“If you’re not going to wash yourself, you can just get out.”
Every movement is slow and painful. Pulling on pajama pants is excruciating. So is climbing back into the trunk. When it closes, darkness surrounds me.
Think good thoughts.
Elian. I’m on his ship. I can go anywhere.
But the image breaks.
The trunk shrinks, and it’s as if I’m shrinking too, then fading to somewhere else. The place between worlds. The split second before Elian gets from where he is to where he’s going. The long stretch of ocean that Inuit sailors fear between shores.
It’s the place you disappear.
MY LAMP, THE one with a pedestal shaped like a crescent moon, must be broken or the bulb must have blown, because my room is completely dark. My father is sitting on the edge of my bed; he must have heard me crying. He pushes back my sweaty hair. It’s too hot. Why is it so hot?
It’s summer….We saw the fireworks today. We walked on the beach. I found the biggest seashell I’d ever seen. Mom called it a conch. She said, Put it to your ear. Listen. Air echoes through its chambers, and it sounds like the ocean.
But it’s too hot. I feel sick. I have a headache. I want a cold cloth. I want my TV on. I want Mom. I try to tell Dad all of this, but he says, “It’s time for sleep now.”
“I can’t.”
He ignores me the way he always does when I tell him I don’t want to sleep. But this is different. I’m sick. I’m in pain.
My father is asking me something: “How many stars?”
“I don’t know.”
“You know the rules.” His voice is gentle. “How many?”
I look up at the pitch-black sky. “I don’t see any stars.”
HOW LONG? NO light streaming through. Did I miss it? Or is it too soon? How long have I been inside this shell? I’m echoing back and forth through the chambers for eternity. I’m not real.
I’m wet. I’m hungry. He’s not coming back.
It’s dark.
I’m scared.
I’m never getting out.
I scream and claw at the walls of the shell. There’s a bright explosion of pain, a snap of bones, but I keep hitting.
Then I’m falling.
My face slams into something cold. Metal.
My fingers find two holes. I try to push one finger through, but it hits something smooth, hard, and cold. I’ve turned over my shell. I need to get it upright again or I’ll drown. I slam my shoulders against the wall, but it’s too heavy. Fighting against metal and gravity and waves, I’m so tired now.
Deep ragged breaths.
I can hear the ocean inside the shell.
I wake up flailing. I’ve already forgotten whatever the nightmare was about, but I remember the feeling—like suffocating. I hop out of bed, too awake to sleep now. I slip out of the house quietly so my mom doesn’t wake up, get in the van to go to Emerald’s….Then it occurs to me that she’s probably asleep too.
Nothing’s open, so I drive aimlessly till I find myself pulling up in front of Julian’s house. The streetlamp reflects against the two rows of square windows, making them shine like teeth. No lights are on in the house, which makes sense, since it’s after midnight. Russell’s car isn’t in the driveway, but it could be in the garage.
I head to the front door and ring the bell. As it echoes through the house, I get an apprehensive twinge. Russell’s probably going to kick my ass for waking him up. But whatever, I’ve gone this far, and I’m not leaving till he gives me the phone number.
Only no lights come on, and no pissed-off asshole comes to the door. It’s pretty obvious no one’s home, but something is stopping me from getting back in my car.
What I do next is so colossally stupid that I immediately start planning my defense for when the police arrive. I’m off my ADHD meds, I’ll say, and impulsivity is the hallmark of my condition. It’s not my fault I kicked in my friend’s window.
When no home invasion alarm sounds, I slide my hand through the broken glass, trying not to cut myself, and turn the locks. I slide the window up and slither in, making a lot of noise when I fall inside. I’m not doing this whole breaking-and-entering thing properly, I know that.
I scramble to my feet, ready for Russell to burst into the room and scream at me for being in his house. Or maybe he’ll think I’m a freakin burglar and charge in with a gun. I freeze.
The house stays totally silent.
I take a deep breath, inhaling the gross, stale odor of what has to be Julian’s room and flip on the light. There’s a suitcase against the wall.
“Julian?” I yell, even though if anyone was home they would’ve heard my fantastic entrance. I stride past his dresser and trunk into his bathroom, out into the living room, then back into the bedroom. I lift the suitcase—heavy, still packed.