Swimming Sideways (Cantos Chronicles Book 1)

by CL Walters

  When I walk into art, I feel lighter than I have in months. I continue work on my first project, a sculpture I’ve been working on with half of a doll’s head I found. Seth sits next to me doing little more than tearing strips of paper and rearranging them over the surface of the table. I see him glance toward the easels, where I know Gabe is painting. I wonder about his preoccupation with where Gabe is, suddenly, and wonder if it has anything to do with Gabe’s heroism the other night?

  “So, I know it isn't a trip to Portland, but I have another idea." Seth cuts more blue paper into squares for something he’s planning.

  “What is it?”

  “This Friday is the traditional beach bonfire at The Basin after the football game. Would you come with me?" He places the blue paper into corresponding stacks of matching colors.

  "Another party?" I glance at him with my lips pressed together and my eyebrows raised. I turn back to the sculpture I’m making and move a wire into place.

  He chuckles. "No. Not like that kind. Promise."

  “Not that kind of what?" Gabe’s voice interrupts surprising me. I’ve been in school for weeks, and this is the first I’ve seen him interact with anyone. He reaches for the pencil at his spot on the table.

  Seth glances at the easels where Gabe had been only a moment before and then back at Gabe next to him.

  It is clear that Seth is surprised so I answer, “The Basin on Friday; it isn’t a party."

  “Yes, it is,” Gabe says4

  “It isn’t like you’ve ever gone,” Seth says.

  Shocked by Seth’s rudeness, I look at him and then back at Gabe. The noise in the room quiets as though a volume dial has been turned down. Only the sound of Mr. Mike talking to someone.

  Gabe, devoid of emotion, no anger, no hatred, nothing, looks at Seth and replies, “Yeah, Peters. Want to share why that is?”

  I jump into the conversation, puzzled and concerned even though Gabe is so passive that it is scary. “I’ll think about it," I say to Seth and wonder if my mom and dad will even let me out of the house.

  Seth looks at Gabe again and surprises me by saying. “You should come too, Daniels.”

  Gabe doesn’t respond and returns to his easel.

  “Your Dad’s going to let you out the night before a game,” I ask irritated with him for his behavior toward Gabe and unable to align the Seth who acts one way with me with the Seth who acts another way toward Gabe. “After what happened this weekend?”

  “I’m pretty sure," he says.

  14

  AMONG THE JUNK

  I know where to find him. Why I want to isn’t something I want to analyze. It’s an impetuous decision that I justify is rooted in trying to do the right thing. So, after PE, at the beginning of lunch, a couple of days after Gabe spoke up in art, I retrace the steps I’d taken all those weeks ago.

  Sure enough, a peak around the building and there he is on the hood of that junkyard car. I look around to make sure I haven’t been followed and he’s alone. No witnesses to what I’m about to do. I do feel a shade of guilt for even worrying about it, but the residual effects of ostracism is bone deep. I step out from behind the building and walk toward him. I shiver, not sure if it’s from the threatening cold that is beginning to take hold of the season or of being this vulnerable.

  Why are you doing this again? the Abbies ask me.

  Gabe doesn’t notice me right away. When I’m a few steps from the car, he looks up from his lunch and freezes. I suppress a laugh finding it funny. It’s as though he thinks if he doesn’t move I won’t see him. He shifts his head to see behind me, checking to see if I’m alone. When he realizes I am, he pulls the ipod nubs from his ears. “What are you doing?”

  “May I join you?” I ask.

  “Are you sure you want to be seen with me?" His jaw clenches while he waits for my answer. A wall of defense has been raised.

  “Does anyone come back here but you?” I ask and smile at him.

  “You did.”

  The truth is: I don’t want to be seen with him. I’m still afraid his social status will rub off on me and that is why I took such great care to make sure both of us are alone. I don’t want to tell him that, but I think he already knows. So, I say, "I thought some fresh air sounded good."

  Gabe studies me and I can see an argument playing out over his features. His brows are drawn together, a deep crease between his bright eyes. He frowns, and then something changes. He moves from the center of the car toward the driver’s side, leaving the passenger hood and windshield for me to share.

  I realize in that moment that this is a big deal. What had Hannah said? He just isn’t interested in letting anyone befriend him. Little bells go off in my head singing I’d won some sort of battle. I climb up onto the hood of the car and lean against the window, pretty sure I’d done so with about as much grace as a hiker after a mountain rain traipsing through the muddy path. A glance at Gabe reveals that he’s amused by my uncool climb onto the car. “What are you smiling at?” I ask.

  “Nothing.” His gruff reply is finished with a bite of an apple.

  We sit in silence each of us eating our lunches. I’m enjoying the nip of cold against my skin and the small victory.

  Why are we here? Good and Bad Abby ask.

  Like a song on repeat I’m recounting the list: our encounter in the hallway; the heroic rescue from walking home; his speaking up in art; his words, like me bumping into you in the hall that day. These have become a broken record in my mind. Add that to the English lesson in which I was faced with my own struggle with either-or thinking; not everything is black and white. I can’t leave my curiosity about him alone. It has gotten the better of me, and maybe I’m a glutton for punishment, but I need to reach out to him if only to ease my own conscience.

  “It’s a nice day,” I say and think it feels as ridiculous as it sounds.

  “How did you know I would be here?”

  He’s looking at me and I resist the temptation to squirm. How does ‘I stalked you,’ sound? I say: “I saw you one day,” instead, and then change the subject. “And I owe you thanks. For the other night.”

  “You already thanked me,” he says and looks away, leans back against the car. I think he’s going back into silent mode.

  “Something’s different,” I say. It feels awkward and desperate, but I don’t want him to retreat.

  He glances at me again. “What are you talking about?”

  “Since that ride. I mean, you spoke in art. I thought-”

  “What? What did you think?”

  I don’t respond to his question, unsure of what to really think. Maybe that he was reaching out? That I understand, but if I say that I reveal too much about myself.

  “That I’m going to be like him?” He asks.

  I know that when he says him he’s referring to Seth. It’s a strange question.

  I know he’s nothing like Seth. He’s like a Rembrandt painting. His even skin, the shape of his nose and mouth, the proportional distance between his eyes, the line of his jaw; he’s flawless. He’s the shape of a mountain, chiseled and strong, unmovable. He’s quiet and shy. Nothing like vivacious and loquacious Seth. They are the yin and yang of a whole. No. Gabe is just himself, without apologies. Day in and day out he takes what people dish out. He resists fighting back. He’s set apart from everyone else because he overcomes just by resisting the temptation to stoop. But his question confounds me.

  “I didn’t mean-”

  “I’m not a project,” he says.

  “I didn’t think-”

  “Then what did you think? What do you want?”

  “Why did you speak up?” I ask. “You haven’t said anything all year except when we were alone in the truck on the way back to Cantos. And then, a couple of days later, you speak up in art. Why Gabe? What’s different? And why does this have anything to do with Seth?”

  He’s flustered and warring with whatever he’s feeling. He looks at his partially eaten apple, twist
s it back and forth in his hand. I wish he knew he could trust me, but why would he? No one has ever been trustworthy. Not for him. I could reach out and share my experience with him, tell him my sorrows and shame. But I don’t.

  I sigh instead. “Okay.”

  “Okay, what?”

  “I get it. You don’t trust me.”

  “I don’t know you, Abby. I don’t trust, Seth.”

  Again with Seth. What the heck? “How come?” I ask.

  “You’ll have to ask him that.” He leans back and puts in his earbuds dismissing me.

  He’s gone and I wish I could have done this better, though I don’t know exactly what this is. I’ve ruined it, somehow. I climb off the car and say even though he’s ignoring me, my words lost to whatever filters into his ears, “I’m sorry. I was just…” and I stop. I don’t know what to say or what I was trying to accomplish. So, I turn around and walk away. Gabe doesn’t stop me, and I guess I’m glad, because what is there left to say?

  15

  HOW EASY THIS IS

  Fickle weather finally makes its decision: the tide of fall in and pervasive. Clouds roll across the sky like the ocean waves over the water’s surface. Autumn leaves ride the swell of a brisk wind. I play my role as good daughter and ask Mom if I can go to the bonfire. Surprisingly, she agrees. Obviously, the guilt. I'm okay with the dividends it is paying me. There are stipulations however, like an early curfew, like I have to drive myself since Brutus is working for the time being, but at least I can go.

  Hannah comes home with me after school since we're going to the game together. We’ll meet Seth there. Our pre-game ritual consists of dressing and redressing until the perfect outfit is achieved. When we walk downstairs, my mom is in the kitchen cooking some dinner and my father is missing in action though I’ve heard it mentioned several times over this week reminding him that he’s supposed to meet her for their counseling appointment tonight. It’s as though their fight never happened, but the strain is showing on my mom’s face.

  “Don’t be late,” she warns. "You are Cinderella tonight."

  “Yes, Mom,” I sigh.

  "Midnight. Or you turn into Rapunzel locked in her tower," she reiterates.

  "Got it!”.

  When we get to the game, energy radiates through the crowd in the stands like pulses of thunder and lightning in a stormy sky. Hannah and I make our way to the students’ section and find most of her friends. We stand throughout the first part of the game until halftime when we sit, eat concession food and laugh a lot.

  “Have you seen Seth?” Hannah asks looking around the crowd.

  “Say cheese," I say and snap her photograph when she smiles at me. "No. I wonder where he is.” I snap another picture of the field.

  “OMG,” Hannah whispers and indicates I should look behind me. “I can’t believe he’s here. He never comes to games."

  I turn my head to find Gabe a couple of rows up. His gaze meets mine I’m bewildered, chills running a marathon across my skin. After the other day in the junkyard, I’d figured he’d written off socializing. Not another word in art, but him being here at a football game - alone - where every Cantos High student can see him, mock him, or throw their cruel words is a loud message. He belongs. His mouth barely lifts at the corners, a slight smile. It isn’t the look of a coward, but the look of someone who maybe accepts my friendship. I lift my chin to acknowledge him.

  “Hey Abby."

  I look away from Gabe and see Seth has arrived. He sits next to me.

  “Say cheese!” I snap a photograph of him and then give him a hug. The safety of his arms around me is complete security. I rest a moment there though not too long to seem strange. Is that what you want? Bad Abby asks and Gabe’s face is a snapshot in my mind. I ignore Bad Abby and smile at Seth finding security in his smile. “I wondered where you were. It’s a good game.”

  “Sorry,” he smiles. “I had to wait for my dad.”

  “Well, we’re winning.”

  “It should make the bonfire fun.” He’s still smiling. That dimple connects with a nerve in my spine. Good Abby reminds me how easy this is - between he and I.

  I look away, snapping another photograph of the field where the halftime show is happening.

  “Hey, I didn’t bring my truck. May I ride out to the beach with you?” he asks. He leans forward, elbows on his knees, and cracks each knuckle of his left hand before glancing at me. I notice the brightness of his amber eyes and think he looks a little wild. Warmth swells over my skin.

  “Sure,” I say, “But I have a curfew. I’m Cinderella tonight, so you may not want to go with me.”

  “That’s perfect,” he says. “I need to be in early anyway because I have a game.”

  I glance back to where Gabe was sitting, but he isn’t there. I look around but don’t spot him in the crowd. I wonder where he’s gone, but push it from my mind. This night, right now, is what needs my attention.

  When we arrive at the beach after the game, I hold onto Hannah as we descend into The Basin. Immersed in the crowd, Hannah leads us down a steep path at a snail’s pace. Flashlights dance in the darkness along the switch back trail, beams cutting through the night as though stars shine from earth. There is a hum of excitement, voices and footsteps, laughter, and the rustle of detritus shifting along the path. When we reach the bottom, a fire has already been started reaching light toward the darkened recesses of the beach and pulling us from the shadows. Driftwood and boulders are situated around the fire pit. I find Seth, who’s already found a seat and join him.

  “What do you think?” He asks.

  “I can see why it is a tradition. This is really nice. More my vibe.” The shadow of a cliff shields us from the open Pacific Ocean and rises in the distance. Our bonfire is on the secluded inlet. The vibe is more relaxed and casual, where one might find joy in the sound of the surf or feel the heat of a bonfire if they could let go and do so. I allow myself to think about Hawaii and how it is 2500 miles into the west of that same ocean. 2500 miles from us. 2500 miles from my heart. I glance at the fire and think that maybe I could fill the emptiness inside me by just letting go of all of the worries: the video, my parents, Seth. I can take this night for me and fill that hollow space in my chest, right?

  I watch Hannah move from person to person, a social butterfly.

  Seth says, “This only works in the summer and fall. It’s too dangerous any other time of year. Too many deaths from sneaker waves because of the tides.”

  I watch the fire and the people around it. It is a party, alcohol and revelry - someone has set up a speaker bouncing out music - but it is very different energy from the party at Jessie’s the other night. Either that, or I’m different. I don’t feel the pull of anxiety and the fear of the past sitting there. Maybe it isn’t that I don’t feel it, but that that hollowness in my body means it’s gone. I focus on the heat of the fire, its sound and dance, and find it soothing. I look at Seth and feel security even after what happened only a week ago. There’s something more honest between us now, as though balance has been restored. Looking at him, and his eyes on me, fills me up in a way that settles my insides and occupies the space.

  “You cried the other night,” Seth says. “At the party.”

  “You remember?”

  “I might not remember much, but that I do. What happened? Was is because I’d been an idiot?”

  I smile, shaking my head. “No,” I say, but I don’t offer any more than that.

  “I know I broke your trust. I’m afraid I’ll never get it back.”

  I turn in my seat, pulling a knee up onto the log. It is pressed against his thigh and he doesn’t move. I try to ignore the radiant energy where I touch him and focus on what I need to say. “We’re friends, Seth.” I stop and run my hands over my own thighs, suddenly nervous and unsure, but I know that I need to say this. “We all make mistakes. Let’s agree to let it go.”

  He nods and searches my face. The firelight flirts with his eyes. “S
o, about the tears?”

  “I just let the party get to me. Last time I went to one, back in Hawaii-” I begin to think I could tell him. But Good Abby steps in: Too much. “I just have regrets, you know? So when we danced, I just couldn’t get ahold of my emotions. It’s stupid.”

  “No. It isn’t,” he says. “We all have regrets.”

  “Since we’re being open, what happened between you and Gabe?” I ask.

  “What?” He looks away from me at the fire. The question has thrown him off.

  “Best friends from middle school. We covered this. I want to know why when you two look at each other it’s like you’re ready to tear each other’s throats out. What happened?”

  He looks away and watches the fire for a while. “You seem really interested in that. In Daniels.” The light plays with his features, the shadows and light making him look different, not as sure of himself. “Do you like him?” He asks and there’s a remnant of something that hurts in the tone of his voice. It’s an insecurity that is born from a different experience and I wonder about it.

  My gaze flies to his face, surprised. “That’s a weird question.” It makes me nervous.

  “Is it?”

  “I think so. What makes you think that?”

  He shrugs. “You look at him.”

  “I look at you too.”

  He glances down at his hands and then shakes his head. “No. You see him.” He studies my face.

  Panic jumps up into my throat, as if I’ve suddenly tumbled into territory that could ruin what Good Abby thinks is the right thing: Seth - the easy thing. “I see you. I’m very observant. Jealous?” I smile but it misrepresents the maelstrom of worry that maybe I’ve ruined something. Seth can fill the empty spaces.

  He’s still regarding me and his gaze dips to my mouth. I notice he avoids my question and feel relieved that he’s looking at my lips, still interested.

  “You have a talent for that, you know?” I say.

  “For what?” He asks.