Didn’t you hand it in?” Lance asked, looking dismayed.

“Of course I did,” I said. “It’s just that…I don’t know. He seemed to be able to tell somehow that you didn’t have any part in writing it.”

“Because it wasn’t riddled with grammatical errors and run-on sentences like everything else Lance hands in?” Will teased.

“You know I’m not good with that stuff,” Lance said, with a groan. “Aw, man. That blows.”

“Sorry,” I said. “He’s all hot to trot on the whole working-with-your-partner thing.”

“I wonder why,” Marco said, in a tone that suggested he, for whatever reason, knew perfectly well why.

But when I looked his way to ask what he meant—not that I was so sure I wanted to know—I saw that Marco wasn’t even paying attention anymore. Instead he was gazing out across the water at an ancient and very small motorboat that came chugging slowly by. After a second or two, I recognized it. It was one belonging to the same bunch of guys we’d seen down at the dock—the ones with the inner tube. The boat was so crowded that a
couple of the pudgier guys—and none of them were actually all that slender—were sitting so far over the back of the boat, their backs were getting wet from its wake.

“Oh, hey,” Marco said, observing this delightedly. “Check out the lardasses.”

No one laughed. In fact, Will said, sounding tired, as if it were something he had to say a lot, “Marco. Cut it out.”

But Marco ignored him.

“Watch this,” he said.

And he reached for the wheel that Will had let go of in order to eat his lunch.

“Marco,” Will said, as Marco started to swing our boat around. “Leave ’em alone.”

But Marco only laughed and set the
Pride Winn
on what appeared—to me, anyway—to be a collision course with the tiny boat.

“That craft does not appear to be seaworthy, Will,” Marco said. “I just want to make sure they realize the error of their ways.”

But it looked to me like he was going to do a lot more than that…especially as the motorboat’s driver, realizing Marco had no intention of turning, suddenly jammed his wheel to the right, causing the boat to lurch abruptly to one side….

…and causing one of the guys on the back of the boat—the chubbiest one—to fall overboard.

“Did you see that?” Marco cried, laughing. “Oh my
God, that was hilarious!”

“Real funny, Marco,” Will said, as we watched the kid flounder in the frothy white wake.

“Hey,” Jennifer said. “He doesn’t have on a life preserver.”

And then, as the other guys on the motorboat clustered around the side of the craft, trying to pull the chubby kid back up, we saw his spiky crew-cut bob once…then twice…then finally disappear altogether beneath the waves.

“Great,” Will said angrily, pulling off his deck shoes. “Thanks a lot, Marco.”

And then, before any of us could say anything, Will had dived from the side of the
Pride Winn
, his long, lean body vanishing as the dark water closed over it.

This wasn’t the clear, still water of my pool back home.

This was deep, opaque seawater, choppy with waves. There were probably sharks down there. And riptides. As Will’s head disappeared beneath the dark surface, I sucked in my breath, wondering if he’d ever resurface.

I wasn’t the only one, apparently, with this concern. Lance, scanning the waves for some sign of Will, growled at Marco, as menacingly as Cavalier had the night before.

“If anything happens to him,” Lance snarled, “you’re a dead man.”

“If anything happens to him, your life’ll get a whole lot easier,” Marco said evenly. “Won’t it?”

I saw Lance’s face flush darkly, then noticed him exchange glances with Jennifer. On her pretty face was an expression of naked fear—but was it fear for Will? Or fear for herself, over what Marco had said?

A second later, Will’s dark head popped up from the waves. Then he began swimming, with long, hard strokes, toward the spot where Crew-cut Kid had disappeared.

“Turn us around,” Jennifer commanded Marco, in a sharp voice I couldn’t help but admire. She, at least, wasn’t taking any guff from this guy.

“Fine,” Marco said, his jaw tightening, twisting the
Pride Winn
’s wheel. Then, noticing that I was staring at him, he grinned. “I don’t get what the big deal is. They’re just a bunch of tourists.”

Then, when I just glared at him, he said, “Joke! I’m joking. God, nobody around here can take a joke. Remember that, new girl.”

“Maybe it’s just
your
jokes,” I said. “They aren’t really very funny.”

The motorboat’s driver had cut his engines, and now he, as well as most of his passengers, were clinging to the side of the craft, scanning the water for some sign of the missing boy. Will, reaching the spot where Crew-cut Kid had gone under, disappeared once more beneath the waves.

“Where are they?” Jennifer, standing beside me, reached out and took my arm and squeezed, staring tensely at the water. “Where
is
he?”

And I felt a surge of guilt for every mean thought I’d ever had about her. Because her anxiety was real. No one is that good of an actress. Yeah, she was in love with Lance. But I got the feeling that a part of her—a big part—still loved Will as well…and would probably always love Will, no matter what ended up happening between them….

…or what ended up happening now.

I’d been looking at Jennifer—at her pretty face transfixed with anxiety, her blue-eyed gaze scanning the water. Suddenly, I saw her expression change. She smiled and flushed with relief.

I glanced back at the water to see that Will was towing Crew-cut Kid—sputtering seawater—back toward the motorboat.

“Thank God,” Jennifer said, and seemed to sag against me. Lance had gone visibly pale beneath his dark tan. Marco, for his part, yawned and went to open a new can of Coke for himself.

We sat in tense silence until Will returned. At least, Jennifer and I did. Lance kept up a running commentary on what was going on over on the other boat: “Okay, they got the kid back on board. He’s heaving up a lot of saltwater, but he’ll probably be fine. Looks like Will’s gonna swim on back. Okay, here he comes….”

Marco just ate another crab roll and fiddled around with the radio, trying to find a station that wasn’t playing oldies. When Jennifer looked at him in annoyance, he went, “What?” all innocently, like he couldn’t imagine
what was wrong with her.

When Will finally got back to the
Pride Winn
, his face was tensely drawn.

“They’re not going to call the harbor police,” Will said, after Lance had helped him back onto the deck.

Marco made a derisive sound. “Why should they?” he wanted to know. “Then the cops would know they were flagrantly flaunting shipboard safety regulations, cramming that many people onto such a small boat. Besides, it was that stupid kid’s own fault. He shouldn’t have been sitting so—”

“That ‘stupid kid’ nearly drowned,” Will interrupted, his blue eyes crackling. “Come on, Marco. What were you thinking?”

“Gee, I don’t know.” Marco lifted a single brow. “Maybe I just couldn’t take the tension anymore.”

“What tension?” Will asked exasperatedly.

“The sexual tension,” Marco replied.

And I saw his dark-eyed gaze flick toward Jennifer, who stood near the bow. She had been getting a towel for Will, but now she froze, the towel limp in her hands, watching Marco warily.

“Oh, don’t tell me you haven’t felt it,” Marco said, glancing from Will to me to Lance and then to Jennifer, and then back again. “My God, it was making me nuts!”

“I think,” I said loudly, certain I knew what was coming next, and wanting to avoid it at all costs, “that we should go back now. Don’t you, Jennifer?”

Jennifer hadn’t taken her eyes off Marco. It was like
she was watching…well, a snake, wondering if it was the nice kind, like the one I’d fished from the pool, or the deadly kind that was going to send her into a coma.

“Yeah,” she said, at last. “I agree with Ellie. I think we should go.”

Lance started to say something, but happened to glance at Jennifer. She must have sent him a warning look—although I didn’t see it—because he fell silent. Will, who’d crossed to take the towel from Jennifer and now stood with it around his neck, said, sublimely ignorant of what was
really
going on, “The girls want to go, we’ll go. Lance, let’s take down the sail. I think we should power back—”

“Oh, right,” Marco burst out, as Lance began untying the knots that held the sail in place. “Better take down the sail, Lance. Better not think for yourself, Lance.”

Lance suggested that Marco do something I’m not entirely sure was anatomically possible.

Will glared at Marco with dangerously narrowed eyes.

“What is your
problem
?” he asked his stepbrother, in the same voice I’d heard him use with the jock, that day outside Mr. Morton’s classroom. It was so cold, it seemed to come from the very depths Will had just snatched that kid out of. It scared me a little.

“What’s
my
problem?” Marco let out a bitter laugh. “Why don’t you ask Lance what
his
problem is?”

“Because I don’t
have
a problem, Campbell,” Lance said. “Except for the one I’ve got with you.”

But Marco just laughed some more at that.

“Oh, right,” he said. “I forgot. You like being Will’s lapdog, doing everything he tells you to.”

Lance was beginning to flush. “I don’t—”

“Oh yes, you do, man,” Marco said. His voice dropped into a somewhat uncanny imitation of Will’s: “
Take the sail down, Lance. Tackle that lineman, Lance. Gotta protect the QB, Lance
.” Then, in his own voice, he said, “God, it’s no wonder you couldn’t take it anymore. I don’t blame you, man. I really don’t.”

My heart starting to pound, I looked at Lance, silently begging him not to respond—

But it was too late.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Lance began, the muscles in his neck bunching menacingly. “But—”

“Just ignore him, Lance,” Jennifer said quickly. “He’s just trying to cause trouble.”

“
I’m
causing trouble?” Marco flung a disbelieving look in Jennifer’s direction. “You think
I’m
the one causing trouble? What about you?” he demanded. “Why don’t you ask your precious friend Lance here where he was during most of your party last night, Will? Huh? Go ahead. Ask him.”

Jennifer blanched, while Lance’s flush, on the other hand, increased. But he managed to choke out, “You don’t know what you’re talking about, Campbell.”

“Really, Marco,” Jennifer said, her voice sounding uncomfortably shrill. “Just because you don’t have any
friends of your own—”

“Yeah, well, then I’m a lot better off than old Will here, aren’t I?” Marco’s smile was snide. “I mean, with friends like you guys, who needs—”

“Marco,” I said, taking a step toward him, my heart in my throat. “Don’t.”

“You really do have it bad, don’t you, Lily Maid?” Marco’s gaze on me was almost pitying. “But you still don’t seem to realize you’ve fallen for the wrong one….” Then he raised his eyebrows. “Or is Lance the one you’re trying to protect, and not Will?”

Lance went for him then. I doubt he even knew what Marco was talking about. But to Lance, it clearly didn’t matter. The QB was under attack, and it was Lance’s job to protect him—even if, as in this case, the fault was all his own. Lance lunged—all two hundred pounds of hard muscled guard, aimed at Marco’s gut.

Who knows what would have happened if the two of them had connected? Surely at the velocity Lance was moving, they’d have both plunged over the side of the deck and into the cold water of the bay.

But they didn’t connect. Because at the last possible moment, Will reached out to seize Lance, pinning both his arms behind his back.

Meanwhile, a slim, tanned shadow slipped in front of Marco, crying, “Stop it! All of you! Just stop it!” Jennifer’s voice broke off with a sob.

“Campbell started it.” Lance hurled the words at the world in general, breathing hard as Will struggled
to hold him back.

“Oh, I think we all know who started it,” Marco said insinuatingly.

“Have you both gone insane?” Will wanted to know.

“Don’t listen to him, Will,” Jennifer cried urgently. “Everything he says is a lie, and always has been.”

“Oh, that’s rich coming from you, Jen,” Marco sneered. “Why don’t you just tell him where you were last night when he looked all over the house but couldn’t find you? Why don’t you tell him?”

Will had let go of Lance now. Not because Lance had stopped struggling to be set free. But because it was like suddenly Will forgot to hold on.

“What’s he talking about?” Will asked, looking from Jennifer to Lance with a stunned expression on his face. Then, when neither of them replied right away, he said, “Wait. Why do you guys look so—”

“Because they’re in love,” Marco said, with obvious relish. “They’ve been seeing each other behind your back for months now, while you just—”