“Greetings, Redding High School,” Principal Andrews begins from the podium. His speech is affected—elongated vowels and clipped consonants. “It is my great honor to introduce the class of 2016, and to congratulate the graduates and their families . . .”
But I barely hear the words coming out of his mouth. Moments into his speech, his voice begins to morph, pitching upward through falsetto to a squeaky little girl’s tone amplified through the speakers. I hear the snickers behind me, and the general murmur from the audience. Principal Andrews pauses, examines the microphone as if he might be able to diagnose the cause of the auditory malfunction, then clears his throat and continues.
“It is my great honor,” he repeats, his voice back to normal, “to introduce the class of 2016, and to congratulate the graduates and their families on this tremendous . . .”
This time, his pitch deepens, quickly passing through Darth Vader to Barry White and landing so low in the human register it sounds like a computerized villain.
Principal Andrews spins around to face us. “Who’s responsible for this?” he bellows, face red. “I swear if I find out who did this I’ll pull your diploma so fast you won’t see college for another year.”
Everyone looks from side to side, nervously hoping Principal Andrews doesn’t focus his rage on them. From deep in the bleachers behind me, I heard a loud bang followed by a crack, like plastic and metal dropping to the floor, and I realize whatever device Terrence and Rob were using to manipulate the principal’s voice has been disposed of.
Principal Andrews waits, letting his words sink in, then slowly turns back to the microphone. “As I was saying,” he resumes, his voice back to normal.
I sit rigid in my chair, afraid to look, afraid to know what’s happening behind me. All I can see is the dark outline of my father.
Jack is waiting outside in the courtyard with Rob and Terrence as Sonya and I exit the auditorium, diplomas tucked beneath our arms. Jack grabs me around the waist, twirls me, and dips me back like a ballroom dancer. “Wasn’t that amazing?”
I whip my head up as he pulls me back to my feet. “The dance move or the ceremony?”
He smiles, exposing the single dimple on his right cheek. “You know what I mean.”
“Just the beginning of our amazing summer,” Rob says, unzipping his gown to expose his “I Put the Stud in Study” T-shirt. He’s about Jack’s height, but with a broader build and longish black hair that he’s constantly flipping out of his eyes. Though they look nothing alike, Jack and Rob like to refer to themselves as Mexican-Korean twins.
Sonya gasps. “You did that?”
“Calm down, Hendricks,” Rob says, slapping her on the back like she’s one of the guys. “You need a beer.”
She shoves him away. “Shut up!”
“Sonya!” Her mom descends on her with her brothers, sweeping her up in a massive family hug.
“Lay off her, will you, Rob?” I say, eyeing my best friend as her mom dissolves into tears.
“She needs to loosen up,” he says. “That girl’s wound tighter than a nun’s—”
I interrupt his joke. “Don’t say it.”
Rob rolls his eyes. “Catholics.”
“Do you think she’s really upset about what we did?” Terrence asks, his hazel eyes fixed on Sonya. Like Rob, his robe is open, but his shirt proudly displays a green cannabis leaf, wrinkled like his jeans, and when matched with the tumultuous light brown hair that hasn’t seen a comb in days, he looks like he just woke up. “You don’t think she’ll bail on this weekend, do you?”
Terrence has a crush on my best friend? Who knew?
“Dudes!” Graham rushes up to Rob and Terrence, his blue eyes wide. “That was you, wasn’t it?” He and Greer barely look like they’re related, let alone twins. The magic of IVF. Graham is tall and lanky, while his sister is petite and curvy, his hair a confusing dark brown to her blond.
Terrence’s eyes shift back and forth. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says loudly. Too loudly.
“Really?” Graham says, talking fast as he beams at Terrence and Rob. “Not going to take credit for the best graduation prank ever?”
“It wasn’t that amazing,” I say, glancing at Jack out of the corner of my eye. Definitely not worth the wrath of Principal Andrews. Or my dad.
“Whatever,” Graham says, winking at me. “I’m sure you guys had nothing to do with it.”
“Nothing to do with what?”
I spin around to find my dad glowering down at me. He’s in uniform, sidearm prominently displayed, and by the harsh line of his jaw I can tell that he’s pretty pissed off. His eyes dart from Terrence’s cannabis shirt to Rob’s combative stance, then narrow on Jack. “You boys wouldn’t know anything about that stunt during the ceremony, would you?”
Rob gasps with faux indignation and his hand flies to his chest. “Us? Sheriff Kramer, my friends and I would never jeopardize our future for such a childish prank.”
My dad doesn’t even look at him. “What about you, Cruz? Wouldn’t happen to be hiding a remote control in your pocket, would you?”
Jack squares his shoulders, refusing to be intimidated. “Do you not like me because I’m brown? Or because I’m brown and dating your daughter?”
Just for an instant, my dad flinches, the closest thing to an acknowledgment of his racism that I’ve ever seen, and I can feel my face burn with embarrassment. “Come on, Annie,” he says, grabbing my arm. “We’re leaving.”
I allow my dad to lead me away, knowing that this isn’t the time to make a scene. I’ve got eleven more weeks before I move into the dorms, eleven more weeks to fly under the radar. And only eleven more weeks with Jack.
I sure as hell am not going to let my dad spoil them.
But as we hurry to the car, I glance over my shoulder at Jack and wink. No regrets.
FOUR
NO REGRETS.
I repeat that mantra over and over as I pick my way through the thickening trees of Slaughterhouse Island, feeling very much like a drunk college girl on spring break screeching, YOLO! at the top of her lungs right before she dives off a cliff into unexpectedly shallow water.
No regrets. Even if it kills me.
I crouch down, ducking beneath the craggy branches of a manzanita tree, when a sharp, hot pain sears across my left calf. I glance back, kicking up my heel to assess the damage. A thin red trickle oozes from the cut, a victim of a thorny bush.
Okay, one regret. I wish I’d packed long pants. Jean shorts and a halter bikini top seemed like a smart wardrobe choice this morning when I thought I’d just be lounging on the houseboat all day, soaking up rays. Meandering through the woods in search of suitable firewood? Not so much.
“Annie?” Jack calls from somewhere deep in the tangled mass of trees. “Find anything?”
“Just my blood type,” I shout back, only half kidding.
He laughs, joyful and strong. “Okay, Magellan. Follow the sound of my voice. I’ve gathered a pile of kindling we can carry back to the beach.”
I turn and stumble over a tree root stealthily barring my path. “Shit!” I pitch forward, face-planting in a branch as my sandal goes flying.
“You okay?” Jack asks, closer now. I can hear the crunching of his shoes against the underbrush.
“Oh, you know me,” I say, hopping on one foot to retrieve my flip-flop, “making friends and influencing people.”
“You’re so sexy when you’re sarcastic.” Jack jogs over to me, kicking up the thin covering of dead leaves and broken twigs, and with a strength that belies his wiry frame, he loops an arm around my waist and helps me peg-leg it over to my flip-flop. I feel like a total dork, helpless in the woods after the loss of my impractical footwear, but Jack just beams at me, dimple dancing with his ever-changing smirk, putting me at ease.
As I bend over to retrieve the missing shoe, I feel Jack’s fingertips graze against the exposed skin of my back, just below my shoulder blades. I turn to face h
im, heart rate accelerating as I see his hooded smile, a telltale sign that he’s got naughty thoughts on his mind. His body is inches from mine, so close I can feel the heat radiating from him. After traipsing through the woods for thirty minutes, his cheeks are tinged with pink, his skin glistening with a thin layer of sweat, and as he hooks his fingers through the belt loops on my shorts and pulls my hips toward him, the tingling in my stomach moves lower.
Suddenly, I can’t remember anything: not the firewood, not the houseboat anchored near the beach, not the rest of our friends drinking Red Bull and vodka on board, waiting for us to return. All I can think about is my pale freckled skin against Jack’s, and how those two things feel so good when they’re this close together.
“You’re beautiful, Annie.”
“No, I’m not.” Cute, maybe. But beautiful? That adjective is reserved for girls like Frankie—tall, slender, with flawless skin and a mane of luxurious dark hair. Next to her, I’m literally a redheaded stepchild.
“You are,” Jack whispers, making me believe it. He sweeps my auburn hair away from my neck before he plants a kiss in the crook above my shoulder. It’s my sweet spot, my magical kill switch that destroys inhibitions and turns my innards to jelly. My eyes flit open as a moan escapes me.
That’s when I see it. Something moving in the woods. It’s just a blur, a dark shadow dashing behind a tree in the gathering twilight, gone in an instant.
I stiffen, eyes wide, body on alert.
“What’s wrong?” Jack asks absently, nuzzling my neck.
“I saw something.”
He presses his lips to my ear. “A glimpse of heaven?”
Normally, I’d laugh at Jack’s lame joke, but the shadowy figure leaves me feeling uneasy. “There was something in the trees.”
Jack doesn’t turn around to look. “Probably just Rob or Terrence looking for us.”
I want to believe him, but the shadow I saw was taller and more massive than any of our friends. “I don’t think so. It was—”
“Jack?” someone calls from the woods.
Ugh. I know that voice.
Jack groans, leaning his head on my shoulder. “Looks like Frankie found us. Guess you saw something after all.”
“I wish I hadn’t.”
“Jack, is that you?” Frankie coos.
“I can’t believe she’s on this trip with us,” I say under my breath.
Jack plants a playful kiss on my lips. “Don’t let her get to you, okay? Remember why we’re here.”
I swallow, forcing intimate images of Jack and Frankie from my mind. “To do everything we’ve always wanted to do,” I recite, “but were too afraid.” I know the line by heart because I coined it three months ago when I came up with the idea for our summer bucket list.
“So let’s just make sure we have fun.” Jack’s voice is pumped with enthusiasm. I can’t tell if it’s real or manufactured. Probably a combo. He cups my chin with his hand. “Promise?”
I’d promise you anything. “Promise.”
“Boo!” Frankie pops her head around a tree, her dark eyes so wide her inch-long lashes almost reach her brows. “Oh,” she says the instant her eyes land on me. Her rosebud mouth screws up into scowl. “Am I interrupting anything?”
Always. “Nope,” I say, slipping my hand into Jack’s.
Her eyes shift to him. “How sad for you.”
“What’s up, Frankie?” Jack asks.
She steps out from behind the tree and crosses one impossibly long leg in front of the other, then in one fluid motion she flips her black mane of hair out of her face and lays a delicate hand on her hip. Even in the middle of nowhere, she’s posing like Angelina Jolie on the red carpet. “Just came to see if you needed any help.”
Barf. “We’re good.” I can’t wait until Frankie leaves for NYU in a couple of months. Three thousand miles might be enough distance between us. Might.
“Come on,” Jack says, giving my hand a tug. He studiously avoids Frankie’s eyes as we brush past her. “Let’s get the guys to help with the firewood.”
FIVE
ROB AND GRAHAM ARE RECLINING IN BEACH CHAIRS, BEERS IN hand, when Frankie saunters back to the campsite, followed closely by Jack and me. A ring of stones on the muddy beach marks their contribution to the campfire, while behind them, our rented houseboat bobs calmly in the shallow water. The smell of burning charcoal wafts from the barbecue on the back deck.
“Dude,” Rob says, pausing midsip. “Where’s the firewood?”
Jack nods toward the tree line. “We gathered a stash.”
Rob swivels his beer into the sand and pushes himself to his feet. “I take it you want us to help?” His face is flushed, his narrow eyes puffy from the alcohol.
Frankie struts by him, hips jutting from side to side like a supermodel, then drops into an empty chair. “Make yourself useful, Rob.” Her cry for attention is wasted on him. He’s probably the only person on the planet who hates Frankie more than I do.
But Graham is on his feet in an instant. He rushes to the cooler and grabs a fresh bottle, offering it to her. “Beer?”
Rob fake coughs. “Pussy whipped,” he says through it, then turns to Jack and me. “You guys too busy playing hide the kielbasa to bring it yourselves?”
“Jealous?” I ask.
“Nope.” Rob reaches back and slaps Graham on the ass. “No one hides his sausage as tenderly as Grahamikins here.”
Frankie wrinkles her upper lip. “Gross.”
“You two are adorable.” Jack grabs Rob and Graham by the shoulders. “I can’t wait to see the wedding registry. Now will you help me with the firewood?” The three of them march back into the woods.
I sit down cross-legged on a towel and lean back on my elbows. Frankie makes no attempt at conversation. Shocking.
There’s a splash from near the boat, then Sonya wades up on the beach and jogs toward us. She’s conservatively dressed, as usual, in midthigh shorts and a sweatshirt zipped up to her collarbone with a hood covering her dark hair.
“No fire?” she asks, then glances up at the sky. “It’ll be cold once the sun goes down.”
I try not to laugh. “It was ninety-three today.”
Sonya opens the cooler and grabs a bottle of water. “Yes, and this is a hot summer Mediterranean micro climate with a predicted low of fifty-two degrees tonight.” She cocks her head. “Weren’t you supposed to find firewood?”
Frankie snorts. “That’s not the kind of wood Annie was looking for.”
Three hours into this trip and I already want to strangle her. “At least there was wood for me to find.”
She pushes herself to her feet, glaring down at me from her dazzling height, then without another word, she struts to the waterline and wades into the lake.
“Charming, isn’t she?” I ask under my breath.
Sonya crouches beside me. “If she’d ever seen you on the gun range, she’d think twice about being such a bitch.”
Our parents insisted we have skill with and respect for firearms, but unlike Sonya, who always hated the feel of a gun in her hand, I found target practice to be oddly soothing, especially during my mom’s illness.
“Frankie!” Greer calls from the boat in a singsong voice. She’s wearing an underwire push-up swimsuit that barely covers her boobs, and even from this distance I can tell she’s plastered on more makeup than the drag queens we saw when we took her to the San Francisco Pride Parade last summer. “Come help me with the barbecue?”
Frankie continues to gaze out at the lake, pretending not to hear.
“I wish Greer wouldn’t waste her time on Frankie,” I say quietly. “She can do better.”
Sonya nods. “That’s what college is for.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see a figure round the headland at the north end of the beach. Tall, lithe, jogging with the easy gait of an experienced distance runner, I recognize Terrence’s stride right away.
And so does Sonya. She bolts to her feet, sloshin
g water on my head, and I can feel the panic radiating from her. “I’ll help you, Greer!”
“Oh,” Greer says, unable to hide her disappointment. She glances at Frankie, who continues to ignore her, then sighs and disappears back into the galley, Sonya close on her heels. I guess my best friend has realized that Terrence has a crush on her. I wonder if the feeling is mutual.
Terrence is seconds behind, and I notice that his eyes are locked on Sonya’s retreating figure as he slides into the hard-packed sand, gawky limbs collapsing in a chaos of angles.
“’Sup?” he says, without even a hint of breathlessness.
Frankie meanders back to her beach chair. “Where were you?”
“Recon. Needed to make sure the island is secure.”
“Secure from what?” I know Terrence is kind of paranoid, but this seems over-the-top even for him.
Terrence shrugs. “Secret government test sites. Drug smugglers. Aliens. Danger lurks everywhere.”
I laugh. Though ridiculous, I find Terrence’s obsession with conspiracy theories endlessly entertaining.
“It’s a reservoir ten miles from your house,” Frankie says. “Not the Caucasus Mountains. I think we’re good.”
“You never know.”
A chill races down my back as a breeze kicks off the lake. “So did you find anything?”
Terrence shakes his head. “Just birds and bugs. Looks like we’re the only campers on Slaughterhouse Island tonight.”
“Oh.” I remember the hulking shadow figure I saw darting through the trees. Jack swore it was just Frankie, but I’m not so sure. “You didn’t happen to see any—”
Sonya kicks open the aft door of the houseboat, interrupting my question. “Annie, can you help me with the grill?” She backs onto the wraparound deck, carrying a plastic tray piled high with raw meat.
Relic Page 2