“What do you mean?” Clarissa asked.
“There’s some sort of issue with the sleeping arrangements.”
“What?” Demetria said. “What issue?”
“Well, the island caretaker is what some would term a tad old-school. He says that he won’t put us girls in the same building as the other knights. We have to sleep elsewhere.”
“What?” Clarissa asked.
At this, I seriously considered staying on the boat.
Demetria frowned. “Are you sure it’s Victorian sensibilities? Maybe there’s something else going on here.”
“What?” Clarissa asked. “Are you taking up the mantle of Amy’s conspiracy theories?”
“Well, she’s hardly in any shape to do so!” Demetria replied. She turned to Jenny. “Go back and tell this guy that Eli dorms went co-ed ages ago. We have gender-free bathrooms and everything.”
“You do it,” Jenny said. “Or am I the only one expected to get treated like a second-class citizen around here?”
“If the shoe fits,” Demetria muttered. She’d never really forgiven Jenny for the whole website fiasco last semester.
“Guys,” I said through my sore throat, “what’s the problem here? Where exactly do they propose to put us?”
“Just another cabin. But it’s kind of on the far side of the island. A bit out of the way.”
“So what?” Clarissa said. “It’s not like the island is that big to start with.”
“It’s the principle of the thing,” Demetria said. “Why do we have to be the ones to go away? Put the boys there if he insists on separating us.”
“And where’s the principle of that thing?” Clarissa replied. Demetria appeared to concede the point.
“Also,” Jenny said, “it doesn’t have its own bathroom. We’d have to hike back to use the shower house near the kitchens.”
“What?” I asked, while Clarissa shrugged and Demetria’s expression grew mildly less combative. “What do you mean, no bathrooms? What kind of luxury resort is this?”
All three of them blinked at me. “What do you mean?” Clarissa asked. “It’s our own private island. How much more luxurious can it get?”
And that was Miss Park Avenue talking. I instantly felt foolish.
“Yeah,” Jenny said. “No other club on campus has an island to call their own.”
What could I say to that? That I’d been expecting a fair approximation of the Ritz, on top of my own private island? I sank even farther into the bench cushions. Spring Break Score: so far, so crappy.
“Poor Amy,” Clarissa said, sitting by my side and putting a hand on my shoulder. “Don’t worry. If I’d been through what you had today, I’d be looking for some creature comforts as well. It’s okay. As soon as this tour is over, we’ll get you all settled in.”
“I’ll skip the tour,” Jenny offered, crouching on my other side. “I’ll find my way around later. Like Clarissa said, it’s not like Cavador Key is that big to start with. Besides,” she added. “I owe you one.” True. I’d stood by Jenny during her nervous breakdown last semester.
“What about George?” Clarissa asked. “He’s been here before. He can take her to her cabin.”
“I’m sure the last thing Amy wants is to have George tuck her into bed,” Demetria said.
“Maybe the last thing you would want,” Clarissa said under her breath, but I heard it nonetheless.
Before I had a chance to react, I heard someone clear his throat, and then Poe was standing there, still sopping. His black hair was swept back from his face, except for a few lone strands that hung over his forehead like slash marks and left trails of water sliding over his cheekbones.
Had no one given him a towel?
“I came to see if you were all right,” he said, as if the others weren’t standing between us.
“She’s fine, just shaken,” Jenny said, her voice cold.
I opened my mouth to thank him for saving my life, but once again, my sore throat refused to perform.
“I’m taking Darren to his cabin,” Poe continued before I had a chance to choke out my gratitude. “And I’ll help get you to yours if you want. Let our brothers”—his eyes flickered momentarily in Jenny’s direction—“go on the introductory tour.”
“What about you?” Demetria asked.
“I’ve been here before. Patriarch, remember?”
Demetria’s expression said it all. Tough to remember when you’re always hanging around.
“Besides, I could use a change of clothes, too.” He pointed to his sorry attire.
It was amazing how quickly their attitude to Poe warmed once it became clear that he was offering to take responsibility for me. And how could I blame them? There was Spring Breaking to get on with. They hadn’t signed up to babysit a half-drowned brother who currently looked like a fully drowned rat. Within moments, the Diggirls had vamoosed, leaving me alone with Poe on the deck. I stood up at last.
“I just wanted to say—”
“That yours?” Poe interrupted, pointing to my yellow duffle. (It was the only one left on the deck.)
I nodded, noting as I did that Poe’s only luggage seemed to be the knapsack slung across his back. Well, he never had been much for fashion. Still, I remained concerned about what would happen with the clothes in that bag, as the T-shirt he wore was still so wet that it molded to his chest and shoulders. I looked away.
“You have another pair of shoes?” he said, taking in my bare feet. “The paths are all made of crushed shell. They’ll tear you up.”
I knelt and dug in the duffle until I found a pair of ballet flats. So much for showing off my pedicure.
Poe had my bag on his shoulder before I even stood up. We met Darren on the dock, where he was leaning against a pylon, head in hands.
“Feeling any better?” I asked him.
He nodded slightly, but didn’t look up. I wondered briefly if I should tell him that I didn’t blame him for my fall, but I clammed up once I caught Poe’s expression and the almost imperceptible shake of his head.
Of course. Poe would know. The last thing this teenager wanted from me was anything that carried a whiff of pity. He was already feeling guilty enough. I remembered the night Poe had ended up in the hospital after our crook. Nice to see he hadn’t matured much beyond his teens.
But neither was I capable of rolling out one of those guys’-guy faux-threatening comments in my current mental state. I couldn’t just laugh it off in any manner that would seem convincing. I think that ability was bundled with the Y chromosome.
And here we were always arguing for equality of the sexes.
So it was in silence that our little party trailed up the path and past the tour, where a man I supposed was Cavador’s caretaker was busy enlightening a knot of my brothers as to the geologic history of the island.
Maybe I was glad to skip this tour after all. My Spring Break–enthusiast Diggirls looked bored to death. As we passed, a few of my fellow knights twiddled their fingers in my direction, and George gave me a thumbs-up and raised his eyebrows. I smiled weakly in return and he looked relieved.
I’d give Cavador Key this: It may not be a luxury resort, but it sure was beautiful. The spring sunlight filtered through the leaves of shrub pines and palm trees, and the gray-white path snaked through thick palmetto ground cover toward a cluster of buildings. To my right, I saw a mangrove stand hugging the shoreline, and there were red and pink hibiscus flowers as big as my head on bushes all along the path.
We stopped by a low house hugging the path a little away from the main cluster of buildings. “Better stay here,” Poe whispered to me.
Must be the Gehrys’ house. He and Darren headed up the walk, but I don’t think the teen was interested in having the incident repeated to his parents, since he disappeared into the dark interior and shut the door in Poe’s face. Poe stood there for a moment, clearly torn between knocking or letting the whole issue slide. Personally, I’d vote the latter. I didn’t know if
I wanted to know how Kurt Gehry would react to the news that Darren had almost killed me, accident or no.
He might be pleased.
After a moment, Poe returned to me. This of course is when I should have thanked him for saving my life. But for once, I, never at a loss for words, couldn’t think of anything to say that would get the job done. Eloquence deserted me. Even fluency seemed to be taking a coffee break. So instead I decided to have another coughing fit.
Poe paused on the path a few steps ahead of me and waited for me to finish.
The island was bigger than Clarissa and the others had led me to believe. At least, it seemed to take forever for us to get to the girls’ cabin. We trudged along in awkward silence, victim and savior, until finally we broke out of the scrub into a small clearing, and there it was, highly rundown, with dingy screens, a peeling green paint job, a sagging front porch, and a bright orange aluminum roof. I’d given up expecting luxury, and now merely hoped that the cabin would stand up to a rainstorm. (Doubtful.)
“There should be towels and sheets and stuff all set up for you,” Poe said, breaking the silence like a spell.
“Thank you,” I choked out. No. Not right. It sounded like I was thanking him for telling me about the linens. I reached out my arm. “No, really, P—Jamie. Thank you. How can I thank you? I could have died.”
He just looked at me, and then hefted the bag in his arms. “You’re welcome. Do you want me to take the bag in?”
“No,” I said. “I didn’t even want you to carry it this far. I could have found this place by myself.”
“It’s not a problem. Like I said, I need to change, too. So, the bag?”
“I’m fine.” I held out my hands. “Please.”
He handed me my luggage, and once again I faltered. Saying thank you wasn’t enough, even if I said it three times. Even if I said it three hundred. How could I let him carry my freaking bag after he’d saved my life? It was too stupid for words.
So it came out again. “I could have died.”
“I know.” He was quiet for a second. “That’s what happens when you don’t know how to swim.” He quirked his head in the direction of the cabin. “Go lie down for a while. Dinner’s not for hours.”
I made it up the path, my face burning with shame. Yep, way to thank the guy, Amy. And you’re supposed to be a writer.
But it wasn’t as if Poe had helped any. I mean, what kind of guy starts lecturing you about your swimming skills when you’re in the midst of confessing how you’d practically faced mortality that afternoon? Not the time, man, not the time.
The interior of the cabin was warm, and dust motes floated freely in the sunlight that sneaked through the slats and the screened-in windows. Three bunk beds were pushed against the wall, each equipped with fresh sheets, pillows, and sets of towels. There was also a lone dresser next to a sink. No closet. Lovely.
I dropped my stuff on one of the bottom bunks, then dug around in my bag until I found my pajamas and a fresh pair of underwear. I peeled off my still damp clothing, and set about seeing if the sink had hot water, hoping to save myself a trek to the shower house. Negative. I weighed the trouble of hiking back down the path against the hassle of a tepid sponge bath, and decided on the latter.
The towels were pretty scratchy and thin, but big, more like bath sheets. Beach towels, I realized. For people who go to the beach, who actually like the water. I wrapped my body in one towel, and my hair in another. Maybe I’d go sit on the porch until I felt warm again. I looked out the window.
And that’s when I saw him.
Poe was standing on the border of the clearing, acting most peculiarly. He took a few steps toward the cabin, then paused, shook his head, and marched back out. He repeated the move a few times before stomping off for good.
I stood at the window, confused as hell. Why in the world…and then it hit me, way, way harder than the water had when I’d fallen off the boat.
Poe liked me.
9.
Expectations
* * *
My mind was still buzzing when the other girls arrived at the cabin.
“I owe you an apology,” Clarissa said, struggling to heave her Louis Vuitton over the threshold. “You were right. This place is a dump.”
I didn’t even have the presence of mind to look smug. “How was the tour?” I managed.
“Snoozeville,” Jenny said. “And did you know they don’t have Internet access here? How do they survive?”
“On the upside,” Demetria said, “I now know more about Caribbean air currents than I ever thought possible.”
“No Internet access?” I said. “But haven’t Mrs. Gehry and the kids been here for a while? That must suck for Darren.”
“Yeah, he must be so behind on his MySpace updates.” Clarissa rolled her eyes. “Perhaps he can entertain himself figuring out a way to get his spew off my shirt.”
“How are you?” Jenny asked me. “I feel so bad that we dumped you on that jerk.”
I shrugged, mind still whirring. Pour some rum into my skull and we could all have daiquiris at this rate. Poe liked me?
Clarissa was unpacking her second suitcase. “Don’t worry about Amy. She’s actually been known to seek out James’s company from time to time, isn’t that right?”
“I remember,” Jenny said.
“It’s Jamie.” I clamped my mouth shut. Where did that come from?
“What?”
“His name. It’s, um, Jamie.” And how long had he had a crush on me?
“Oh.” Clarissa turned back to brushing the wrinkles out of a silk sundress. “Whatever.”
And how come I’d never noticed it before?
“Tell me how it happened,” Jenny said.
I was curious about that myself. Poe hated me. He thought I was everything wrong with Rose & Grave. At least, that’s what he’d said back in November. But, since then, well, I thought we’d graduated to mutual…respect and neutrality?
“Yo, earth to Amy.” Jenny waved her fingers in my face. “The accident? How did it happen?”
Oh.
“I wasn’t standing by the deck,” Jenny went on. “Weren’t you wearing a life jacket?”
“It ripped right off,” Clarissa said. “It’s my fault. Amy, I’m so sorry.” She looked at Jenny. “I bumped into her and she lost her balance and fell right through the chain gate. And her jacket tore off. It must have gotten caught on something.”
Jenny shook her head. “That doesn’t make any sense. Those things are supposed to be all tough and made of rip-stop nylon and stuff.”
Demetria cut in. “Well, Jamie brought the straps on deck with him. They were completely frayed through. I’m surprised they didn’t fall off when you tried to buckle them. If you wanted to sue, you’d have a pretty good case on your hands. Talk about safety violations—life jackets that fall apart as soon as you hit the water?”
“Who would she sue?” Clarissa asked. “The Diggers? She is a Digger.”
“And if she had died?” Jenny added. “Her parents aren’t in Rose & Grave. They could sue.”
I shivered. I didn’t want to talk about dying anymore. “No one is suing. I just don’t want to get on a boat again unless it’s the one leaving this island.”
“But what are you going to do?” Clarissa asked as Jenny returned to her unpacking. “Not go snorkeling with us tomorrow?”
“Blondie,” Demetria cut in as Jenny started unwinding a long length of cable, “did you not notice the part where she almost drowned today? Cut the girl some slack.”
I chose not to contribute to this conversation and watched as Jenny knelt on the floor and resumed unpacking. First she took out a laptop and a long stretch of Ethernet cable. So far, so normal. Then she took out a large silver bowl, a mess of aluminum foil, and a pair of wire cutters, and I started getting confused.
“What the hell are you doing?” Demetria asked. Her luggage, like Poe’s, consisted of a battered rucksack. Of course, Jenny’s suitcas
e seemed to hold more electronic equipment than actual clothing, so it seemed to be a trend.
“I’m getting us Internet access,” Jenny replied, coiling one end of the cable around her cell phone. She lined the bowl with foil and placed the cord-wrapped phone inside. “Jerry-rigged satellite dish,” she said, and plugged the other end of the cord into her laptop. “Now, let’s see if we can’t pick up any signals.”
“Well, while you pirate wireless, I’m going to take a shower.” Clarissa turned to me. “Amy? Any plans to wash your hair before the introductory dinner?”
I touched my salt-encrusted tresses. Okay, good point. I hadn’t realized how gross seawater made your hair. But I wasn’t sure I wanted to go to dinner, either. “Um…”
“Go take a shower, Amy,” Demetria said, waving me off. “I don’t necessarily think you need to get back on a boat, but you can’t spend your Spring Break hiding in this dump, either. There’s no water at dinner other than the kind they put in glasses.”
Yes, but thanks to Dragon’s Head, I knew exactly how unpleasant those glasses could get.
“Besides,” Clarissa added, “you can’t miss seeing how far the mighty Kurt Gehry has fallen. Aren’t you looking forward to getting all smug in the buffet line?”
Would it be mean to admit I was?
“Here we go,” Jenny announced. “It’s weak, but it works. Anyone want to check their e-mail?”
Eventually the other girls impressed upon me the need to shower and make myself presentable for dinner. While we got ready, they filled me in on the least boring parts of the tour, as well as the loose itinerary for the week. (Unfortunately, it sounded like a lot of snorkeling.)
“And the rules,” Jenny said. “Don’t forget those.” She handed me a crumpled sheaf of papers.
“Right.” Demetria rolled her eyes. “Comandante Saltzman runs a pretty tight ship on Cavador.”
“What a sweet job, though,” Clarissa said. “I want to be an island caretaker when I grow up.” We lapsed into silence as we tried to imagine Clarissa playing servant to anyone.
RULES OF CAVADOR KEY
Rites of Spring (Break) Page 11