The Opposite of Here

by Tara Altebrando

  Behind a painting, I find a safe in the wall.

  We need a four-digit code to open it.

  Shaun finds a magnet on a string in a coat pocket.

  Nora holds up a notepad where there’s the faintest impression of some numbers. She reads them off. I punch them in on the safe keypad, and it clicks open.

  Inside, there is an envelope. And a massive pile of fake cash. Also a small locked box.

  “Who would want to kill her for the money?” Ben asks, and he goes back to our list of suspects and what little we know of them.

  Lexi puts the batteries in the flashlight as I read the note in the envelope aloud.

  “To Whom it May Concern. I have reason to believe my life is in danger, and if you find this letter, it means that I had good reason. I dare not name any names for fear of repercussions for my family. But I hope that the truth will one day come to light.”

  Leo finds a printout of a map that gives directions to a pier. There is some sand in the shoes by the door to the room. So our victim definitely made it to that pier and back.

  She had a bar tab that was closed at 8:50 p.m. Right before she was supposed to meet Alex.

  “I still have this magnet, and no idea what it’s for,” Shaun says.

  Everyone decides to focus on that, looking over every inch of the room again.

  We’re going in circles.

  It’s making my head hurt.

  Nate studies a small statue of a cat, but it’s just a statue.

  Then I find a small key in the bottom of a vase and Shaun says, “Aha!” and uses the magnet to retrieve it with steady hands. But the key doesn’t open the small box we found in the safe.

  “Maybe we missed something,” I say, “in the first room.”

  So I go back to the lobby. Shaun comes. Charlotte, too.

  “This is fun,” Shaun says to her as they look through the mailboxes again.

  “Yes,” she says. “It is.”

  “There has to be a clue in that note,” I say to no one in particular. “Something about the flashlight? And the truth coming to light?”

  I study all the papers on the front desk. One of them is just a blank piece of paper, which seems weird.

  I head back to the other room to get the flashlight.

  “Nooooo,” Lexi says, watching our final seconds tick away.

  A loud buzzer mocks us.

  The door swings open. And just like that—released—I don’t really care about the mystery anymore at all.

  We pour out of the room and onto the nearest deck and grab chairs by one of the snack stands. Some of the guys get burgers, and Ben sits across from me with his. “It’s going to drive me bonkers that we didn’t figure it out,” he says.

  I think I’m already over it.

  “That’s a cool necklace,” he says. “The one with the bar. Is it like map coordinates?”

  “Yup,” I say.

  “Where for?”

  “Oh, just a place that, you know, means something to me.”

  “Why? What kind of place?”

  “You know what? I’m starving for some reason.” I get up and go order some pizza. It’s not his fault. Still.

  Nora’s talking to Ben now, with her back to me while I wait for my slice, then it arrives. Charlotte and Shaun are talking and laughing, bemoaning our inability to escape in time. “You pulled your weight, at least,” Charlotte says.

  Shaun says, “I try.”

  “I was kind of useless,” she says.

  “You’re too hard on yourself,” he says.

  Right as I’m about to take my seat, Nora says, “Sometimes I want to rip it off her neck.”

  “Wow,” I say, putting my pizza down. “Tell us how you really feel.”

  She turns.

  I say, “Why do you care so much about my necklace?”

  “You really want to do this now?” In spite of her words, she looks eager for it.

  “Do what?” I guess I want her to start it.

  She steps away from the boys, and I follow.

  She whirls around at me. “You wear it like some kind of trophy or prize or something. Like you guys are still together or like pledged forever even though you’re ridiculously obsessed with these twins.”

  “Why do you care?”

  She looks away like she’s gathering energy and then says, “Because he was going to break up with you, Natalie! It was over. He just never had the chance to tell you.”

  “He was going to be with you. Is that it?”

  “Yes. He was going to be with me.” She starts crying and wiping away tears, and it’s like I have no idea who she is anymore. “I mean, he was on his way to tell you when he—”

  EXT. CEMETERY -- DAY

  A small gathering, an older teen--RICH--is beside the casket, eyes closed. Crying. Nearby, a teenage girl--this is NATALIE--sits stoically, like embarrassed for him.

  A young girl in a lavender dress leans over to her mother.

  GIRL

  (whispering)

  What’s in the box?

  Her mother shushes her. Elsewhere, another teen--this is NORA--starts sobbing. She’s at the back of the group, inconsolable, even as her friends--LEXI and CHARLOTTE--try to calm her. It’s no use.

  LEXI

  (to Charlotte)

  We have to get her out of here.

  “I’m sorry.” More fake-sounding sobs. “I never wanted to tell you that, but it doesn’t feel right not telling you anymore.”

  It changes everything about that day, the crash. I’ve been picturing him, with the windows down, radio blaring, oblivious that he was running late. I’ve been picturing him playing drums on the steering wheel and just not paying quite enough attention. I’ve been picturing a car swerving, causing him to swerve. I’ve been imagining him having a last thought about me—about loving me—before it ended. But none of that is real.

  He’d been on his way to break up with me. Was he feeling dread? Relief? Nausea? All of the above? Was he looking forward to getting it over with and being, what, free?

  Like I feel now?

  I’m still wearing both necklaces. I take the initial one off and hold it out to her. “You can keep this. It’s an N anyway, so you’re all set.”

  “Why, so I can pretend he gave it to me?”

  “What are you talking about?” How would she possibly know?

  “He wouldn’t have bought it for you when he knew he was going to break up with you. I know you bought it for yourself.”

  “Oh, so what if I did?”

  I go to our spot. Not that there’s any reason to think of it that way, not really. But I’m pulled there, as if by a tide.

  Of course I want him to be there. For all sorts of reasons. So I can apologize? So I can confront him about how he was talking to Ray like it’s no big deal? So I can tell him about Paul.

  Of course he isn’t there.

  Why would he be?

  I don’t go anywhere near the edges of the ship because my feet are drunks. The wind is a steady fan set to medium-high. My sweater blows open and shut. I find a chair in the center of the deck as close to the indoors as I can. And because I refuse to look at the water, I choose sky.

  I choose moon and stars and clouds.

  I choose big dippers and little dippers.

  I close my eyes and I see 27°58'39.108" N, 82°49'37.505" W behind my lids.

  Home seems so very far away now, like a dream within a dream. I’ve already forgotten what it’s like to get up and shower and eat and go to school, and for a second I have to think hard about my locker combination. There’s still a photo of me and Paul in there, stuck to the back of the door with putty. In it, we’re on the beach—our beach—his arm thrown heavily around my shoulders.

  Michael comes through the glass doors near me and stops for a second as we lock eyes. I don’t know how I can tell them apart at this point—maybe because I haven’t seen Ray up close in days—but I can. I regret ever doubting him.

  He s
its down next to me. “You okay?”

  I nod even though it’s not entirely true. Am I okay? Where to start?

  “I saw you and your friends just now. It looked … tense.”

  “I saw you today, too,” I say. “I saw you together.”

  “You did?” His head tilts in surprise. “Where?”

  “On the beach. You were talking like nothing was wrong—”

  “It wasn’t like that,” he interrupts. “At all.”

  “What were you doing together?”

  “I heard him in his cabin this morning and followed him to the island and confronted him.”

  “Where has he been this whole time?”

  “He was everywhere. Nowhere. I don’t know. He says he just got very good at hiding from me and our parents. But he also …”

  “Also what?”

  “He saw us together, I guess? You and me? And, well, he’s messing with my head. He was talking about how easy it would be for him to find you and pretend to be me and … like, hook up with you.”

  “That’s messed up.”

  “He’s messed up. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. You didn’t see him today, did you? He didn’t … try anything?”

  “No.”

  “Good.” He stretches his legs out on the lounger, accepting that we’re going to be a while. “What happened? With your friend?”

  It still feels unreal. Saying it will make it more real. I hesitate, but then I let it out. “Turns out my boyfriend was on his way to break up with me when he crashed his car. They just told me.”

  He lays his head back in his chair, looking up at the sky. “That’s a lot to take in.”

  “Yes, it is.” I nod.

  “I’m really sorry.”

  “And he was dumping me for one of my best friends.”

  “One of the friends who’s here?”

  “Yes.”

  “Ugh.”

  We’re quiet. The locker combination is 10-25-38. When I next open it up, I’ll take down that photo without even looking at it. Truth is I never liked it that much anyway; it’s just one of the few actual prints of any photos of us together that I have. I never liked the way I seemed to be collapsing under the weight of his arm.

  Michael reaches out and gently squeezes my hand. I swing my legs down to face him, and right then, the wind catches his shirt and blows it off to the side and I get a glimpse of ink on his collarbone, the beginning swirl of the A in Amelia. My eyes dart to his wrist—no string bracelet.

  The ship rises and falls—or maybe it’s just my heart.

  I don’t know anything.

  I’m so sick of people lying.

  “I have to go,” I say.

  “But—” He grabs me, sees me looking at his wrist. “It fell off in the—”

  “Let go of me!” I scream, and he does.

  I run.

  INT. SUBURBAN BASEMENT -- NIGHT

  A shy-looking teenage girl--this is NATALIE--is sitting on a couch and not looking that well. There is a red plastic keg cup in her hand. She puts it down and gets up and stumbles as she walks to a sliding glass door, opens it.

  EXT. SUBURBAN BACKYARD -- NIGHT

  A dimly lit pool. A covered gas grill. Some bikes strewn on a lawn. She leans against the house, unsteady.

  A teenage boy, let’s call him ZACK, steps outside with her, walks over, reaches to brush her hair out of her face, leans into her, pushes her up against the wall, and starts to kiss her, then his hand goes up her skirt. He stops kissing but is rhythmically pressing against her. She stiffens and pushes, but it’s no use. He’s overpowering her.

  ZACK

  Just relax.

  Another boy--this is MATT--steps out into the yard.

  MATT

  Everything okay out here?

  Zack groans. Natalie walks past Zack and past Matt.

  INT. SUBURBAN BASEMENT -- NIGHT

  Natalie walks through, head down.

  INT. STAIRCASE -- NIGHT

  Up she goes.

  INT. SUBURBAN FOYER -- NIGHT

  She goes out the front door--

  EXT. SUBURBAN FRONT PORCH -- NIGHT

  --and throws up in the bushes.

  I gasp at gunfire.

  No, it’s fireworks.

  I’m winded from running, but I think I’ve put enough distance between us, so I slow to a walk by the shuffleboard courts.

  I picture the girls, all gathered on the top deck, watching the sky light up. I can see their faces lit with colors in my mind’s eye.

  Nora’s probably thinking about Paul, about some special moment they shared.

  Lexi’s probably thinking about Jason and how she’ll just not mention Nate at all when she tells him about the cruise because it’d be too hard to explain.

  Charlotte; maybe thinking about how different she feels this week, how free.

  They’re all hopefully maybe a little bit worried about me and what Nora’s news will do to me. Maybe they’re not even watching the fireworks; maybe they’re looking for me.

  I think again about the sea below us, whether any creatures down there hear the booms and see flickers of color on the surface of the water. Do they watch with fascination, or do they bury their heads in the sand and worry that maybe the world is ending?

  I walk just to walk—the farther the better. I cut through empty dining halls where lights glint off empty metal trays. I drift past the windows of crowded shops. I disappear into a movie theater—usually a favorite place to be—but they’re doing a marathon of episodes of an old show called The Love Boat, and it’s too cheery and dated to bear.

  I walk out.

  Back on deck, I want to sit, but all the chairs are stacked for the night.

  I pass another kid doing the detective stories in the digital paintings. She’s trying to solve the mystery of the stolen stars. I want to be that young again, that innocent.

  “Natalie!”

  He’s there. He’s chasing me?

  But which one is it?

  “Don’t even talk to me!” I shout.

  An elevator opens, and I rush in and hit the door close button frantically.

  I get off at a random floor and circle the halls. I want to scream, but something has snatched my voice.

  So I just run—and people are staring—and I end up out on a windy deck and have to make sure to stay away from the railings because I don’t trust myself not to stumble.

  I see lifeboats strapped to the ship above my head and know there are some below me, too. I could carefully climb over a rail and stow away until the coast is clear?

  No, that would be insane.

  What if I slipped and …?

  “Natalie!” His voice again. “I just want to talk!”

  The ship is too big, too small; too empty, too crowded.

  How could I have been wrong … again?

  I pass a massive towel cabinet. I could climb in and curl up small among thick white towels.

  I want to call Mr. Cassidy and ask him if maybe this is the dark night of my soul.

  Or was it the day Paul died?

  Or that night at Nora’s?

  Maybe it’s still coming. But when?

  A year from now? Or twenty? Tomorrow?

  When I’m in it, will I know?

  “Natalie! Where are you?” he calls out.

  Where do you hide when there’s nowhere to go?

  I pound on my parents’ door; my mother opens it, half-asleep; reads something in my face.

  “Natalie? What is it?”

  I let out a sob and she pulls me into a hug and all I can think to say is, “I want to go home.”

  Pisces Day 6!

  Bonus! FUN DAY AT SEA

  Highlights:

  7:00 a.m. — Yoga with Jan

  8:00–10:00 a.m. — Omelet Station on the Boardwalk

  9:00 a.m.–12 noon — Talent Show Sign-Up at Guest Services

  11:00 a.m. — Family Karaoke in the Lunar Lounge

  Your profess
ional cruise photographs available for purchase all day, Atrium balcony

  Matinee movie: Seeing Stars (documentary)

  2:00–4:00 p.m. — Acoustic Afternoon on the Aquarius Deck with Mike Maddox

  4:00 p.m. — Painting Party—Supernova Teen Lounge

  8:00 p.m. — “You’re the Stars!” Talent Show! Passengers show off their mad skills: everything from juggling to singing and dancing to hypnosis demonstrations and more. Lunar Lounge

  8:00 p.m. — Ping-Pong Tournament—Supernova Teen Lounge

  8:00 p.m. and 10:00 p.m. — Stars of the Sea—modern dance extravaganza. NOT TO BE MISSED!

  I wake up early feeling different, reset.

  The ship is gray everywhere, mirroring the sky—the whole morning like an old movie. I get up off the sofa in my parents’ cabin and sneak back into ours and study Nora for a moment; her two-tone hair; her sculptor’s nose.

  A voice inside me says it’s not her fault.

  Not her fault that she liked him.

  I head out, and up, and I cut across the quiet Boardwalk.

  The ship is barely awake; there’s a man up there on one of the interior balconies and I’m tempted to wave.

  Back through another set of doors, I find the Internet café.

  I snuck into my house that night, undetected, and crawled under the covers. I had this small sort of sculpture/doll of a girl dancing with a long ribbon that hung over my bed. I’d been talking about getting rid of it, and my mother always said something like, “Oh, don’t. It’s so pretty, and you’ve had it forever.” I just thought I’d outgrown it. I reached up and tapped it so that it started to spin, and I cried because I wanted so badly to be younger again and more innocent, the kind of girl who’d look at that doll and ribbon and have it spark happy thoughts and daydreams, not doom.

  I slept it off and woke up in the morning and pretended I’d just come home. And that everything was fine even though I felt as though someone were wringing my insides like a dishrag.

  I’d read the stories about girls who’d been seriously molested for real and raped and Sharpied with obscene things. I’d heard of girls whose lives had been destroyed by photos of stuff they’d done and tweets that got retweeted to infinity. I spent the whole day wondering if he was going to say something bad about me in school, or worse on social media. I wanted to tell someone, but who was there to tell?