“No.” My hand reaches for the card in my pocket. “No. I need a good grade on this project, that’s all. But it’s over tomorrow, and then I can hang out.”
“Okay,” she says. “I miss you.”
My shoulders fall. I miss her too. So much. I just can’t have her mom calling any social workers. If I can get a good grade on the project, then maybe everything will settle down, and we can be friends again.
The second bell rings, and now I’m late to Sister Brigid’s class. I slap my hand to my face and run.
The nun marks me late, and I sit, scrunching up my face and thumping my pencil against the desk. When she tells us the page, I open my anthology, but I’m distracted. Why does Lydia think Kip and I are together?
Two rows ahead and to the left, he’s sitting quietly because Sister Brigid won’t let him be funny. Do I like Kip Dwyer? I like his freckles. And the gap in his teeth. I smile at the back of his neck where his hair meets his white collar.
I spend too much time thinking about it while Sister Brigid talks. At the end of class, the pope stares back at me from the poster under Sister’s flag like he knows I’m thinking about a boy, and I slam my anthology shut.
At the end of the day, I dawdle. I get a drink, talk to Lydia and Kathleen, do anything I can to avoid going to the bike racks. Which is ridiculous because I asked him. And we’ve spent plenty of time together. This is no different.
Most of the other kids have left except for the athletes. It’s bright out, and Kip is sitting on his bike seat, talking to Omar. Omar is slim, his dark hair neatly faded. He’s on the soccer team.
Dragging my feet, I walk up to them with my hands on the straps of my backpack. I am uncomfortable. The sun feels too bright for May, and I think I’m getting a sunburn already.
“Hey, Murph!” Kip smiles at me. “You still mad at me?”
“I wasn’t mad. You’re just annoying sometimes.” I push around tufts of grass with my shoe.
“That’s nothing new, is it, Omar?”
“Annoying? Yeah. Pale too.” They think this is hilarious and laugh until Omar says good-bye.
Then we are alone, and it is quiet. The sun roars above us, bright and warm, then dips behind a cloud.
He puts his backpack on. “You ready for our date? Can you keep your hands off me until we get to the beach?”
“You wish it was a date,” I say. I stomp to my bike, snatch it from the rack, and take off toward the Cliffs.
“Murph with the jokes!”
By the time I get to the trail, I’m out of breath. Fresh grass lines the sandy path, and I drop my bike. Kip falls in step behind me, jumping over a fallen tree. Once we get to the gritty shore, we look for teeth without talking. I stay close to the water, and Kip heads near the Cliffs. I scan, wipe away sand, and pocket anything worth saving.
I feel happy. Being close to the water makes me feel like I’m floating, the sun warming my skin. I think we’ll get an A on Fen’s project tomorrow. My grades will be fine. Maybe Lydia and I will be friends again.
Kip starts yelling from the Cliffs, and I look up. He races toward me, shouting.
In his hand is the largest shark tooth I’ve ever seen, half the size of his palm. He passes it to me, the tooth smooth in his warm hand. I know I blush when we touch, and I am mortified.
“I wonder how much I can get for this down at the marina. Or the retreat.” He rubs his hand over his head, sweat trickling down his forehead, then lifts his shirt and wipes his face.
I look away. “You want to sell it?” I sit in the sand, smoothing my skirt under me.
“Yeah, what am I gonna do with it? I’ve got tons.” He starts to take off his shoes, then his socks, and when he touches the button on his pants, I panic.
I squeeze my eyes shut. “What are you doing?”
“It’s a million degrees out. I’m going swimming!” I hear him laugh, and it sounds like he falls in the sand before he reaches the water.
“Naked?” I whisper the word even though no one else is on the beach. I refuse to open my eyes to check.
His laugh is loud. “You think I’m naked? No matter where she is, Sister Brigid heard you and is praying.”
“Shut up.” I squeeze my eyes tighter.
“I have trunks on. For work. Promise.”
I don’t know if I should believe him. But I slowly open one eye, then the other, and sigh in relief at his bright yellow trunks. I’m thankful, though seeing him in shorts is just as uncomfortable. I might be the world’s most awkward eighth grader. I don’t know where to look or how to act. I’ve never been around a shirtless boy. Well, alone. And I’m sitting here, ridiculous, in my plaid skirt like it’s the 1800s.
“What’s wrong? Are you worried you’ll fall in love with me if you look at me? ’Cuz I look like Thor.”
I can tell he’s grinning even though my gaze is safely on the water. “You do not look like Thor.” Maybe if Thor had a little brother. A cute, annoying one.
“Then why are you being weird?”
Thanks. I finally look at him. “I don’t know what to do.”
“Neither do I.” His face is sincere. He runs, splashing, farther into the Bay, and whoops. When the water’s up to his waist, he dives below the surface.
A minute later, after he does a handstand, Kip comes out and stands above me, dripping water on my school shoes. “So, what do you think?” He flops down next to me, sand sticking to his skin.
I watch the waves roll in, my stomach imitating them. “What do you mean?”
“I like you, Murph,” he says.
My brain feels fuzzy. It’s confusing and wonderful. “I’ve never had a boyfriend.”
“I’ve never had a girlfriend.” He grabs his shirt and rubs it on his damp hair, drops of water landing on my arm. I lace my fingers together.
“Did you know Joan of Arc was supposed to get married, but she told her parents she didn’t want to?” I blurt. Because it’s quiet. Because my cheeks are on fire.
Kip laughs again. “That’s such a weird thing to say.”
“I’m nervous!”
He hops up and puts on the white undershirt the Our Lady boys are required to wear. He leans over and pulls me up by my hands. He doesn’t drop them, and my palm is pressed warm against his. So warm. We are glued together.
No hint of a joke on his face, he asks, “Can I hold your hand when we walk back?”
I nod because I don’t trust myself to talk. He can.
The morning of the presentation, I wake up to butterflies swirling in my stomach. Kip held my hand. I held his hand. But there’s a fight in the kitchen because my dad is late for the boat. He’s late for the boat because he was at the Tavern all night. I braid my hair in the bathroom and hear something crash on the kitchen floor.
My mom cries, and then the screen door slams. I close my eyes and breathe out, my mouth quivering. Why today? I need them normal today. I need to be normal today. I pull out Joan’s card. I am not afraid.
A science presentation is not an impending army attack. I can do this.
Mr. Fen lets me in early and leaves to get coffee in the staff lounge. I pour buckets of water into Monica’s bright pink baby pool, then sit at the lab table, my back straight and hands tight like a knot. Only my legs give away my nerves, bouncing out of control.
As each student walks in, I stare at the board, repeating the speech we’ve prepared. Almost everyone is in class. Except Kip. If I had a phone, I would text him.
He still isn’t there for prayer or the Pledge, so I turn my attention to the door, willing him to enter. He said he would be here. He said he would work hard. I shouldn’t have trusted him.
When he finally bursts in, I let out a huge sigh. Kathleen stares at me like I’m the weirdo even though she’s the one talking to unicorns. Mr. Fen gives Kip detention, which he waves off. He pulls up a stool next to me.
“You miss me?”
I roll my eyes. “Glad you could make it.”
“Oh, M
urph, we’re gonna destroy it. Babe puked. My mom had to clean it up. So disgusting. All over the stairs.” He uses his hands for emphasis. “Just puke after puke after puke. Shrimp tried to eat it.”
I glare at him.
“I had to walk Monica to school.” He pats me on the hand. I wouldn’t mind if he left his hand there, even if he is talking about vomit.
“Dwyer, stop discussing bodily fluids and get up here to present,” Mr. Fen barks.
“Of course, Fen, sir. I’m so excited to tell the class about submarines.”
“You’re just excited to talk for twenty minutes without punishment.” Fen looks at me. “Ready, Mary?”
We’re getting an A. I can feel it. And by some miracle, I don’t pass out from nerves. Kip doesn’t need notes and entertains everyone while I flip the switches on the controller. Fen only has to yell at him once during our presentation.
When we’re finished, I sink back into my chair and bury my head in my arms. We did it. We did well. I won’t fail science. But an empty feeling hovers in my chest. It’s over. In a few weeks, school will let out for the summer, and I’ll be held captive in the house on Bleecker Street. I’d rather be in this science lab for lunch detention.
“What’s wrong, partner?” Kip asks me. “We were amazing!”
I tip my head to look at him, the table smooth like the inside of an oyster shell against my cheek. I want to tell him. I want to tell him about my dad. The words creep to the tip of my tongue, but I stuff them back down. “Nothing.”
“Hey, I have to work at the marina, but can I walk you home after school?”
“Why?” The Dwyer house is right behind the church. My house is a mile away.
“Mr. Dwyer! I am very aware your assignment is complete, but Kayla and Olivia would like to present theirs now. Is that okay with you?” Mr. Fen yells.
“Yes, sir. My deepest apologies, ladies. I can’t wait to hear about kinetic energy. Tell me all about it!” He immediately turns back to me and opens his mouth. “How come you never get in trouble?”
“Because I’m so sweet.”
He laughs, and Fen shoots him a look.
Kip leans in closer and whispers, “I want to walk you home so I can see you, Murph. I thought that was kind of obvious.”
“Oh,” I say. He does? I feel my cheeks flush. “Okay.”
“Okay.”
Joan prayed in the fields when she tended to the sheep, under the bright blue sky, and in the chapel in the woods under the old oak trees. She lit candles and sensed the angels and saints all around her.
She first heard their voices when she was thirteen. In her father’s garden, the sun warm, Michael, defeater of Satan during the war in heaven, appeared. He called her name, his sword at the ready. Though she was terrified, the saint soothed her.
And then more visited. Saint Catherine. Saint Margaret. They came to her garden often and spoke to her.
Joan prayed about the visits. She spoke to the village priest. She fasted.
And then she knew what they wanted.
What her whole village prayed for.
Freedom.
She would seek the dauphin, the son of the late French king. She would encourage him to lead France. She would make him crowned king.
She told only her priest.
When she was fourteen, her parents decided she should marry. They picked out a groom and announced it to the church members. But Joan didn’t want to get married. She knew she had different plans.
Vowing never to marry gave her the courage to tell those around her about her calling. She would fight for her country’s independence.
The young maid from the forest of oak trees would save France.
All day, I’m distracted, a different distraction than my parents. At lunch, I miraculously don’t have detention, so I sit with Lydia in the cafeteria and nod along, barely paying attention, as she tells me about an argument between two of the band kids. And when the bell rings at the end of the day, I hurry to the bike racks.
When Kip comes outside, he’s laughing with some of the other boys. He says good-bye to them and raises his eyebrows at me. “Murph! Where have you been all my life?”
“I saw you an hour ago.” But I smile.
Kip doesn’t have his bike. He unbuttons the top button of his shirt and rolls up his sleeves while I pull my bike out of the rack.
I walk it, my hands on the bars, and we are both quiet and awkward. Kip is a lot different, less confident, when he doesn’t have a whole classroom to impress or a teacher to tease. But I like him more like this. I bite my lip, thinking about how he sword fought with me when we were little. I accidentally knocked him off the dock.
“Buddy was at the marina yesterday,” he says.
“Oh yeah?” I don’t know why he’s talking about Buddy. Buddy is an old waterman who doesn’t go out on the boats anymore. He gossips at the marina and hangs out on the boardwalk, talking to anyone who walks past.
And then I wonder how much Kip knows about the rest of the island because of the marina. About my family. Does he see Robert Murphy? Does he think he’s funny? Does he know he was in prison? I clear my throat.
“He said there’s a scientist in the retreat, a guy named Ford something. Wait, Ford Wallace. Or Wallace Ford?” A scowl forms under his freckles. “Either way, there’s a guy there who built submarines for the Navy.” He rubs his neck and says, “I don’t know what we could do with that information, but I thought you’d want to know it.”
“A man who built subs? Lives here?”
“Yeah, I think he still does. You know Buddy says stuff that’s half true, so I don’t know, but it sounds like he still builds them, like, for rich people. Like weird billionaires with lots of time on their hands.”
I stop walking and look out at the Bay. People build real submarines? I guess I knew that, but someone in the Scientists’ Retreat builds subs? He’s not in a nameless video on the internet. He’s right here, in the county.
I shove my hand in my pocket and pull out Joan’s card. I am not afraid. And the other half of the quote, the phrase I’ve never said. I was born to do this. Because I’ve never felt like I was born to do anything. Joan of Arc was destined to save France. And me? Born to survive, maybe. But a thrill runs up my spine like nothing I’ve ever felt before. “We could make one.”
Kip keeps walking ahead of me until he realizes I’m not beside him. “What? A sub?” He comes back and takes my bike by the handlebars. “Like a real sub?”
I nod. A real sub. A real sub that could leave the island.
“You want to make a real submersible that goes under the water?”
“Yes, that’s what a sub does.” And I want to keep working with Kip. We’re a good team. Mr. Fen stopped me in the hallway and told me we’d gotten a ninety-eight on the model. I want to keep going.
“Murph, you think we, you and me, the two of us, can make something that survives underwater?”
“Yes.” I blow out a long breath and smile. I do. Across the water is the Eastern Shore. We could go there. I’ve never been. I squeeze my hands at my side, the card tucked in my palm. I don’t know how we’ll do it, but I think we can.
Kip leans the bike against him and folds his arms tight to his button-down. The blue of the bike is faded from the sun. He shakes his head. “Well, I’m not going in it. Too scary.”
“Oh.” He doesn’t want to. I tilt my chin down. What was I thinking?
“But I think you should probably realize by now that I would do anything to spend more time with you, so yes, I will help you build a real sub. Even if it is a death trap.”
I drop Joan in my pocket and run my hand over the fabric of my dress, a rush building inside me.
I will dive. I will sink. I will surface.
I will get off this island.
The driveway is empty when I say good-bye to Kip. Thank you, Joan. Mom must be at work at the cannery, and my dad must be on the water. I have the house to myself.
; In my room, I draw submersibles. I look over the notes I made about the model. Basically, it will be the same because we need the same components. I’ll need to be able to breathe and see. At my desk, I scowl at the paper.
Where am I going to go? I know we have a map of the Bay somewhere, and I search the kitchen and the living room. I find a depth chart, folded tight in a bookcase. I spread it across my desk. Seven miles. I have to survive for seven miles.
I can do that. I can survive almost anything.
The hull can’t be made out of a plastic soda bottle, of course. It has to be something stronger, able to sustain pressure, even though the Bay isn’t deep. I saw one video online with a kayak. The man was able to paddle out into deep water and then convert it into a sub. I don’t have a kayak. I don’t have much of anything. I glance around the bare walls of my bedroom.
Maybe Kip has something at the marina. Huge barns near the docks are full of boat equipment. At least there were when I was six. Maybe there’s a propane tank. My heart pounds. That would work, if I can fit in it. Propane tanks are pressurized.
I’m jotting down the words “propane tank” when the phone rings. I run to the kitchen and grab it.
“Susan?” a voice says. “Wait, is this Mary?”
I don’t recognize the voice at all. “Yes.”
“Glad I caught you. This is your aunt Betty.”
“Hi.” I don’t know much about my mom’s sister, Betty. I know she lives out west. I know she sends me cards on my birthday and presents that my father thinks are “too California.”
“I just moved back in town and was hoping you’d meet me for lunch.”
Why does she want to see me? What’s going on? I haven’t seen her in years. I don’t even remember what she looks like.
“Mary? Are you still there?”
“Yes, I’m here.” The last time I saw Betty was in third grade, when things were really bad. Is this about the science test? It was one test. I’m passing. I’m fine.
“Noon on Saturday? Does that work for you? The Harbor Restaurant?”
Mary Underwater Page 3