The Islanders (28 page)

But I can't be honest with him. I can't. He would never understand or accept the truth.

Honesty would just hurt him. So I have to go on deceiving Jake to protect him, and of course he'll go on believing me.

I could really use a storm. A major blow, lightning, thunder, driving rain. That would shake me out of this funk.

NINA THREW HER PILLOW AT
the alarm clock the next morning, knocking it to the floor, where it kept right on blaring overly loud music. She climbed out of bed, reached for the clock, realized too late that her foot was caught in the sheet, and tumbled onto the floor, where she was at last able to turn off the radio. She glared up at her poster of the Black Keys.

“Is this really the way to start out a day?”

Although, it was, at least, a Friday. Even the worst Friday was better than the best Monday.

She untangled herself from the sheet, put the clock back on her nightstand, and fumbled in her bulging purse for a Lucky Strike. Only two left. She popped one in her mouth.
You'd think they'd last longer when you never actually light them
, she thought.

Friday. Cool. It was possible to survive Fridays. Fridays could be handled. There was still school, but on Friday even the teachers just wanted to end it all. Teachers tended not to do
tests on Friday because they didn't want to spend their weekends grading them.

Ah yes, Friday.

She padded out into the hallway and down to the bathroom. Ha! She had beat Claire to it. Excellent. Now, to waste as much time as humanly possible and pay her sister back for yesterday morning, when Claire had left her with about seven minutes and no hot water.

How long a shower would it take to use up all the hot water?

“Let's find out,” Nina said gleefully, turning on the hot-water tap in the bath as she calmly brushed her teeth over the sink.

She looked at her reflection in the mirror, which was just beginning to steam up. “This is the day,” she told herself, pointing her foamy toothbrush for emphasis. The direct approach. It worked for Aisha. Why shouldn't it work for her?

“Benjamin, I would like to go out with you. Yes, on a date.”

What's the worst he could say?
I love you like a sister?
Ooh, that would hurt. How about,
Nina, I just don't think of you in that way
? Not to mention,
Go away, why would I want to go out with you, you gorgon, when I can have any girl in the school, ha ha ha ha!

She brushed some more and spit. He wasn't going to say that. She had never heard Benjamin call anyone a gorgon. Besides, how would he know if she was?

“The direct approach,” she told her now-steamy reflection. “But first a long, long shower.”

Aisha closed her eyes and stuck her face under the jet of hot water, rinsing away the soap, then tilted her head down to rinse away the shampoo. Conditioner?

Yes, the stuff that smelled like coconuts.

Would Christopher like that? What if he didn't like coconuts? A lot of people didn't. Maybe she should use the stuff that smelled “like spring.” Everyone liked spring, though Aisha doubted anyone really knew what spring would smell like. Flowers? Rain? Birds hatching?

Who cared what Christopher liked? She wasn't going to be inviting him to smell her hair. Besides, maybe she'd use some of her mom's perfume.

Only the scent wouldn't last till the end of the day, when Christopher was going to pick her up. Which also meant that her coconut hair conditioner wouldn't smell by then, either.

Maybe she should bring some perfume with her. Some scent that would blend nicely with the cotton candy and hot dogs and pony poop at the carnival they were going to down in south Weymouth.

Or maybe she should just cancel the whole thing. It wasn't too late. Later it would be too late. Later, when they were
coming back on the late ferry and he tried to get her to kiss him.

No kiss. She had decided on that. The purpose of this date was just to show that she was definitely
not
afraid to go out with him, because she, unlike Zoey, could deal with guys without losing her mind.

So no kiss.

Except maybe one small one. Just to be polite.

She twisted the faucet and slid back the glass shower door.

Claire's teeth chattered as she snatched the towel from the hook and wrapped it around herself. What did Nina do in the shower for twenty minutes? She hadn't even left any lukewarm water, let alone hot. Well, she was definitely going to straighten this out with Nina before cold weather came. She wasn't going to freeze to death every morning while Nina used up all the hot water daydreaming about new ways to annoy people.

She grabbed a second towel and wrapped it over her shoulders.

Great. Ten minutes to get ready.

Friday, she realized suddenly. It was Friday. Tomorrow was the day Lucas would be leaving.

“Stay away from Zoey today,” she muttered. Zoey would be wandering around like a zombie, no doubt. Even worse than she'd been the last two days.

She pulled on her robe, sudden anger making her movements clumsy. Then she ran up the stairs to her room.

Not my fault, she told herself. It was just the way things had worked out.

She pulled off her robe, balled it up, and threw it into a corner.

I'll wear something white today
, she thought, looking at the contents of her closet.
Something in a nice, innocent white.

Zoey dressed with numb fingers, pulling up her shorts and zipping the fly, buttoning the front of her blouse. She had to look like she was going to school. And yet she wanted to look perfect for Lucas. This might be their last day together. She wanted him to have a good memory of her.

The tears started again, as they had so many times, but she wiped them away determinedly. He was not going to remember her with red, swollen eyes. She would use some Visine. Gets the red out.

Was this all right? she asked the image in her full-length mirror. She looked like she always did, like the girls in the J. Crew catalog—wholesome.

Was that what she wanted him to remember? She made an ironic face. Well, she was wholesome. It was too late for her to suddenly transform herself into Miley Cyrus or Katy Perry.
Although maybe that was what Lucas would have liked.

He wanted to make love to her. Maybe she should. Wouldn't that do more than anything else to ensure that he never forgot her? And that someday he would come back to her?

She grimaced at herself. “Yeah, he can come back to meet Lucas junior.”

Although he probably had condoms.

Condoms sometimes broke.

But how could she say no when they had so little time left together? And did she really want to say no? She was getting ready to skip school for the first time in her life. Maybe it was time for another first.

She looked thoughtfully at herself and unbuttoned the top button of her blouse, showing just the edge of her white lace bra.

Then she shook her head and buttoned it again and walked from the room.

Nina desperately craved another cigarette. She knew it was insane, she knew she couldn't really be addicted because it wasn't like she even smoked the stupid things, but still, she wished she had one.

The ferry was coming into Weymouth. In two minutes it would be docking. Then she probably wouldn't have any time
alone with Benjamin all day. Which would mean her next opportunity would be on the ferry coming home.

But what if someone else offered to take him to the concert? Everyone knew Benjamin liked the strangest music. Anyone might ask him out between now and the end of the day.

She bit her thumbnail, watching him from under her lowered brows as he calmly sat, reading a Braille book.

“Okay,” she said, squaring her shoulders.

“Okay,
now
,” she repeated.

“Really. I mean it. Now.”

Suddenly she was walking, swinging her arms wide in a wild parody of nonchalance that was completely lost on Benjamin but would make her look like
DORK SUPREME
to everyone else on the boat.

“Hi, Benjamin,” she said in some other girl's voice.

“Hey, Nina. What's up?”

“I guess Zoey skipped school to hang out with Lucas, huh?”

“Looks that way,” Benjamin agreed, nodding glumly.

“Well, there's a concert, you know. Like, um, Batch.”

“Batch? You mean Bach?”

“Of course that's what I mean,” she giggled, blushing furiously. Was that really how you pronounced it? “Can't you tell when I'm kidding?”

“Usually,” Benjamin said, looking puzzled.

Too late to stop now. “So, Bach is playing down in Portland would you like to go because I could drive my dad's car and it would be kind of fun I mean I know you like that kind of music and so do I really.”

“Huh.”

Nina took a breath. “Of course if you don't—”

“Are you just doing this to be nice, because I would pay for the gas and all.”

Nina froze. Was that a yes? Yes, yes. It was almost certainly a yes. “It starts at eight thirty. Tomorrow. At night.”

“Cool. We can catch the five ten. Grab something to eat when we get down to Portland. My treat on the food, since you're probably going to be bored all night.”

“I don't think I'll be bored,” Nina said, feeling almost giddy with triumph.

“SEE, THE THING YOU HAVE
to do is control your fire,” Christopher said, squeezing the trigger briefly and sending half a dozen very loud rounds into the target. “Most guys think because it's a machine gun they should just blast away.” He squeezed off a quick burst.

“You're not hitting the little red star,” Aisha pointed out, peering closely at the target.

“I'm blasting a circle
around
the star, see, then it will fall out and I'll have the fabulous blue-and-white teddy bear that I've wanted my entire life.” He fired again, forming a circle halfway around the red star. “One more burst.” He squeezed.

“That's it, pal,” the attendant said in a bored voice.

“That's it?” Christopher demanded. “I'm out of ammo?”

“What can I say?” the attendant said with a shrug.

Christopher put the gun back in its cradle and turned to Aisha. “What can I say?” he mimicked. “No teddy bear.”

“Want some cotton candy?” Aisha asked, holding out her half-eaten cone.

“No, let's go on the Ravin' Rodent,” Christopher said. He pulled a bunch of tickets out of his pocket. “We've barely touched the rides.”

Aisha followed him somewhat reluctantly. Thrill rides had never exactly been her thing. “Just don't blame me if I hurl pink,” she said.

The line was short so late in the season, with almost all the tourists gone home. Aisha threw away the last of the cotton candy and licked her fingers clean. Then they scrunched side by side into the narrow red car. Christopher put his arm around her shoulders to make more room.

“I heard some kids were killed here when one of the cars jumped off the track, flew through the air, and crashed into the Tilt-a-Whirl,” Christopher said conversationally.

“Really?”

“No. I just thought I'd make the ride more exciting for you.”

“Thanks. I appreciate that.”

“No problem.”

Aisha tested the bar that held them down. “They do inspect these things, though. I mean, experts look at them and make sure they're all right?”

Suddenly the car jerked forward and began the slow, clanking ascent to the top. The carnival came into view around them, a sea of swirling neon surrounded by darkness. Off-key music blared from the carousel, and somewhere a persistent bell was ringing.

“I love roller coasters,” Christopher said. “Especially this part. The anticipation.”

“These rails look so rickety. Hey, I think there's a bolt missing. Right there.” Aisha pointed at a section of track that passed beneath them. “I'm serious.”

“At the top you have that pause, that first look down at the drop, and you think, Wow, what am I doing here?” Christopher offered philosophically.

“What are we
—Ahhhhhhhh!”

“Yes!”

“Uhuhuhuhuhuh.”

“Ha, look out!”

“Oh! Okay, that's enou-uhuhuhuhuh.”

“Yahh yow, that was great. Here comes the loop.”

“The what? Oh. Oh.
Ahhhhhh!”

“That was excellent. I never thought such a small coaster would be that much fun. Come on, stand up.”

“Is it over?”

“It's over, and they would like us to leave now,” Christopher said.

Aisha opened her eyes and glared at him reproachfully. “You're a sick person, Christopher.”

“I love roller coasters. If we're going to be . . . whatever . . . you're going to have to learn to like roller coasters. My great goal in life is to go to Ohio.”

“Ohio,” Aisha said as she walked shakily down the ramp.

“Cedar Point, the Mecca of great roller coasters. Roller-coaster heaven.” He had a faraway look, his eyes shining with wistful anticipation. “Cedar Point. We could drive down next summer. Get a room at the Holiday Inn, spend all our time riding the coasters.” He paused to consider. “Well, maybe not
all
our time.”

“It's good to have dreams,” Aisha said sardonically. “Even if there's no chance they'll ever come true.”

“What, you don't think I'll ever get to Ohio?” he asked innocently.

“I don't think you'll ever get me to a Holiday Inn,” Aisha said.

“Don't be so sure. You know what an overachiever I am.” He laughed easily. That was one of his more attractive character traits, Aisha thought. He had a sense of humor, even about himself.

“How about a nice, slow, gentle ride?” Christopher suggested.

“Okay. Give my heart a chance to stop pounding.”

“Uh-huh, right,” he said noncommittally. He gave two tickets to the ticket taker and led her down the roped pathway to a row of boats.

“Does this involve plummeting down a waterfall and getting wet?” Aisha asked suspiciously.

“No waterfall,” Christopher said. “See? They don't even have a safety bar, so how bad can it be?”

They climbed down into the boat together and again Christopher put his arm around her, although this time there was plenty of room. Aisha considered shrugging him off, but they'd been having a good time together and it would seem rude. Besides, he'd been perfectly well behaved so far. And it was just a little chilly in her sleeveless shirt. She had tiny goose bumps up and down her arms.

The boat meandered along an artificial stream, then slid into a dark tunnel, lit only intermittently by dim bulbs revealing dusty tableaux of plaster pirates gloating over papier-mâché gold coins.

“Sort of a low-budget Pirates of the Caribbean,” Aisha remarked.

“Yeah, this ain't exactly Disney World,” Christopher agreed, laughing. “But it is slow and gentle.”

“I like slow and gentle,” Aisha said.

She felt Christopher's arm tighten slowly around her shoulders.
That's not quite what I meant
, she thought. But instead of speaking, she just swallowed and pointed at the next tableau. “That one's really lame.”

Now Christopher was sitting closer, his leg pressed against hers, his arm sliding down her back to encompass her waist. His warm breath was on her neck.

The boat slid out of the circle of light, into a still-darker part of the tunnel. There was no light. No sound but the trickle of the water and the beating of Aisha's own heart.

Now was the time to say no. Now was the time to tell him she did not want to kiss him, because she didn't really care about him one way or the other, was not attracted to him, was not interested in anything serious, was not going to fall for him just because they were both black in a nearly all-white school.

His lips were close. They brushed her cheek, searching in the dark. Then missed again, brushing her chin.

What did she have to do, draw him a road map?

She found his jaw with her fingers and guided his lips to hers.

At that precise moment, a flashbulb went off.

Aisha jumped back, startled. The boat plowed through swinging doors and emerged in the neon glow of the carnival again.

“I think that ride was a little too short,” Christopher said, his voice an octave lower than usual.

She looked away, feeling confused and annoyed. And frustrated. “It ended just at the right time. I should have told you, I don't kiss on the first date.”

“You don't?” Christopher said, smirking as he helped her up onto solid ground.

“That wasn't like a real kiss,” Aisha said. “Besides, it was so dark I didn't even know where you were.”

“Uh-huh.”

“You folks care to buy the souvenir photo?” the attendant asked, holding out a Polaroid. “Two dollars.”

“No,” Aisha said quickly.

“Absolutely,” Christopher said, pulling two dollars from his pocket. He admired the photograph critically. “Huh. You say that wasn't a real kiss?”

Aisha snatched the Polaroid from his hand and clapped a hand over her mouth. Christopher snatched the photo back.

“Why don't you just admit it, Aisha? You like me. You wanted me to kiss you, I did, and you liked that, too. Why is that so hard for you to admit?”

Aisha glared at him, then down at the photograph in his hand. Then, despite her best efforts to stop herself, she grinned
sheepishly. “Okay, I didn't hate it. But I'm still not going to Ohio to ride roller coasters.”

Claire pushed the last of her pecan pie halfway across the white linen tablecloth. “That is so rich,” she said.

Jake looked greedily at the dessert. He had already finished his own. “You're not going to eat that?”

“You eat it,” Claire invited, smiling in amazement as the last two bites disappeared almost instantly.

“I'm a growing boy,” Jake mumbled apologetically.

Claire sipped her coffee. “That was a pretty good meal,” she said. “Not quite as good as Passmores', maybe, but good.”

Jake raised an eyebrow. “I don't know when I'm going to feel right about going into Zoey's parents' restaurant again.”

“Think they'll poison you?” Claire joked.

“I don't know; it just doesn't seem quite right, you know?”

Actually, she didn't. She wasn't doing anything wrong going out with Jake instead of Benjamin Passmore. And Jake wasn't doing anything wrong by going out with her and not Zoey Passmore. Claire's inclination might have been to make that point by having dinner at Passmores'.

“I understand,” she said.

“No point rubbing people's noses in things,” Jake said.

This, from the guy who had punched Lucas almost the first time he saw him back from jail? But then, Claire realized wearily, that was all a part of it—it was one thing in Jake's mind to go right up and start a fistfight, because that was straight-up-the-middle. Taking Claire on a date to Passmores' would seem sneaky to him.

“You realize this is our first real date?” Claire said, breaking away from her morose thoughts.

He gave a leering wink. “Does that mean I get my first kiss all over again?”

“Anytime,” she said, leaning through the candlelight to let him kiss her. It was a brief kiss, but full of tenderness. Also full of self-consciousness as Claire realized that some other patrons were watching.

“Come on, let's get out of here,” Jake said, his voice low. “I already told Mrs. Savageau to put it on my dad's tab. He owes me for some work I did at the marina.”

“Jake, I was going to pay half,” Claire complained. “Come on, let me help out.”

“No way,” he said. He stood up and came around the table to pull out her chair.

Claire sighed and led the way outside, pausing only to tell Mrs. Savageau that everything was wonderful. Outside the air was cool and clear, and they strolled arm in arm along the waterfront,
wandering in the general direction of Claire's home. The ferry was just coming in, rounding the breakwater, and they used the excuse to stop and make out a little, leaning against the shadowed side of a wooden souvenir shack.

“That's the ten ten,” Claire commented. “I didn't realize it was so late.”

“If you remember, we got a slightly late start,” Jake pointed out. “Certain people weren't ready at seven sharp like certain people said they would be.”

“Certain people had to make themselves look good,” Claire said.

Jake stepped back and looked her up and down, then back up again. “Mmm. I take it back. Definitely worth the wait.”

“Hey, look,” Claire said, laughing as she pointed toward the bow of the ferry.

“Is that Aisha and Christopher?” Jake asked rhetorically. “I thought she didn't really like him.”

“Has an interesting way of showing it, doesn't she?”

“It looks to me like they're getting along,” Jake said dryly.

“Young love,” Claire said.

“They aren't the only ones,” Jake said, suddenly sounding serious. “I have totally lost it for you, Claire.”

“Jake—”

“No, I mean it. I'm actually glad Zoey dumped me. I mean,
if she hadn't, you and I might never have gotten together. I've known you all my life, and yet I feel like I'd never really known you until that evening when you came to my room when I was depressed over Zoey and—” He shook his head helplessly. “It's like you rescued me.”

Claire felt her hands clenching and deliberately forced herself to relax. Damn. He was going to say it, and there was no way to stop him.

“I love you, Claire.” He held up his hand. “You don't have to say anything back, I know it's kind of quick and all, but I know how I feel.”

“Jake, how can you know how you feel?” she asked miserably.

“Because I know you,” he said.

Damn it
, she raged inwardly.
Why is he doing this to me?
“You . . . look, you don't know everything about me, Jake. You really don't. I'm not exactly perfect, I'm—”

He silenced her with a kiss. “You are exactly perfect for me.”

Claire returned his kiss, going through all the familiar motions. But inside she was boiling, raging. Something was gnawing at her, infuriating her and at the same time drawing a blanket of unhappiness over her mind. It was a strange, unfamiliar, unpleasant feeling.

He pulled away and whispered, “You're the best, Claire, the best.”

The feeling grew, and suddenly the name for it popped into Claire's consciousness. Guilt.

Oh
, Claire thought dismally as Jake held her tight to his chest,
so that's what guilt feels like.