Through Fire & Sea

by Nicole Luiken

  Holly pulled up short when she saw Shannon was sitting with two grade-twelve boys.

  “Chad, Jason, this is Holly. I told you I knew her.” Shannon bumped her chair over to make room.

  Holly forced a smile and sat down. She so didn’t feel like making small talk to two strangers.

  “So,” Chad said—at least she thought the husky blond one was Chad. “Is your name really Holly Wood?”

  The extra-tall one—Jason?—snickered. His brown hair flopped over his eyes.

  Holly’s smile stiffened, but she gave her standard answer. “No, my last name’s Beecher. Beech is a type of tree, my dad’s a film director, so…nickname.” The story had been cute when she was six.

  “What movies have you been in?” Chad asked.

  Holly glared at Shannon. What had she been telling them? “I only acted in one movie when I was ten.”

  Chad didn’t take the hint. “What was it called?”

  If she didn’t tell them, Shannon would. “Flight of Fear.”

  “Hey, I’ve seen that one!” Jason’s brow furrowed. “Were you the little kid who got dangled out the window?”

  She was going to kill Shannon. The only thing worse than being known as Joseph Beecher’s daughter was being remembered as the screaming kid in Flight of Fear. “Yes.”

  Chad gave her an up-and-down appraisal. “You’ve certainly grown up.”

  “Most ten-year-olds do.” Holly clenched her teeth.

  Shannon jumped in. “Holly stays with her dad in L.A. some summers.”

  “Yeah?” Chad raised his eyebrows, sounding impressed.

  Holly nodded, sipping her water, and didn’t mention that it had been two summers since she’d gone. Her dad had been too busy filming this year for more than a quick trip up.

  She answered a couple more questions but managed to bore them with her lack of a glittering Hollywood lifestyle. Soon Chad and Jason said good-bye.

  “See you tomorrow!” Shannon waved.

  Jason lifted a casual hand in farewell.

  Holly sagged back against her plastic chair. Finally. “I hate tabloids.”

  Shannon winced in sympathy. “I saw that awful picture. You should sue them. Though Chad did tell me you had great legs.”

  The news failed to cheer Holly. “This whole day has sucked. And guess what? The powers that be have stuck me in Drama instead of Band.” She shuddered at the thought of getting up onstage.

  Shannon tossed her head, making her ponytail bounce. “Just ask the teacher for a transfer. Never mind that. What do you think of Chad and Jason?”

  I think they’re stupid jocks. Holly shrugged. “They’re okay.”

  “Just okay?” Shannon laughed in disbelief. “They’re both eighteen, good-looking, and Jason has a Porsche. Dibs on Jason, by the way. You can date Chad.”

  “Gee, thanks, but I think Chad might have a little to say about that.”

  “Stop putting yourself down.” Shannon frowned. “You always do that. You’re pretty and fun. Chad would be lucky to date you.”

  Holly was touched.

  “Plus, you’re Joseph Beecher’s daughter. You have instant cachet,” Shannon added. “Jason plays basketball. Last year he was MVP…”

  “Speaking of cute guys,” Holly said, when Shannon paused to eat some yogurt. “Who’s that?” She inclined her head subtly toward the cute boy’s table. Maybe Shannon could explain the burning sense Holly had of knowing him from somewhere.

  “Where?” Shannon craned her neck.

  “Don’t stare,” Holly hissed. “The one sitting by the potted plant. Quick, he’s getting up.” They were treated to first his profile then the back of his head.

  “Oh, him. That’s just Ryan Sullivan,” Shannon said. “I guess you wouldn’t know him. He went to my elementary school.” Holly hadn’t moved to Whiteport until grade eight.

  “And?”

  Shannon crinkled her snub nose. “Wait a second. You think Ryan Sullivan is cute?”

  “Hello? He’s not cute,” Holly told her. “He’s flat-out, full-on gorgeous.”

  “Well,” Shannon said doubtfully, “maybe he’s improved since I saw him last. But you don’t want to date him. He’s a loser.”

  “Why?” Holly asked, taken aback. “What makes him a loser?” She’d only spoken to Ryan for a moment, but he’d seemed perfectly nice.

  “Have you seen his clothes?” Shannon demanded. “They’re pathetic and ugly. His mom used to drive around in this horrible rusty green car. Ugh.”

  So what if Ryan’s family had less money than theirs did? She punched Shannon’s arm. “Don’t be such a snob.”

  Shannon shrugged, unrepentant, and began describing a cute Italian guy she’d met in Rome.

  …

  Holly had every intention of begging the Drama teacher to let her transfer to Band—until she saw Ryan leaning against the classroom wall.

  Both her knees and her resolve instantly weakened.

  Holly knew she wasn’t cut out to be an actress—she flustered too easily and had zero talent—but she could do set design or hair and makeup, couldn’t she?

  So Holly took a seat with the other students on the carpeted steps ringing the tiny stage and raised her hand at roll call.

  Ms. Prempeh paused. The Drama teacher had cocoa-colored skin and masses of beautiful kinky-curly brown hair. “Are you Joseph Beecher’s daughter?” she asked with a British accent.

  Holly gave a tiny nod.

  Thankfully, Ms. Prempeh moved on to the next name, but from the speculative light in her eyes, Holly expected to get a favor request later. She wondered what it would be this time—a free guest lecture? Or, like the principal, had Ms. Prempeh written a screenplay?

  Instead of beginning with an overview of the course work, Ms. Prempeh passed around scripts. Her wide mouth was set in a grim line. “We need a new stage, but it’s been cut out of the budget again. Our class, which means every one of you”—she added with a steely-eyed look at the eighteen high school students—“will be putting on two productions this year to fund-raise. Since we have no budget, we’re restricted to plays that have passed beyond copyright protection.”

  “Not Shakespeare again!” complained a grade-twelve girl with short red hair, red glasses, and funky earrings.

  Ms. Prempeh glared at her. “Yes, Dana, Shakespeare. Also Chekhov and every other dead playwright I could think of. If you have any helpful suggestions, please speak up.”

  Silence.

  “Everyone read—quietly—for twenty minutes and then we’ll discuss various prospects.”

  Dutifully, Holly bent her head over a copy of Hamlet. She’d leafed forward to Ophelia’s first scene when she felt someone watching her. Glancing up, she caught Ryan studying her from across the room.

  She couldn’t read his expression, but it differed from the speculation she’d endured all day. Holly’s breath seized in her lungs. He knows me.

  She flashed on an image of him slicing through the waves, his hair slicked back… The sense that she’d forgotten something important was driving her insane. Where did she know him from?

  Then Ms. Prempeh walked between them, and he lowered his head back to his script. So did Holly.

  After twenty minutes elapsed, Ms. Prempeh ordered them to get together and discuss prospects. To Holly’s disappointment, her group didn’t include Ryan.

  The red-haired girl, Dana, quickly took charge. “Forget Shakespeare. I refuse to do freaking Old English.”

  “It’s not Old English,” Eleanor, an Asian girl with plump cheeks and shiny black hair, told her mildly. “And Shakespeare’s okay. I wouldn’t mind a shot at Lady Macbeth.”

  Dana rolled her eyes. “Does anybody have somebody besides Mr. Iambic Pentameter?”

  The boy in their group had Doctor Faustus, but Dana dismissed his, too. “Christopher Marlowe is just as bad. There has to be some dead playwright who wasn’t drinking buddies with Shakespeare.” She glared at them. “Everybody think, or Prempeh’s
going to stick us with Hamlet.”

  Eleanor winced. “At least you’d get to play Ophelia. I’d end up playing Queen Gertrude.”

  “Come on.” Dana focused on Holly. “Hey, Hollywood. You must know something.”

  Holly controlled a surge of annoyance. “How about The Cherry Orchard by Chekhov?”

  Dana cut her off. “No dramas. I want something fun.”

  Holly narrowed her eyes and tried to think of a comedy with period costumes. She snapped her fingers. “The Importance of Being Earnest.”

  Dana frowned. “What’s that one about?”

  Holly leaned forward. “It’s a farce. There’s this guy, Jack. When he’s in London he goes by the name of Ernest and has fun. But when he’s in the country, he pretends Ernest is his younger brother, who’s always getting into trouble. Except then his friend Algernon pretends to be Ernest and falls in love with Jack’s ward, Cecily—”

  “Ooh,” Eleanor said. “I think I’ve seen that one. They made a movie of it with Reese Witherspoon, right? You’d like it, Dana.”

  Ms. Prempeh clapped her hands. “Has everyone picked a play? Good.” She stood by Ryan’s group. “What’s your pick?”

  “The Tempest.”

  Dana groaned.

  The next group also picked Shakespeare, and then Ms. Prempeh turned to Dana.

  “We didn’t really like any of our plays,” Dana said boldly. “We were discussing The Importance of Being Earnest.”

  Ms. Prempeh’s brows lifted. “Oscar Wilde. Good choice.” She moved on.

  At the end they had four possible plays: The Tempest, A Comedy of Errors, Romeo and Juliet, and The Importance of Being Earnest. “We’ll vote on them next class,” Ms. Prempeh said. “Since we still have a few minutes before the bell, let’s do an acting exercise.”

  Holly tensed, but it wasn’t too horrible. Ms. Prempeh made everyone stand in a circle and take turns pretending to use an imaginary object. The next person had to guess what it was. Ms. Prempeh dribbled an imaginary basketball, which Dana then flipped open into a cell phone. Holly pretended to rock an imaginary baby then blushed when she handed the infant to Ryan.

  Avoiding his eyes, Holly focused on his hands as he pointed at something and jabbed an imaginary button.

  “Remote control,” Eleanor guessed, but Holly stopped paying attention to the game, staring at Ryan’s hands.

  He was wearing a baggy gray T-shirt with torn-out sleeves that displayed his biceps. Even his wrists made her own look dainty in comparison. He had long fingers with short, neat nails.

  She knew those hands, had studied them in great detail, but when?

  Well, obviously she’d seen his hands before—he hadn’t eaten his lunch with his elbows—but she hadn’t done more than glance at them. Where had she seen his hands?

  The bell rang, and everyone started moving except Holly. She had to pin down the memory. It was important.

  “Are you okay?” Ryan asked, eyes crinkling in concern.

  “Let me see your hands,” she said abruptly.

  He blinked but didn’t object when she turned his right hand palm up. “Planning to tell my fortune?”

  She ignored the crack and tried to come at the memory sideways. Breathing in, she smelled the faint tang of salt water. The memory sharpened. His hands had been wet and—there had been webs between the fingers.

  In a dizzy rush, everything she’d forgotten came back. History rewrote itself. She hadn’t miraculously swum to shore. He’d saved her. He’d pulled her up out of the depths, towed her through the dangerous breakers, warmed her up in his blanket…then ordered her to forget him.

  “So is there a short, ugly blonde in my future?” he asked.

  Holy felt light-headed. “You saved me.”

  Wariness shadowed his face. “What?”

  She ran her fingertip between his fingers. The webs were gone. “From drowning. You saved me.”

  The animation drained from his expression. “You’re imagining things.” He yanked his hand back and stalked out of the classroom.

  Holly watched his retreating back in confusion. Had she imagined it? Or could he truly be a merman?

  …

  Holly didn’t hear a word of English class. She kept going over and over her restored memories of her near drowning. Picking at the scab.

  She’d been exhausted and half drowned when Ryan rescued her. She was absolutely positive that he’d saved her life, but could she have hallucinated the glimpse of tail, the webbed hands, and the iridescent sheen to his eyes? Her gut said no—the newfound memories felt sharp and real—but mermen were the stuff of fantasy.

  Still…if Ryan wasn’t a merman, then why hadn’t he stayed with her to flag down the Coast Guard? Why deny that he’d rescued her?

  And then there was the whole matter of her amnesia on command…

  The end-of-class bell rang. Holly gathered up her books, moving in a mental fog.

  Shannon pounced when Holly reached their lockers. “So, did you get out of Drama class?”

  It took Holly a moment to process the question. “Uh, no.” She bent her head over her combination then came clean. “I didn’t ask. Ryan’s in Drama.”

  Shannon’s brow wrinkled. “And, what? You like him?”

  Holly nodded. Though “like” didn’t seem to be the right word. She’d liked other boys, or at least thought they were cute. This felt stronger, attraction mixed with fascination.

  “Hmm. Okay, this calls for a scouting mission.” Shannon zipped off, her pink top disappearing into the throng of students preparing to leave school for the day.

  A few minutes later, her friend rejoined her. “You’re right.” Shannon sounded surprised. “Ryan is decent looking, underneath those awful clothes.” She shuddered. “I still think you could do better.”

  Holly let that one pass. “Tell me more about him.” All she knew was that he’d saved her life. She wanted to know everything, every scrap of detail—who his family was, where he lived, what music he liked…

  Shannon heaved a long-suffering sigh. “Like what?”

  “Like does he go out for any sports? Maybe compete on the swim team?”

  Shannon snorted. “Ha. No. Ryan doesn’t swim. He always had some excuse for not going in the pool on school field trips.”

  Holly felt another spurt of doubt. Could she have mistaken Ryan for someone else? No. She remembered his hands and voice. She knew in her bones Ryan had rescued her. “Who’s he friends with?”

  “No one. But he used to be best buds with Kyle.”

  “Kyle Melnichuk?” Holly stared at Shannon in dismay. Kyle was a textbook juvenile delinquent. He mouthed off at teachers, skipped school, vandalized property, and was incredibly crude. She wouldn’t be surprised if he sold drugs.

  Shannon looked satisfied. “The two of them skated in and out of trouble for years.”

  But… “You said used to be friends? They aren’t anymore?”

  Shannon hesitated, then shook her head. “Not since junior high. They had a fight about something. Afterward, Kyle refused to speak Ryan’s name, and Ryan stopped coming to school. We figured he’d dropped out.”

  Ryan’s former friendship with a lowlife like Kyle was disturbing, but it sounded like the break had been Ryan’s idea, which was in his favor. Holly fished some more. “Does Ryan have any brothers or sisters?”

  “No. He and his mother live in a beach shack on one of those small islands. His dad’s out of the picture,” Shannon rattled off.

  Was the island the same one where she’d come ashore?

  “And”—Shannon’s tone indicated she was about to lay out the pièce de résistance—“his mom is wacko.”

  Holly wrinkled her nose. “Wacko how? Criminally insane? Eccentric? Wears tinfoil hats?”

  “Does it matter?” Shannon asked. “Haven’t you been listening? He’s poor, he lives in a shack, and he has no friends.” She threw up her hands. “Why are you interested in this guy? I don’t get it.”

&
nbsp; “He’s cute, and he has a good sense of humor,” Holly said after a moment. Since she had to leave out the whole “he saved my life, and he might be a merman” bit, it did sound a little lame.

  Shannon urged her again to drop Drama, but Holly demurred. Even if Ryan never noticed her, it would be worth it just to be in the same class and listen to his voice.

  That night Holly spent two hours on the internet, researching mermen. All she found were a half-dozen folk tales. To her disappointment, she couldn’t unearth any local legends of mermaids or mermen.

  On Wikipedia, she saw a reference to sirens, like the ones Odysseus encountered. The Greek hero had lashed himself to the mast of his ship so that the sirens’ seductive song couldn’t entice him to jump overboard and drown.

  She sat back, stunned. Ryan wasn’t just a merman—he was a siren. That was how he’d been able to make her forget with his voice.

  A dark shiver chased down her spine. She still didn’t remember how she’d fallen off her dad’s yacht. Had Ryan’s voice lured her to her doom?

  But…his arms had borne her up, not pulled her down. And hours had passed between her falling overboard and Ryan’s rescue. Nor had he played the hero card, staging a fake rescue and then basking in the adulation and inevitable TV interviews.

  Maybe there were other sirens out there, and one of them had lured her overboard. She didn’t remember singing, but she could’ve been made to forget that, too…

  Too. Many. Questions.

  Holly had never been able to resist a good mystery, but this went beyond mere curiosity. She needed to know how she’d fallen off the boat and if what she remembered had been real. Time to investigate.

  The next afternoon, she begged off going shopping with Shannon and laid in wait outside the exit closest to Ryan’s locker.

  She ambled after his broad shoulders, pretending disinterest. He bypassed the parking lot, cutting across the athletics field.

  No car. Hmm. That was a bit weird, but maybe mermen were a type of faerie and had an aversion to metal.