Snowbirds

by Crissa Chappell

  Alice’s money was in that plastic bag. I remember her showing it off. All those bills wrapped in rubber bands.

  “Do you still have the cell phone?” I ask.

  “Been planning on giving it to her mother. Can’t bring myself to do it.”

  Dad shakes his head. “You should give it to the police.”

  “Well, it’s none of my business,” says Mr. Showalter. “What a shame. Always knew Alice Yoder was headed for trouble.”

  “I’ll tell you what’s a real shame,” says Dad. “This Rumspringa business. Who lets their girls go running around, doing whatever they please?”

  “It’s not like that,” I say, but he isn’t listening.

  He puts a hand on my shoulder. “If you truly cared about Alice, you’d tell the truth. Speak up. It’s the right thing to do.”

  I remember my promise to Alice. I’m not supposed to tell anyone about Tobias. But if she’s in trouble, he’s not a secret worth keeping.

  “Both of you girls were at Water Tower Park on Friday night.”

  “Yeah, but then—”

  “Then what?”

  I’ve already said too much. I’m so embarrassed, talking about what I did that night. Drinking beer at the party. Lying to my dad. Kissing a boy on Lido Key, the morning Alice disappeared.

  No matter what I do, I’ll never be perfect enough for him.

  I can’t talk to Dad about boys. If he found out about me and Faron on the beach, I’d be in so much trouble. But I need to have my own life. That’s something Dad won’t understand. Maybe it’s selfish, but I’m not going to tell him everything that happened at Water Tower Park that night.

  “Alice has a boyfriend. His name’s Tobias. They were talking about running away.”

  “What happened then?”

  “They got in a fight. I didn’t see them leave the party together.”

  “So Alice left by herself?”

  “Yes.” It feels like I’m lying. I wasn’t there, so I don’t know if this is true.

  “Is this boy from Pinecraft?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Do you think he might’ve hurt your friend?” Mr. Showalter asks.

  When I don’t say anything, he narrows his eyes at me. “I will keep Alice Yoder in my prayers. It’s in the hands of the Lord now. As you know, He sees everything.”

  My heart is thudding fast. Does it make me a bad person if I keep a secret that only the Lord can see?

  “We’re all praying for Alice to come home,” says Dad.

  I rub my eyes, but the sting won’t go away. “Can I take a break for a minute?”

  He nods. “We’ll talk more later.”

  I need to find Jacob. How does he know about the party? He never hangs around the Old Order. You won’t find him playing basketball with the Rumspringa boys. Or drinking beer in Water Tower Park.

  Jacob’s on the back porch, sitting in Dad’s rocker with a plate of snickerdoodle cookies. Everybody says he’s going to marry me someday. I’d rather be alone than get stuck with Jacob Showalter.

  “Hey Lucy,” he says, holding out a cookie. “Want the last one?”

  “No thanks.” He always licks his fingers.

  I sit in the chair next to Jacob and peel off my work gloves. Dad got them real cheap at Goodwill. No wonder they’re too big. Sometimes I try to imagine who wore them before me.

  “Alice has been missing since Friday. I heard she was at an Old Order party or something. At least, that’s what everybody’s saying. I wasn’t there.”

  “I was.”

  He blinks, like this is hard to believe. “So where was it?”

  “On the beach. That’s where you found her cell phone, right?”

  “Yeah. Near the seawall. Me and Dad were out fishing for snapper. I found the cell phone in the sand. Couldn’t get it to work. It was smashed up pretty good.”

  I stare at the shadows bleeding across the porch. “Is that all you found? Nothing else with it?”

  He shakes his head. “Nothing.”

  A cell phone wouldn’t break if it fell in the sand. Did something happen to Alice before Jacob found it on the beach?

  “Must’ve been some party,” Jacob says, licking his thumb.

  “How did you find out about it?” I ask.

  “I saw the pictures online.”

  “What pictures?”

  “All over Facebook,” he says.

  Jacob Showalter has a Facebook page? I’d be in big trouble if Dad caught me online. He thinks it’s too worldly, even though we have computers in the fellowship hall at church.

  “I didn’t know you were on Facebook.”

  “If you’re not online, you might as well be dead,” he tells me.

  “I must be dead then. My dad won’t let me have a computer.”

  “Why not?”

  “He says it changes the way you think.”

  “A computer’s just a machine. It can’t make you do nothing.”

  Words and pictures can make you do wrong. That’s what Dad says. They can trick you into believing things that aren’t true.

  “Who put those pictures online?” I ask.

  Jacob shrugs. “Everybody.”

  The Rumspringa boys wouldn’t have a computer at home. But they could borrow one from somewhere else. If I want to go online, I use the computers at the library. I have to take the bus to Sarasota, but Dad’s got me working all afternoon. Can I get there before it closes?

  As I turn to leave, Jacob hands me the last snickerdoodle.

  “Sorry about your friend,” he says.

  I guess Jacob Showalter isn’t so bad. Still, I can’t imagine us getting married. I can’t even imagine kissing him. In my mind, I drift back to that night on the beach. The soft warmth of Faron’s mouth. His hands circling my back. The closeness of him as we talked until sunrise. It felt like we’d met a long time ago and just found our way home.

  Where is he now?

  “Lucy?” Jacob’s staring at me as if I’d sprouted two heads. “Are you okay?”

  I break the cookie in half and give him the other piece.

  “Thanks.” He crams it in his mouth and smiles.

  Dad’s on the front lawn, talking to Mr. Showalter. I can’t let them see me. Then I’ll have to deal with more questions.

  I start walking the other way, toward the orange grove. Dad says the trees are sick with canker, but he won’t cut them down. All their fruit is speckled with bumps, not smooth like the oranges at the supermarket. That’s okay with me. They don’t have to look perfect to taste good.

  “Lucy,” Dad calls out. “I want you back at the shop. Got an order for a wedding gazebo up in St. Pete. We need those planks sanded, you hear?”

  Yeah, I heard.

  It’s always about what Dad wants.

  “I’m almost done,” I tell him.

  “Well, hustle up. I want to get those panels drilled. That cedar needs a good coat of primer. Then we can start painting. Let it dry overnight.”

  “You mean we have to put the gazebo together?” Usually, we just stain the planks and ship the whole thing off in a box.

  “Promised I’d have it ready by Saturday,” Dad explains.

  Mr. Showalter takes out his keys. “Figure we’ll hitch a trailer to the Dodge and carry the gazebo to the beach. Won’t that be a sight?” He grins like he’s doing us a real big favor.

  If I don’t leave now, I won’t make it to the library in time. This stupid wedding gazebo is so much work. There’s no way out of it. I’ll be stuck in the backyard, sanding and painting, for the rest of the week.

  Jacob comes up to us, wiping his hands on his pants. “Can I help?”

  “Don’t you have a paper to write?” his dad asks.

  Unlike me, Jacob’s still in school. He’s a year behind. Too bad we can’t trade places.

  “Let me guess,” says Mr. Showalter. “You haven’t even started.”

  I almost feel sorry for Jacob. He looks so pathetic, wiping the
sweat off his face. His wide-brimmed hat keeps sliding over his forehead, as if he’ll never grow into it.

  “What’s the paper about?” I ask.

  “Tides,” he says.

  A giggle sneaks out of me. Once I get going, it’s hard to stop.

  “Lucy.” Dad glares.

  For some reason, this makes me laugh even harder.

  “Sorry, Jacob,” I mumble.

  “Go ahead and laugh,” he says, kicking the dirt. “It’s not like I’m failing or anything.”

  Mr. Showalter raises an eyebrow. “Is that so?”

  “At least you picked a good topic,” I say, trying to help.

  “I didn’t pick it,” Jacob says. “How am I supposed to do a paper on tides? It’s the most boring topic ever.”

  “We wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for tides,” I say.

  Dad gives me a look. I know what he’s thinking. Here I go again, talking about the sea.

  “Is that true?” Jacob asks.

  “A long time ago, the fish washed up into tide pools. They had to learn how to adapt.”

  “You’re saying fish walked on land?” Now Jacob’s the one who’s laughing.

  “That’s enough,” Dad says, startling me. “Nobody wants to hear your make-believe stories.”

  It’s not a made-up story. It’s the truth. And no matter what I say, I can’t make him believe.

  Mr. Showalter smiles. “Well, I think Lucy knows more about the ocean than my son’s teacher. That’s for sure.”

  I quickly look at Jacob. “You want help with that paper?”

  “For real?” he says.

  Dad shakes his head. “I need you here, Smidge. Or that gazebo won’t get done in time.”

  “Let me take over for Lucy,” says Mr. Showalter. “Bet you could use a little muscle, lifting those rafters.”

  Yeah, right. Mr. Showalter’s only good at lifting a fork to his mouth. He thinks I’m not strong enough to carry those planks, just because I’m a girl. Anyway, it’s not worth fighting about. If he takes over for me, I’m free to escape.

  “Can you drive to the big library in Sarasota?” I ask Jacob.

  He nods. “Been there lots of times.”

  Dad still doesn’t look convinced. “That’s a long way.”

  “Not really,” says Jacob. “It’s about five miles from Pinecraft.”

  “Can’t you walk someplace closer?” Dad says, glancing at the road.

  Driving is probably safer than walking. Not to mention a whole lot faster. But Dad’s always freaking out about cars. He says everybody in Sarasota drives too fast. “Life’s not a race,” he always tells me. “Might as well enjoy today because it’s never coming back.”

  “Okay,” Dad says. “But I want you home at sundown.”

  Mr. Showalter can’t stop grinning as me and Jacob walk to the truck. No doubt, he’s hearing wedding bells.

  “Thanks for helping me out.” Jacob fumbles with the key, shoving it in the passenger door. He yanks it open. “Ladies first,” he says, making a big deal out of this. I seriously want to smack him.

  “You’re helping me too,” I mutter, leaning back against the seat. The Showalters always help us out. Dad borrows their truck every weekend. Sure, they’ve been friends a long time. Still, I can’t help feeling like something’s tipped in their favor, just because we’re a little “less off,” as Dad says.

  Jacob revs the engine as we gun it down Bahia Vista. He’s probably trying to impress me. But I’m thinking about Faron, his hand cupped over mine, shifting the gear stick as we drove to the beach at sunrise.

  “I can’t believe I have to write this stupid paper,” Jacob says, messing with his seatbelt. “Who cares about tides? It’s just water moving around.”

  He wants me to explain the tides in words. Cram it all into a couple pages, just to make his teacher happy. But he’ll never understand the ocean’s pulse, the way it breathes like a living thing.

  Most people just want to get by. That’s all they care about. They don’t want to think about the threads that tie us together. The ocean, how it gives and takes from us. The tides, moving close, then sinking into cold, dark water, the way I imagine death.

  Did Alice make it to the beach that night? Or did something happen to her in Water Tower Park? In my mind, I go back and forth, trying to figure it out. I see Alice kissing that boy, Tobias. The girls in their dark dresses, standing at the edge of the tide, laughing as the surf curled around their ankles.

  “Can I really get this paper done by tonight?” Jacob asks.

  I stare out the window. “You’re going to be okay.”

  That’s all I can promise.

  chapter ten

  ghosts

  Jacob parks in the shade near the library. As soon as I’m out of the car, I want to climb back inside. There’s a bake sale on the sidewalk. And the girls at the table are in long-sleeved, pastel dresses exactly like mine.

  Those girls are from my church. Mallory’s right up front, rearranging cookies on the plates. There’s no other way inside the library. I take a deep breath and start walking toward the front entrance.

  “There she is,” Mallory whispers.

  I know Mallory’s been talking behind my back. She thinks I’m lying about what happened at the party on Friday night. I shouldn’t be hanging around the Old Order. Especially the Rumspringa boys. That’s only asking for trouble. And now trouble’s what I’ve got.

  “Come on,” I tell Jacob.

  He’s too busy sniffing the plates. “Want anything?” he asks, taking a huge bite of a cinnamon roll.

  Yeah. I want to get out of here.

  Mallory smiles at me, all fake. “Sure you don’t want to buy something? It’s for the Youth Fellowship.”

  I skipped going to Youth Fellowship last weekend. Instead, I was with Alice, drinking beer in Water Tower Park. I’m embarrassed, just thinking about it. All I want is to go back in time and make things right. Yeah, like that’s going to happen.

  “Come on,” Mallory says, motioning me over to the table.

  “Meet you inside,” says Jacob. He marches toward the library’s front entrance. Great. Now I’m stuck here alone.

  “So you’re going out with Jacob Showalter now?” Mallory says.

  I glance up. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I just thought . . . since he drove you here.”

  “Well, you thought wrong.”

  “Must be nice having all these boys. You know. Drive you around in their cars.”

  The girls laugh.

  How much does Mallory know?

  I reach inside my tote bag, dig out a handful of change and drop the coins into the half-empty jar on their table. As I turn to leave, Mallory smirks.

  “Guess you don’t need any sweets today,” she says, launching another round of giggles.

  My cheeks are stinging as I turn away from their table. Did Mallory go to that party on Friday night? I didn’t see her there. All the girls drifting through the woods were Old Order.

  Except me.

  I push open the library’s door, thankful for the smell of books, the cool, air-conditioned rooms, and the quiet. The computers are lined up against a wall in the back. As I move past the rows of desks, I get a lot of stares.

  “Check her out,” says a boy at one of the tables, laughing with his friends. They all look alike in their baggy jeans and baseball caps.

  I stare right back at him. If he’s got something to say, he might as well say it to my face.

  “Hey, freak,” he says, louder this time. “Are you in a cult?”

  I bet he’s wondering if I’m allowed to use a computer. He probably thinks I’m not allowed to read.

  “No, I’m not in a cult,” I snap. “Are you?”

  He looks confused. My homemade clothes aren’t the kind you can buy in a store. It’s not what a magazine tells me to wear. Or famous people on TV. The outside world has its own rules, too. It just doesn’t know it.

&nb
sp; When people look at me, they only see the outside. I’m like the statues on St. Armands Circle. Just because I’m covered up, doesn’t mean I can’t feel anything. Dad’s always saying I’ve got to try harder. But I’ll never be perfect enough for him.

  I don’t want to be a statue.

  Jacob’s in the next row, hunched at a computer. He’s watching a music video on YouTube, sitting real close to the screen.

  “This doesn’t look like marine biology,” I say.

  He scoots back his chair. “Sorry,” he mumbles, turning red. “Got a little distracted.”

  On the computer screen, a woman in a skintight dress is crawling out of a coffin. She wiggles her hips to the music, teetering on high heels. It doesn’t seem like she’s having any fun. In fact, she looks kind of sad.

  “Okay,” I tell him. “There’s a really cool video about tides on Discovery. Give me a second and I’ll find it.”

  The Discovery video seems to drag on forever. Jacob’s yawning the whole time, not even paying attention. When it’s finally over, I turn to him and say, “Maybe you should check out a couple books.”

  “Good idea,” he says, like he never thought of it.

  “And before we leave, you should probably watch that video again. Only this time, you might want to take notes.”

  “It’s all in here,” he says, tapping his head.

  I doubt it.

  “One more thing,” I say, lowering my voice. “Can you show me that Facebook page? The one with the pictures from last weekend?”

  Jacob drums his fingers on the desk. I can tell he’s nervous. For a second, I think he’s going to say no.

  “All right,” he says. “But you can’t tell anybody I showed it to you.”

  “I won’t.”

  “And next time there’s a party, let me know, okay?”

  I smile. “Okay.”

  Jacob reaches across the keyboard and logs on to Facebook. He clicks down a list of names and faces, scrolling through pictures. “I don’t know this girl,” he says, clicking away. “My friend’s really into her. But he’s wasting his time.”

  “Why?” I ask.

  “She’s Old Order. Even if they hook up, she’ll be gone in a couple months. Seems kind of pointless.”