by Kasie West
A full minute later, Jackson broke the surface fifty feet closer to the island. “I think I’m going to beat you.” With those words he began to swim.
My heart turned from beating in fear to beating in rage. I couldn’t believe I fell for that after I had just reminded myself what he had done to Mindy in the cafeteria. “You are the biggest jerk,” I called. But he acted like he couldn’t hear me as he closed the distance to the island. I thought about turning back to shore but then I wouldn’t get to pummel him with no witnesses.
With a kick of my feet, I took off.
By the time I got there, Jackson had dragged himself onto the island and sat on one of the benches—his wet jeans making puddles below him. Hopping out of the lake, I lunged at him, punching him on the shoulder several times.
“It was the only way I could win.” He grabbed my fists, laughing.
“You are such a jerk. I thought you drowned.” I relaxed my arms and he let go of my hands.
“It’s nice to know you care.”
I hit him one more time for good measure, then plopped on the bench next to him.
He looked me up and down. “Do you wear your swimsuit everywhere you go, just in case someone calls for a race?”
“We had a meet tonight.” I looked at my bare feet, feeling a bit stupid now. Why had I done this? “What do we win for doing this dare anyway?”
“Win? What do you mean?”
I sighed. Now that the adrenaline was gone, the ache in my shoulders returned. I took in the distance back to shore.
“You think someone would come rescue us with a paddleboat if we yelled loud enough?” he asked.
“I think they lost interest.” Everyone back on shore was jumping around, dancing. My stomach let out a gurgle, reminding me that I hadn’t eaten after my races.
Jackson must’ve heard the sound because he said, “Should we start a fire? I can catch a fish.”
“We’ll swim back. Just give me a minute.”
“Most people find me amusing,” he seemed to say to himself.
I stood, shook out my legs, and rotated my arms a few times. “Have you ever heard of the boy who cried wolf?” I asked.
“You think there are wolves on this island?”
“You fooled me once. I won’t fall for it again. I hope you can swim back.” With that I dived into the water, leaving him alone on the small island with his dripping wet jeans.
“The boy in the story got three chances,” he called after me.
When I reached the grassy backyard again, Amelia stood at the shoreline, holding a bag of chips. “I wondered when you’d be back. Was it worth it?”
“No.” I wrung out my hair.
“So there was no making out with Jackson Holt?”
“What? Gross.”
“Really? You don’t find him cute? I think he’s cute.” She crunched into a chip.
“You think everyone is.”
She started to protest through her mouthful but then said, “True, but he really is.”
“He might be cute but it’s hard to tell through all the annoying.” I snatched a chip out of her hand and bit into it.
“Annoying? Huh. I think he’s funny.”
“Interesting. He thinks he’s funny too.”
She laughed. “So I was talking to Katie while you and Jackson were making out.”
“You and Jackson should hang out. You both think you’re funnier than you are.”
She hooked her arm in mine and led me away from the water, ignoring my comment. “And she said Heath Hall is not just from around here; he actually goes to our school.”
It took me a couple seconds to catch up with her train of thought.
“The masked man,” she prompted.
“Fake Heath Hall,” I said. “So who is he?”
She shrugged. “That’s part of the mystery.”
“Mystery?” I stopped at the now-empty space of ground my clothes used to occupy. “Where are my clothes?”
She led me to a chair, where they were folded nicely. I pulled my shirt on, then stepped into my sweats.
“Yeah, he’s all over the internet, but nobody knows who he actually is. Or at least nobody is outing him.”
“If nobody knows who he is, then how does Katie know he goes to our school?”
“Rumors, I guess.”
“I need food,” I said, nodding to her chips. “Where did you get those?”
Amelia pointed, and we headed toward tables covered in pizza boxes and snacks set up on the patio. “So are you curious?” she asked.
“That guy made me lose my first race in weeks. So yes, very curious.”
Three
I awoke to a persistent knocking and let out a moan. “Yeah?”
The door swung open. Mom poked her head in. “You’re still asleep?”
I wasn’t sure if she wanted me to answer that question or if she was making a statement, so I rubbed my eyes and sat up. My shoulders protested.
“Hadley. You have thirty minutes.”
My mind, slow from sleep, tried to play catch-up.
My struggle must’ve shown on my face because she added, “It’s the fifth. Of April.”
“Oh!” Eric’s day. Crap. I hopped out of bed, tripping over the sheet that had tried to follow me. I’d seen my dad charging the car battery the day before. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t connected the two. “I’ll be ready.”
She gave me the look that showed she was hurt. I had forgotten and she was hurt. I was a horrible daughter. “I’m sorry.” I kissed her cheek and ran for the bathroom. To make up for oversleeping, I’d have to skip the shower. My shoulders weren’t happy about that plan. They needed some heat therapy. I hoped gross lake hair wouldn’t be doubly offensive to my mom. I brushed my teeth, pulled on some clothes, and ran to the corner mart near our house. I searched the aisles until I found Eric’s favorite candy: Hot Tamales. I paid and made it back to the house just in time to see my dad stepping down from the porch.
He smiled. “You ready?”
I wondered if my mom had told him I’d forgotten. I clutched the bag with candy. “Of course.”
“Then let’s do this.”
“Where’s Mom?”
“She’s coming.” He led me the fifty steps to the truck that sat on a raised platform under our big eucalyptus tree in the front yard. The place it had sat for the entire sixteen years of my life—a monument to my brother who died before I was born. Our front yard was big, but the truck seemed larger than life today.
My dad patted the hood. I could see the emotion in his eyes. I felt nothing. I mean, I felt bad, of course, because I hated seeing my parents so sad. As for my brother, his dying so young was tragic. But I hadn’t known him. I knew about him. The things my mother had told me over the years. The things my parents said on this day every year. But still, I didn’t know him. My dry eyes seemed to taunt me. Why couldn’t I just conjure up some tears for my parents this year? The tears that had come naturally when I was younger. I knew I didn’t care less now, so what had changed?
I stared at the cab of the truck—the keys dangling in the ignition. My dad must’ve come out earlier to make sure everything was in place.
“Do you want to start her up this year?” my dad asked, probably noticing where my gaze lingered.
My heart jumped. “What? No. That’s your job.”
“This year you actually have your license. Maybe it should be yours from now on.” He put an arm around my neck. “In fact, maybe this year we should sell her and get you your own car.”
The beating of my heart doubled. My own car. “Really?”
“I think it’s a good idea.”
I bit my lip, trying to contain the smile, but then my heart rate slowed as his eyes ran the length of the 1955 light green Chevy truck, taking in each perfectly restored part. It really was a beautiful truck. Probably the only reason our neighbors tolerated it sitting on our lawn for so long—it was like a piece of art. My heart knew it was an empty p
romise. My parents wouldn’t sell the truck even though we only started it once a year. And I wouldn’t want them to.
“You think what’s a good idea?” my mom asked, carrying a box and joining us.
“I was just telling Hadley that we need to get her a car of her own. Maybe it’s time to sell the truck.”
“You’re going to sell your truck? Then what would you drive?”
“No. Not my truck,” he said softly.
It took her a long moment, but her eyes widened when she finally realized what he was implying. “Eric’s?”
“We’re not selling it,” I said quickly. “It was just a passing thought. We’d never sell it. I’m fine.”
My mom’s face relaxed, but my dad let out a heavy sigh.
I nudged him with my elbow and forced a smile. “Well, go on. See if she starts.”
He gave me a sad half smile, then climbed onto the platform and into the cab. He looked at his watch. Without needing to check the time, I knew it was now exactly 8:23. The time my brother had taken his last breath. Dad held up crossed fingers and turned the key. It rumbled to life, just like it did every single year.
My mom opened the cardboard box she held as my dad climbed down. The purring engine became the background noise for our mini memorial service. “Eighteen years ago Eric lost his battle with leukemia. Today I brought a few things to remember him by.” She reached into the box and pulled out a movie. “This was his favorite.”
I squinted to read the title. The Hunt for Red October. I’d never seen it before.
“He loved spy movies,” Mom said.
It surprised me that year after year she could come up with new things about him. I didn’t think she’d ever repeated herself. Never used the same memory twice. My palm started to sweat where it gripped the shopping bag. The Hot Tamales seemed so stupid now. My mom had brought the candy just last year.
The next thing she pulled out of the box was a water gun. “He was a jokester. He loved to hide out sometimes and surprise me when I rounded the corner.” She laughed a little. It was an odd thought—my mom getting pelted with a water gun. I couldn’t even imagine her reaction. Then again my brother had gotten the younger version of my parents. Now they were in their late fifties, graying hair and wrinkles in place. I wondered if they’d been more laid-back then. Either way, I wouldn’t dream of squirting any version of my mom with a water gun. I, apparently, was not a jokester.
“And last, I brought a picture of Eric with Julie at his junior prom. Do you remember this, Daniel?” She showed my dad first and he smiled.
“The funny thing about it was that just thirty minutes before this picture he was covered head to toe in grease from working on his truck all day. He cleaned up nice.” My dad showed me the picture.
I could see a little of myself in my brother. We had the same auburn hair and the same freckled skin. But he got my mom’s green eyes where I got my dad’s brown. I stared at the picture, wanting to know the stranger looking back at me. Wanting to know what it would have felt like to have an older brother. But again, I felt nothing.
My mom replaced the picture in the box and shut the lid, then walked to the truck. She removed the box from last year, tucking it under her arm, and reverently set the new one in the passenger seat, where it would sit for a year. I wondered what my mom would put in a box like that for me. What things she would choose to highlight in my life. I wasn’t sure she knew me as well as she knew my brother.
To end our ceremony, she exited the truck and placed a single hand on the hood. “You will forever be remembered and forever be missed.”
My dad nodded his head toward the bag I clutched. “Did you have something to add, Hadley?”
“Oh. No. I’m good.” I quickly touched the hood, then took two steps back.
My dad patted the hood as well. “We miss you, kid.” Then with a few quick steps he was back in the cab, turning off the ignition.
My mom hugged me, tears in her eyes. Then she pulled away and retreated into the house. Probably to make our annual meal—Eric’s favorite.
Back in my room, I clicked on my music, dug the Hot Tamales out of the bag and stared at the picture of the sunglassed flame speeding across the front of the box. I had never actually tried them before even though my mom had bought them over the years. When I was a kid I had declared my own favorite candy—Twix—and insisted she buy me that every time she bought Hot Tamales. And maybe it had become a habit, but I still hadn’t tried them.
I opened the box, poured a handful into my palm, and popped them into my mouth. Ten seconds later I was in the bathroom, scooping water into my mouth. I patted my stinging lips with a towel and dropped the rest of the box in the bathroom trash. It gave a loud clunk as it hit the bottom. Gross.
I wiped my eyes—the heat from the candy producing the first tears of the day, proving my tear ducts were in functioning order. So it was just my heart that wasn’t working right. Shouldn’t I have felt something, anything, out by that truck today? I sighed.
I took a long, extra hot shower, then pulled on some shorts and a tee. My shoulders gave a dull ache, reminding me of my last race. My computer was open on my desk and I stared at it for a moment before I sat down and powered it on. From friends posting online, I had seen a few pictures of the guy in the mask showing up at events before. But I had never cared enough to care. Never really looked into his accounts.
I pulled up a search engine and typed, “fake Heath Hall” into the bar. Pages and pages of hits about the hero spy movies came up along with pictures of Grant James and his sometimes-girlfriend—actress Amanda Roth. I closed out the tab and went to check social media sites for any information on him. I found lots of fake Heath Hall fan accounts, none of them verified and each only boasting a couple thousand followers. After a while I found the account I was looking for and scanned several pages worth of pictures and posts. But I couldn’t find the event map Amelia had been referring to the night before. I shot her off a text: Hey, where did you find the fake Heath Hall appearance map online? I still wasn’t sure how Katie or anyone else was convinced he went to our school and I wanted to see if the map provided any proof.
She didn’t answer back right away. She was probably sleeping. I moved the cursor on the screen to the little envelope icon in the corner, and before I talked myself out of it, I clicked. Once in his DM, I typed a quick message: Is it your goal to distract people to the point of losing? You are messing with futures.
My finger lightly rested on the Send key, but as I read the message through three times, I decided it wasn’t right. I deleted the two sentences. He obviously didn’t care how his antics affected other people. What he really cared about was himself. So instead, I typed: Stay away from the pool or I’ll tell everyone who you really are.
Sure, I had no idea who he really was, but he didn’t know that. I hit Send and went to get myself some breakfast, the taste of Hot Tamales still lingering on the back of my tongue.
The kitchen smelled of bacon, and my mom was dusting the glass box on the wall. She carefully hung Eric’s keys back inside the box, not to be touched again until next year.
In the house, that box framing the keys was the only thing of Eric’s we still had. It could’ve been a lot worse. His room could’ve still been set up just like he had it. Like he was going to walk back into the house at any moment. It wasn’t and I was grateful for that. His room was now my mom’s office. I was grateful for that too—that they hadn’t put me in his room. I already felt enough like the replacement child sometimes.
As these thoughts streamed through my head, I felt guilty for thinking them. My parents loved me. I forced the thoughts away and grabbed my plate of Eric’s favorites.
“I’m going to swim this afternoon. Is that okay or did we have something else planned for today?”
“Coach called for a practice on a Saturday?”
“No. This is just me. No official practice or anything.” My stiff shoulders let me know that I needed to wo
rk on conditioning them more. Swimming easy, like DJ had suggested, no pressure.
“You don’t have any homework?”
“I finished it yesterday during free period.”
Her eyes took in my wet hair. “But you just showered.”
“I know. I should’ve waited until after, but I didn’t shower last night.” I wasn’t sure why I didn’t tell her about my shoulders, that I had needed the heat and pounding water to help them feel better. Maybe because I was worried she’d tell me to take a break. I didn’t need a break. She wouldn’t understand that.
She looked at my hair again as if she was going to tell me no just because I’d showered too soon, but then she said, “That’s fine.”
“So I can borrow your car?”
“Sure.”
I checked my phone as I headed out the door. Amelia hadn’t responded to my text and fake Heath Hall hadn’t responded to my message. Guess I was playing the waiting game.
Four
A shadow fell across my face as I turned my head to breathe. I stopped midstroke and looked up. DJ stood over my lane, gave a small wave, then pushed his black-rimmed glasses up his nose. He often wore contacts, but his glasses made his brown eyes look even bigger.
I pulled out my waterproof earbuds and the music that had been blasting in my head became background noise.
“I thought we agreed you were supposed to take a break from this.” DJ said “this” as if swimming was just some sidenote and not my life. “Especially on the weekends. You know there’s an entire ocean with waves and sand and people just five minutes away.”
I glided to the wall, where I could support myself. “People? You want me to people?”
He smirked. “Is that asking too much?”
I smiled back. “That’s not at all what we agreed to. You told me to swim easy. I’m swimming easy.”