Between the Land and the Sea

Chapter EIGHT

HIGH SCHOOL

I was too nervous to eat breakfast on Monday morning, but Abby had gone to the effort to cook so I picked at the tofu scramble to please her.

“You’ll probably love high school,” she chirped, her tone overly cheerful.

“Did you?” I asked, trying not to sound too cynical.

“We-ell, not so much,” she admitted with a grin. “But I did make some really good friends there,” she added. Abby always managed to put a positive spin on everything.

Cruz made his way into the kitchen, grumbling. He had taken pains with his hair, lined his eyes, and painted his fingernails black. I thought he looked really beautiful in a dark, androgynous way. My guess was that he had adopted a rebellious stance to cover up his deep-seated feelings of alienation. At least that’s what Evie would say, psychoanalysis being one of her many hobbies.

Abby believed in allowing him to express himself freely, but she confided in me that she thought his style made the teasing at school worse. It pained her to see him unhappy, and she wished he would try and fit in a little bit more. Still, she was proud of his obvious talent as a designer, and often pointed out that once you made it through high school, life became easier.

I had taken a different approach, and did my level best to blend in. Evie always dressed me much more extravagantly than most kids my age, but today I really didn’t want to stand out. I went through my wardrobe and tried to pick out the standard teen costume from all the high fashion pieces. I settled on jeans, the simplest, least embellished tee-shirt I could find, and ballet flats. I didn’t have a backpack, but I picked out a roomy tote for my books and school supplies. I thought I did alright, given what I had to work with.

When we got to school Cruz walked me over to the office to meet with a counselor for orientation. I was new, and I had already missed a full week. Off to a great start, I thought bitterly. Aptos High wasn’t a very big school, and rumors of my supposed flying leap off the end of the pier had trickled throughout the entire student body. I could feel curious eyes on me from all sides. I held my head high, channeling my inner Evie, and pretended not to notice.

“See you in class,” said Cruz as he dropped me off.

“You must be Marina Vanderpool,” said a woman behind the desk. “Mrs. Owens is expecting you, second door on the right.”

When I entered her office Mrs. Owens peered up at me from behind thick, round glasses.

“Well, well,” she said, studying me critically, “have a seat.” She reminded me of a goldfish in a bowl, the kind with the popped-out eyes. “You certainly don’t look at all like your cousin.” I didn’t like her tone.

“Pleased to meet you,” I said, extending my hand with excessive formality.

She shook it perfunctorily and went on, “Reviewing your transcripts, I don’t think you’ll have any trouble getting up to speed. On the contrary,” she said, raking me over with a gimlet eye, “Your studies seem to be quite advanced.”

“I was hoping to have the same schedule as Cruz,” I said, “I have no experience attending a daily school and I wanted the transition to be–”

“Cruz,” she said unpleasantly, “is not someone you want to emulate.”

“Really? In what way?” I asked, challenging her.

She smiled condescendingly, “Why, his poor grades, of course. But I don’t think that will be a problem here, given the high caliber of your prior schooling.” I had expected this, for the private tutors I’d studied with had put me beyond American high school level in most areas. Traveling with my father was an education in itself, and I’d read so many of the classics that there wasn’t one book on the text syllabus that I didn’t already know.

But I really wasn’t here to be educated, at least not academically– my father had made that clear.

We both knew I’d be phoning it in curriculum-wise, but ultimately I was supposed to have a so-called “normal” high school social experience. I’d always blindly obeyed my father, trusting that he had my best interests at heart. But now I’d come to the realization that there were things about him I didn’t know, he could be terribly wrong, and I suspected that he was seriously misguided in sending me here.

I wished I had a license and a car so I could just get in and drive away. High school wasn’t looking too appealing so far.

I smiled sweetly at the beady-eyed old bat.

“I’d really feel most comfortable in the same classes with my cousin. Perhaps you’d like to speak to my father...”

That did it. She knew my father held an endowed chair on the faculty of one of most prestigious universities in the nation. Among the educator class that was pulling rank.

“Have it your way,” she said with an ugly twist to her mouth. I was handed a stack of books, assigned a locker and given a schedule. “You’re late for your first class,” she waved dismissively.

I found my way to first period English and peeked in. There were about twenty five teenagers in rows facing the door and they all looked up at me simultaneously. I spotted Cruz sitting in the back and he waved at me. The teacher looked up.

“Marina Vanderpool?” she asked, apparently expecting me. “Come in and take a seat. I’ll need to speak with you after class about make-up work.” I could feel twenty five pairs of eyes follow me to the back of the room, where Cruz was sitting at an empty row. I plunked down next to him and he squeezed my hand reassuringly.

The rest of the first day went pretty smoothly. Cruz and I had all of our morning classes in common and we stuck together until lunch. We met up with Megan and took a table in the lunchroom. No one joined us, and pretty soon it became apparent to me that Cruz and Megan were social outcasts. I was mildly outraged by the stupidity of this, but at the same time I was relieved that we were left alone to talk about our little secret. We sat laughing and joking like we were at home on the couch. At least lunchtime would be a good part of my school day.

I spotted Ethan sitting at a table of surfers and their girlfriends. The girls all seemed to be giggling and tossing their hair theatrically, trying to get his attention. The blonde was sitting next to him, and I could see her glowering in our direction. Ethan kept looking over at us and it made me nervous. I switched seats so I didn’t have to face him.

We hadn’t talked about swim lessons yet, and I was uneasy, wondering what he must think about me after our encounter in the hospital. I suspected he pitied me, and it grated away at my pride. I wanted to tell him to forget it, for I knew he felt obligated because he worked for Abby, but I was afraid to approach him.

I was also unusually curious about what he was really like, and inspected his behavior surreptitiously, trying to decipher him. He didn’t seem at all interested in his appearance, although everyone else clearly was. I noticed that he dressed plainly in inexpensive casual clothes. He was never sloppy, but always sported the same well-worn jeans, plain shirts and sweats. He was such a gorgeous specimen he would look good in a burlap sack... or nothing, I thought with a flush of blood to my cheeks.

I turned to look again and met his eyes; I was glad he couldn’t read my mind. There was something about him that I liked, a seriousness that the other high school kids lacked. He seemed to move about with purpose, like he was always thinking ahead, operating on a strictly ordered schedule. Disciplined.

I noticed that everyone else at his table seemed to be eyeballing us, and I wondered exactly what they knew about me. I figured that wildly exaggerated rumors about my watery mishaps were flying.

“It’s just ’cause you’re new,” Megan said with a sympathetic look, “They’ll move on to something else soon enough.”

“I don’t care,” I said, holding my head high. I reminded myself out loud, “None of these people matter to me at all.”

Later in the day we had electives. I had chosen an art class and Cruz was taking Spanish so we parted ways for the day.

“See you after school,” Cruz said.

I got to class early, and had a chance to meet the teacher, Mr. Briggs. The art room was large and bright, with easels on one side, and a cluster of tables on the other. I liked the teacher, and the comforting smells of paint and turpentine made me feel right at home. I realized that I missed the art studio in my San Francisco apartment with a little twinge of sorrow. I surveyed the room and took a table in the back.

A familiar voice made me look up to see Ethan walking in, followed by a couple of girls. He didn’t seem at all surprised to see me, making a bee line over to my table to sit down next to me.

The girls were taken aback, and took the two opposite chairs, facing us.

“Hi Marina,” said Ethan nonchalantly. The girls just stared. “Marina, this is Heather and Jamie,” he said, gesturing towards them.

“Hello,” I said, “Nice to meet you.”

“Yeah, hi,” said Jamie. Heather just looked at me.

Mr. Briggs took roll call and then announced that there was a very talented new student joining the class.

I thought he must be an optimist, not having seen my work. He assigned us to draw a still life that was set up on the far end of the large room. There was a lot of shuffling and scraping of chairs as everyone gathered their materials and moved into a semi-circle around an arrangement of fruit baskets and bottles artfully arranged on a table. I tried to dodge Ethan, but he pulled his chair up next to mine. I thought he must really feel sorry for me. The two girls trailed him like ducklings, I noticed with amusement.

I began to draw, but I was excruciatingly aware of his presence and started having a hard time focusing. Frustrated, I closed my eyes, gritted my teeth and imagined he wasn’t there. I had taken art lessons at museums and galleries in the city and I was used to drawing around others. I never had any trouble blocking out distractions before, I thought defiantly.

I studied the subject matter a little too intently, afraid to look over at him. As we continued to draw, Mr. Briggs went around to each pupil murmuring constructive criticism, and that too was familiar. I finally relaxed and got lost in the flow, experiencing the peculiar sense of timelessness that came with total absorption in the process.

I jumped when the bell rang, still not used to the sudden noise. We all tore pages out of our pads and turned them in. People gathered up their stuff and rushed out, so I moved slowly, hoping to leave after Ethan did. The girls maneuvered him out the door, calling to him that they’d be late if he didn’t hurry. He seemed to linger, and finally reluctantly left, casting an anxious glance back at me as he did. Mr. Briggs came towards me as I zipped up my tote.

“You are a very accomplished artist, Marina,” he said with a friendly smile, “Ethan was right. He told me I could expect a lot from you when he transferred into this class last week.” The first week of school went by at a snail’s pace. I felt trapped, and started to plan my escape, considering how to persuade my father into letting me enroll in on-line school. I wondered what he would say if I told him I had spoken to a mermaid, much less mentioned to him what she had told me. Asking about my mom pretty much got me anything I wanted, but at the terrible price of seeing that familiar pained look on his face. I was more afraid of confronting my father than I was of seeking out Lorelei again.

The stares and whispers continued, and I got the sense that everyone was trying to figure me out, failing to categorize me. I arranged my face in a studied mask of indifference and went about my days ignoring everyone except Megan and Cruz. Lots of boys tried to catch my eye or strike up conversations but my distant nature and choice of friends put them off. Good, I thought, anyone who didn’t appreciate Megan and Cruz wasn’t worth knowing.

Friday after lunch I was digging art supplies out of my locker when Heather approached me.

I looked up, surprised. She was friends with Shayla, the mean blonde girl, and rarely even acknowledged me in art class. I had never spoken to Shayla, though our paths crossed frequently.

The open hostility she displayed towards Cruz and Megan made it clear that she wasn’t interested in being friendly with any of us.

“Nice shoes,” Heather said, eying my flats. “Are those really Prada? And is that a real Chanel bag?”

“Yes,” I smiled brightly, pleased that someone spoke fashion. Evie’s obsession with designers might be the bridge to some common ground with these girls.

“Are you like, rich or something?” she asked.

“No,” I laughed, shaking my head, “Not at all. My aunt buys me things she likes.”

“You mean Cruz’s mom? That stupid hippy? She doesn’t even drive a decent car!” she said with scorn. My eyes flew open wide and I turned to look at her with outrage. I had to fight a strong urge to smash her head into the locker. At that moment, Ethan walked up and stopped in his tracks, surprised by the look on my face. I don’t know what came over me, but I turned away from him.

“Excuse us,” I said through gritted teeth. I grabbed Heather’s arm tightly and steered her around the corner.

“If you ever… talk... about Abby that way again...” my voice shook with anger. I took a deep breath, “I will pull every hair out of your head.” Heather stared at me like a deer caught in the headlights. I let go of her arm and she scurried away. I wheeled around and ran smack into Ethan.

He looked down into my blazing eyes with amusement.

“Wow,” he said, “Remind me to never make you angry.” I went back to my locker and got my things. I slammed the door shut and Ethan was leaning there, staring at me. His dark blue eyes drilled into mine.

“What did she say about Abby?” he asked seriously.

“Why don’t you ask her?” I said, my voice dripping with acid.

Ethan walked alongside me to art class, casting sideways glances my way. I was practicing the deep calming breaths that Abby had taught me in yoga class. I couldn’t remember ever feeling so angry, and my sudden violent thoughts frightened me. I wondered if my mother had a temper, because my father rarely even raised his voice. I felt like something dangerous was welling up within me, something wild and out of control.

When I got to art class I scanned the room for a seat as far away from Heather as I could find. I took the last empty spot at a table with three boys, who all stared at me, dumbstruck. This forced Ethan to sit with Heather and Jamie, who cast triumphant glances at me, smiling smugly.

We were tasked with drawing a mythical creature of our choice, which struck me as highly ironic. I thought about the first time I saw Lorelei rise from the water and started drawing feverishly. Her image came to me with with crystal clarity, and I remembered the surge of shock that brought me to my knees. I lost myself in the memory, drowning out all the chatter in the room. The sounds of the class became like the roar of the surf to me, and when the teacher called for us to stop I looked up, disoriented and dazed.

I could hear the boys snickering as they looked over at my drawing and was suddenly mortified. I had captured Lorelei perfectly, and the expression she wore took me right back to that day. The only problem was that she was bare breasted, and she happened to look almost exactly like me. I quickly slammed the drawing pad shut, holding it to my chest. Mr. Briggs came around to collect the art, which he routinely posted on the classroom walls for a group critique. I refused to hand it over.

“Now Marina,” he said, “we are all our own worst critics.” He reached out his hand for the pad. I looked around and saw everyone watching, surprised because they knew how well I could draw. The boys at the table started laughing, and Mr. Briggs looked alarmed. I slowly reached my hand out and passed it over with a pleading look. He flipped it open and studied it briefly.

His face was impassive, unreadable. He closed the pad and tucked it under his arm.

“Please see me after class,” he said, and continued down the row of desks. The bell rang and the room was noisy with the bustle of students filing out. I sat at my desk, pretending to arrange the things in my bag, willing the class to clear out quickly. Ethan went out last, standing in the doorway as if to wait for me.

“Please excuse us,” Mr. Briggs said to him sternly, and he reluctantly turned and left.

Mr. Briggs walked over to me solemnly, “Marina, you are one of the most talented students I’ve ever had the privilege to teach. Your sensibility is remarkable, and your level of sophistication is clear.” He handed me the sketchpad, “This is a beautiful artwork, and in any other venue it would be appropriate.” He smiled reassuringly at my worried face, “Let’s just keep it rated ‘G’ from now on.” He walked towards the door and turned back, “You know, you really ought to consider taking some life drawing classes at the junior college... I can give you a recommendation if you’re interested.”

My cheeks flushed with embarrassment, “Thanks, I’ll think about it.” I gathered my things and left the room to find Ethan waiting outside.

“Marina,” he called, rushing to catch up to me as I hurried away.

“What?” I asked, tersely. I really didn’t want to answer any questions about what just happened. After the day I had I really wanted to go home.

“I was wondering if tomorrow would be alright for a swim lesson,” he said, “I work on Sundays.”

“I haven’t had a chance to get a wet suit yet,” I replied, pausing impatiently.

“I think I have one that might fit you,” he said, sizing me up, “from when I was a kid.”

“Well... okay I guess,” I couldn’t think of a good reason not to.

I looked up to see Shayla and her friends watching us. The waves of hostility coming from them were palpable.

“I think your groupies are waiting for you,” I said sarcastically. He looked over at them, and back at me with exasperation.

“Do you and Cruz need a ride home?” He asked.

“No thanks, Abby will be here soon,” I turned and quickly stalked away.

“See you Saturday,” he called after me.