Chasing Danger

by Sara Grant

  “Beatrice.” She sighed.

  My mom’s name was Beatrice. I wanted to ask the question that had been burning a hole in me ever since I realized that most kids had two parents, usually a dad and a mom. “Why didn’t she…” My voice broke. It wasn’t just in the past. “Why doesn’t she want anything to do with me?” The second the words were out, I wanted to take them back. I’d never been able to think of any good answers for that question. Waiting for her reply felt the same as making a monster jump on my bike, the thrill of flight knotted with the fear of the fall.

  Ariadne’s shoulders hunched as if my question weighed a zillion pounds. She spoke slowly. “She’s not a bad person. She was a loving and sweet girl who was well liked at school. She received high marks. She excelled at sports.”

  My mom was starting to seem real, but Ariadne was avoiding what I really wanted to know. “That’s not what I asked.”

  Ariadne took a deep breath before responding. “She wasn’t able to be a mother.”

  That was a strange thing to say. “Was she too young? Was she ill? Is she dead?” I thought of reasons someone wouldn’t be able to be a mother.

  Ariadne shook her head. “No, but it’s for the best.”

  My anger took me by surprise. “How can it be for the best?” I shouted.

  “Your mum, my daughter, is a complicated woman,” she said. There was an edge to her voice. I could tell she wasn’t used to anyone yelling at her. “I don’t want to talk about this any more,” she said, and clipped on a pair of diamond chandelier earrings.

  “There’s so much I want to know,” I begged. For so long, I was half my father and half mystery. A picture of my mom was forming. It was more like a dot-to-dot with big empty spaces.

  “Is that the time? We are going to be late for dinner,” Ariadne said without looking at her watch. The only conversation I’d ever had about my mom was over. Maybe I could at least get to know Ariadne better over dinner. Maybe I could find some reason to like her, and she could find a tiny reason not to dislike me. “I want you to meet an old family friend,” Ariadne told me, as she snatched her silvery pashmina from the bed and headed for the bungalow door. “Come along,” she called over her shoulder.

  It was obvious Ariadne didn’t want to spend time with me. At dinner, she would probably talk with her old friend about wrinkle cream and other old-people stuff. But I’d had my first glimpse of my mother, and now I wanted to know everything – especially the big unspeakable secret that Dad and Grandma didn’t want me to find out.

  I followed Ariadne in silence to the dining hall, feeling the same dread I’d felt on the first day of school. We’d ditched our shoes at the end of the pier and walked barefoot across the island. The dining hall was no more than a thatched roof with a few poles to hold it up and nothing but sand for the floor. It was like an extension of the beach.

  “Welcome, Miss Sinclair and Miss Armstrong.” It was Luke. I almost didn’t recognize him. His dark, wavy hair was combed back and he’d changed into a peach polo shirt and pressed khakis. “Miss Clifford is already waiting for you.”

  We weaved through the dining room. I was the youngest person here by about fifty years. Ariadne waved at the couples as we passed. “Good evening, Lord and Lady Symington… How are you feeling, Sir Charles?” She knew everyone. My grandma was the perfect mash-up of the Queen and a rock star.

  These senior citizens were nothing like grandparents in Indiana. You could tell these folks had money. Diamonds were dripping from the women, and the men’s wrists gleamed with watches from fancy jewellery stores. I recognized a few of the watch brands and knew that they sold for around $25,000. The most expensive watch in my collection cost $150 and that was only because it was a watch, stopwatch, pedometer and heart monitor in one.

  Luke led us to a table set for two at the edge of the dining hall. The setting sun illuminated a pink path almost right to our table. The dishes and glasses were trimmed with gold. I was pretty sure it wasn’t the kind that faded in the dishwasher. The dinner plate was outnumbered by eight pieces of silverware and three glasses.

  “You?” I said when my focus finally zoomed in on the springy haired girl already seated at the table. “What is she doing here?”

  “I’m looking after Miss Clifford for a little while,” Ariadne explained.

  “You said we were having dinner with an old family friend,” I muttered. She wasn’t old, not family, and definitely never ever going to be my friend.

  “Is this your new assistant?” said the girl who had nearly attacked me with a laptop earlier. The tone of her voice let me know that she didn’t believe my cover story for one minute.

  “Charlotte, this is my dear friend Mackenzie,” Ariadne said, pulling out the chair for me.

  “She’s a kid!” I exclaimed before I could turn on the filter in my brain that blocked stupid things before I blurted them. Yeah, it malfunctioned a lot.

  “Am not!” Mackenzie said.

  “Are too!”

  “I’m fourteen – fifteen next month.”

  Ariadne looked from me to the girl, confused by our crazy ping-pong match. “Mackenzie is a computer genius.” Ariadne laid her hand on the girl’s shoulder in a way that made me think they hugged on a daily basis. Maybe it was the green I was wearing but jealousy thumped me in the chest. “In exchange for her guardianship, she’s helping me design my Triple L app.”

  I whizzed through the words I could think of that started with L – lonely, loss, loser, labradoodle? “What?”

  “It’s a dating app for pensioners. I named it Love Late in Life. Mackenzie calls it Triple L.” Ariadne said it as if the girl had discovered the cure for cancer. It was a stupid nickname. Big deal.

  Love Late in Life. I pictured old folks kissing. EWWWWW! I was equal parts grossed out and impressed. Downloading apps on my phone was my idea of high tech. This mean girl knew how to make the things.

  “I’m going to leave you two girls so you can become better acquainted,” Ariadne said, and gave me a little nudge towards the empty seat.

  “What?!” The girl and I exclaimed at the same time a bit too loudly. Everyone glared at us.

  Ariadne leaned in and whispered, “I need you to be on your best behaviour. It might be nice for you to have a friend your age on the island.”

  I plopped down on the chair. Why did adults think that if you were the same age and gender you could be friends? The girl and I stared up at Ariadne. We were probably thinking the same thing: No chance I’m ever going to be friends with her.

  “I invited Artie to a private dinner as a thank you for everything he’s done.” And with that she floated away without so much as a backward glance. Artie was waiting for her with this silly grin on his face. He looped his arm around her, and they headed to the beach. My grandma didn’t need any Triple L app.

  I’d been dumped again. I felt like the ugly contestant at a beauty pageant – and not just because the girl across the table was wearing the most gorgeous shimmery red dress with diamond earrings and necklace. She’d painted her finger and toenails to perfectly match her dress. Even her lip gloss sparkled a complementary colour. She didn’t look like a computer nerd; she looked like a supermodel.

  “The snorkelling is amazing here,” I said, in a pathetic attempt at conversation. I wasn’t going to let this smart, gorgeous girl think she was better than me. In brains and modelling, she may have had me beat, but I had to be better than her at something. I hoped it was conversation. “Have you been out past the reef?”

  “I haven’t been snorkelling.” She picked up the black leather menu.

  “Oh, you’ve got to go!” I knew something she didn’t know. “It’s like this awesome different world underwater, and it’s right out your back door.”

  “I haven’t had time.” She hid behind her menu.

  “How about Jet-Skiing? Sailing? Swimming with dolphins?” I listed everything I wanted to do.

  “Not yet,” she muttered.

  “Wha
t do you like to do?” I said, trying to hide the frustration from my voice.

  She peered at me over the top of her menu. “I’m building Ariadne’s app.”

  “You’ve got to do something for fun.”

  “Computer games.”

  I played games sometimes. Maybe we did have something in common. “Which ones?”

  “I’m designing one.”

  Of course you are. I’d had less painful bike crashes. “That’s interesting.”

  “My game will combine action with logic riddles.” She lowered her menu and started talking in geek speak about programming and gamer experience and loads of stuff that might as well have been a foreign language. I nodded as if I understood.

  Mackenzie flipped the cloth napkin that was fan-folded in front of her and placed it on her lap. I did the same, sending one of my two knives flying. I didn’t know what I was supposed to do with that much silverware anyway. My face turned fifty shades of red. Maybe Ariadne could send me to finishing school. They had those in the UK for the royals and posh people, right?

  Luke rushed over and picked up my knife. “No worries. I’ll get you a clean one.” He walked over to a cabinet not far from where we were sitting and retrieved a fresh knife for me.

  “Thanks, Luke,” I said.

  He leaned in closer. “It’s nice to see some young people for a change,” he said with a smile, took our orders and retreated to the kitchen.

  The menu had tons of fish options. I thought of those beautiful fish in the lagoon and decided maybe I was a vegetarian. I ordered vegetable curry because the menu said it was hot and spicy. When it came to food, if I didn’t break out in a sweat, it wasn’t hot enough. Dad and I emptied a big bottle of Tabasco a month. Mackenzie ordered baked fish. Blah! Boiled potatoes. Bleugh! And broccoli. Yuck!

  When I couldn’t stand the silence any longer, I blurted, “What are you really doing here with my grandma?” I cringed. I’d blown my cover story in less than an hour. Ariadne wasn’t going to be happy with me. “I mean Ariadne. Miss Sinclair.” I corrected my mistake, which only drew more attention to it.

  “I knew she was your grandmother,” Mackenzie said. “I can see the family resemblance.”

  “She doesn’t like to be called grandma.”

  “She doesn’t seem like a grandma,” Mackenzie said. “My grandma doesn’t know how to use her iPhone and yours is building apps.”

  Jealousy zapped me again. She was friends with my grandma. It sort of killed our conversation. Our dinners arrived, and we ate in silence. Sweat dotted my scalp as my tongue burned from the curry. The hot and spicy here was way more hot and spicy that in Indiana.

  The sun had set, and the ocean and sky darkened into a black screen. A few red dots blinked in the distance. I pictured sea monsters with glowing eyes. “What are those red dots?” I asked before I remembered I wasn’t speaking to her.

  “Those are lights from passing ships,” Mackenzie said as if she was an expert on everything.

  I didn’t think the dots looked like they were moving, but I’d have to take her word for it. I didn’t love the idea of ships passing out there watching us. I shook off my paranoia. That was my stupid imagination, playing tricks again.

  “It was nice to meet you, Charlotte,” she said as soon as she’d finished her last bite of fish.

  “Chase,” I corrected her.

  “What?”

  “I prefer to be called Chase,” I said.

  “Oh,” she said as if she could not be less interested. “I’ve got a lot of work to do.” She scooted her chair back and walked away.

  “Whatever,” I muttered and scrapped my chair back from the table. I hadn’t finished my curry, but I wasn’t about to sit here by myself like some loser while everyone around me chatted, laughed and ate their dinners. I headed for the beach as if that was exactly what I wanted to do.

  I didn’t need Ariadne, and I certainly didn’t need Mackenzie. All I had to do was survive a month of this. I was stuck on a posh desert island, not trapped in a boring old classroom, or tossed in a deep, dark, snake-infested cave. But at this moment, a month felt like a very long time.

  Dad always said I had a choice. I could choose to be happy or unhappy. He said even at the worst of times there was something to be happy about. Let’s see. I wasn’t a leper, even though Grandma and Mackenzie had treated me as if I was contagious. I was on a really cool island with no parental supervision. But my life had become an obstacle course and Ariadne, Artie and Mackenzie were massive hurdles.

  I woke up the next morning determined to reach happy. The sun blazed through the windows. I blinked at its intensity. The other twin bed was empty, made perfectly without a single wrinkle. I couldn’t tell if Ariadne had slept here last night. I found a note on the bathroom mirror:

  At yoga studio – A.

  I picked up the room phone. “Room service, please,” I said when the same lady from yesterday answered. I imagined her trapped in a booth, waiting for someone to call. “Can I have waffles with maple syrup and extra bacon?”

  “Yes, ma’am, I’ll have your breakfast delivered as soon as it’s ready,” she said, and hung up. That was more like it.

  I wriggled into my swimsuit, which was crusty from the salty ocean water, and threw a T-shirt and shorts over it. I brushed my teeth and combed my hair back into a ponytail. At home I was always on a schedule: Callisthenics at 06:00. Breakfast at 07:00. Leave for school by 07:30. Today I was my own boss, and the freedom felt strange and overwhelming. If I’d been smart, I would have gone snorkelling again or explored the island or built a sand-castle – anything but what I actually decided to do.

  Curiosity about my mom was playing on repeat in my brain. Ariadne didn’t want to talk about her any more. If I wanted to find out anything about my mom, I was going to have to uncover it somehow. Ariadne had left me alone again, which was practically an invitation to snoop. Big mistake – hers for leaving me alone, and mine for snooping.

  I searched every square inch of the room. I wiggled every floorboard and looked behind the abstract smudges they called art hanging on the walls. I discovered my grandma loved clothes. She had outfits of every colour and for every activity – from a hot-pink bikini to a stunning black ballgown. I didn’t really need to know that she wore thong underwear. Eww! Her jewellery box was messy, but everything else was well organized.

  At the bottom of the closet was a safe. I tapped in a few numbers for the heck of it. I didn’t know important dates like birthdays or anniversaries or if she had lucky numbers. I gave up and moved on to checking all twenty-three pairs of shoes – usually a good hiding place for top-secret info. I wondered if my mom was as girlie as her mom. I don’t know why, but I doubted it.

  Then I spotted Grandma’s red designer handbag on the hall table. I hesitated. I’d already checked her underwear drawer, why did rifling through her handbag seem a step too far? I carefully unzipped it and poked at the contents. Nothing special. A make-up bag, a pill box, some hand gel, and an orange wallet. No wrappers or lose change rattled at the bottom. My gut told me not to do it, but I couldn’t stop now. I wasn’t going to steal anything, but I felt like a thief as I opened her oversized wallet.

  Several twenty pound notes slotted perfectly in the main compartment. British money was much prettier than America’s boring green dollars. Eight credit cards all had their own slots in a panel at the front. At the very back of the wallet was a pocket. My fingers tingled. If I was hiding something super-secret, that’s where I’d put it. I slipped my finger inside and carefully removed two sheets of paper. One was a piece of white paper, folded multiple times to fit snuggly into the pocket, and the other was an old photograph wrinkling with age. Jackpot!

  I studied the three faces staring back at me. One was clearly a much younger Ariadne, and what must be her two teenage daughters. The younger one’s ponytailed head was cocked, and she had a goofy grin. I touched the other girl’s face, my face. My mom. I couldn’t breathe. She was a complet
e stranger and yet, oh-so familiar. Behind a curtain of straight blonde hair, she had the same look of disgust I had when Dad took a picture of me.

  A banging noise startled me. I jumped. The folded paper flicked out of my hand. I snatched for it but ended up swatting it away. It banked off a lampshade and skidded under Ariadne’s bed.

  More banging. No, it was knocking. Someone was knocking on the door. Guilt shot through me. With shaking hands, I stuffed the photo back where I’d found it and dropped the wallet in her handbag. I exhaled in a whoosh. I’d got away with it. No prison time for me yet.

  “Room service,” a female voice called through the door.

  Almost getting caught made me realize how stupid I’d been. Ariadne wasn’t a picture-perfect grandma, not even my idea of a nice person, but what kind of granddaughter ransacks her grandma’s room? And what if she’d found me digging around in her handbag? I’m sure her mood would have switched from icy cold to hot anger. She’d probably ship me back on the next slow boat to America.

  I opened the door, took my breakfast tray and thanked the young woman who’d brought it. I left it on the desk. Guilt had overwhelmed my hunger. I let the creamy butter congeal in the syrup and the grease dull on the bacon. Maybe Grandma was right not to like me. I had totally violated her privacy. Maybe if I tried to be a better granddaughter, she’d try to be a better granny.

  I needed to return that piece of paper to her wallet, zip up her handbag and forget everything I’d learned – especially the thongs. I shimmied under her bed and unwedged the paper from a floorboard near the wall. I crawled back out and stood over her handbag with the folded paper in my hand.

  To read or not to read. The angel and demon in my head were arguing. I’d come this far. Why not take a look? It was probably nothing, but it would drive me crazy not to know. On the other hand, it was clearly something private and important. You don’t keep random, pointless scraps of paper folded and tucked away. Argh!

  No, I was going to be good. Even if it killed me. I lifted Ariadne’s wallet from her handbag.