Orphan Island Page 10

  Then something did happen. Not off in the distance, but right there, beneath her, Jinny felt a tremble. She felt a wave that came not from afar but from below, a shift in the water, a pressure at her back. Something moved, big and dark and invisible. Something pushed against the water and the rhythms of the tide.

  Jinny startled and flipped herself up, tilted upright with a gasp, as her arms beat the surface, became a sudden frenzy, and her head jerked back and forth in all directions, searching, hunting, wondering. What?

  Jinny saw nothing. But then she felt. What was it? A brush, a touch. Jinny felt a slick tight skin glide past her, rub against one of her bare thighs. She screamed. It brushed her again. Whatever it was. It moved fast. It felt solid. It was a flank, a wall, a small bit of something vast. Jinny turned her head sharply in every direction, found nothing but the sea. Only now she knew she was not alone. There was something near. With her, beneath her, maybe all around her. Panic filled Jinny’s chest, her lungs, her head. Fear and spit filled her mouth, and her arms flailed. But where to go? There was nowhere to go. Only endless water.

  Then Jinny saw something. A difference. A ripple that became a shape. Jinny watched as the something broke the surface. Cleaved the sea in two. It was as though the blade of a knife was rising from the water, sharp end up. The knife sliced the water, and grew, and kept rising, until it was a great wall, a jagged cliff, a triangle of what looked like stone above her head. It was a fin, it had to be, a massive fin, bigger than anything Jinny could have imagined. Jinny treaded, paralyzed, as she watched it rise, and tower. Her breath froze inside her. Her flesh froze too.

  As quickly as it had risen then, the fin dipped back down, sank beneath the gentle waves. But the water all around Jinny felt charged now. The currents shifting, as though something was swirling and swimming, creating eddies under the surface.

  Now, Jinny swam. In a split second she struck the water. Eyes closed, heart racing. She didn’t think, but swam like a body, like a creature, like a fish. An animal moving fast, churning her arms, kicking her legs, moving to move. She didn’t pick a direction. The direction picked her. The direction was away. That would be enough, to be away. From this.

  In a matter of moments, Jinny let out a cry. A sharp sound rose from her throat, or maybe from someplace else inside her. She saw the island appear through the mist, as though it had been waiting for her all along. As if she only had to wish for it. As if the island was inevitable. As if it would have been there for her, no matter what direction she’d swum. Home. She only had to want it badly enough. Nothing had ever been so welcome as that glimpse of land, that pale sand beach, the cliffs above. Jinny had never been so eager for anything in all her life. She swam and swam for land. She pushed her tired body, propelled it somehow through the water.

  Jinny could feel herself crying as she swam, taste her tears, salty as the cold sea but warm on her face and tongue. She wept as she swam home. Home. Home. Because if she wasn’t moving, she was done.

  And just as she thought that her breath was breaking, that the blood might burst through her ears, Jinny felt her feet touch bottom, and she let herself collapse. Let her body drop into the water, felt the tide carry her gently back to the safe, sturdy ground. There she rolled a moment in the shallow surf and lay panting, with the welcome grit of the beach on her cheek. Could anything be so wonderful as the firm wet sand of the island? Why had she ever thought to swim away?

  Jinny lay still, waiting to catch her breath. When she could finally stand, she dressed her sodden shaking body in the dry clothes, warm from the sun, and began to walk, trembling with the cold and the exertion and the fear. Now that it was over, she couldn’t stop shaking.

  When she walked into camp, she found the others were all eating at the table. Laughing on their benches, chewing and sipping, as though life was no different than it had been an hour before. As though everything was fine.

  Jinny stared at them. She’d been in another world and returned. She’d been away, and away was the opposite of this. Away was danger, and Jinny knew now how danger felt. Staring at the table of familiar faces, Jinny felt like she was watching everyone else through a sheet of water or a thin fog. She didn’t feel ready to speak. As happy as she was to see them, she didn’t feel ready for any of this. Her sore body wanted to collapse again, into her own soft bed, sleep. She couldn’t talk, could only stare at them, mute.

  But Ess shrieked and pulled Jinny back. “I did it!” screamed Ess. “Jinny! I readed words!”

  “Huh?” Jinny couldn’t remember how to speak.

  “I readed!” shouted Ess again.

  “Oh,” said Jinny. “Yes. That’s nice, Ess.” Jinny still couldn’t fully process anything Ess was saying. Then Jinny remembered the reading lesson, and she found she didn’t care very much. “That’s great,” she added distantly. “Good job.”

  Ess chortled. “I readed all of the words. Cat and bat and mat and fat.”

  Jinny forced a smile. “Great, Ess.”

  Joon nodded. She looked right at Jinny, just like she always did, like nothing was different. “She did well. I think you’d already taught her more than you realized.”

  “That’s great, really great . . . ,” said Jinny, her voice drifting off. She turned to head for her cabin. She was very tired. “Okay. I’m going to bed. Good night, everyone.”

  Behind her, Oz was chewing and muttering to Jak at the same time. “What is it with Elders? They always get so weird at the end, don’t they?”

  Eevie agreed. “Yep, she’s acting just like Deen did, isn’t she? But also Jinny’s jealous. That’s why she’s skipping dinner, I bet. She’s sore because we helped Ess, and she couldn’t.”

  Jinny stopped walking. She glanced over her shoulder, and when she saw triumph in Eevie’s eyes, it was as though something snapped inside Jinny. She heard Eevie’s grating, jangling voice, and it pulled her back into the world. Her fog cleared, and Jinny felt herself turn to Eevie.

  In a calm smooth voice that didn’t feel like her own, Jinny spoke. “What’s wrong with you, Eevie?” she asked. “Why do you have to ruin everything? Always? You make it impossible to love you.”

  The others stared. The two girls argued often enough, but this was different. This voice was new for Jinny. Thin and sharp as the razor edge of a mussel shell. Her words too jagged, too true.

  “Jinny?” Ben said, standing and raising a hand to stop her.

  But Jinny couldn’t stop. “It’s like you’re hungry,” she said in that same cold, strange voice. “Like you’re hungry inside all the time, and you want to eat us. Like you want to chew us all up. But why? What made you hungry like that? What happened to you?”

  “Jinny,” gasped Nat, standing to place a soft hand on Eevie’s shoulder protectively. “Jinny, stop.”

  Suddenly there were bright tears in Eevie’s eyes, and she only looked small, young, and bruised. “It isn’t . . . always so easy, you know,” she choked. “It isn’t always so easy to be happy. I see the rest of you happy, and I don’t know how you do it, but I try. It’s hard for me. But I do try. To be happy, and nice.”

  Everyone was silent, frozen, staring from one girl to the other.

  Jinny knew she’d gone too far. Somewhere inside her there was a squeak of sympathy, a softening. But after the long swim, the terrible knife fin rising above her, the away and apart and alone, she didn’t have the energy, the heat for this moment. She was certain her body would fall over if she stood for even another minute, that if she tried to care now, her skin would break and shatter.

  “All right, then,” Jinny said, with a faint nod. “All right, Eevie. I’m going to bed. Ess, you come whenever you like.”

  Just like that, she walked away.

  Jinny was halfway up the path, striding fast, before she realized that Ben was behind her, huffing to keep up. She turned.

  “Jinny!” he called out, stopping on the path and bending over to catch his breath. “I thought . . . you might need to talk?” He pee
red up at her, red-faced and hopeful.

  Jinny looked down the hill at him. It was so nice of him, she thought, to worry. Ben was so nice, always. And yet his niceness made her feel almost as tired as Eevie’s meanness. Annoyed, even.

  “No,” she said, trying to keep her own voice kind. “No, I really just want to sleep now, Ben. Good night.”

  “Are you sure? I mean, we could . . .”

  Jinny didn’t have it in her to talk to him. She turned away. Ben couldn’t understand how she was feeling. How could he, when she didn’t even understand it herself? She’d never felt this way before. She didn’t know what to call it, so she walked away and didn’t look back. How long he stood there, watching, she didn’t know. She didn’t care enough to notice.

  14

  A Good Day to Disappear

  Because she’d gone to sleep so early, Jinny woke early too. It was still dark out. She lay in bed, staring at Ess beside her, and trying to remember the day before. So much had happened. Too much had happened. Jinny felt raw and exposed, yet her memories were vague. She remembered mist all around, the island gone. She remembered the green smudge and the creature, whatever it was, with its terrible fin, rising above her. She remembered her fight with Eevie. Why had she said those things? What had come over her?

  Jinny felt nervous, edgy. She wasn’t ready to face the others. She wasn’t sure if she was angry or sorry. So before the sky was even light, Jinny sneaked down to the kitchen, packed a basket of snacks, and returned to the cabin for Ess. Just as the usual ribbons of gold were beginning to braid the sky, Jinny led her groggy Care up the path and into the prairie. The two of them. Alone. It felt like a good day for a long walk. It felt like a good day to disappear.

  And it was. Together the two girls roamed. They picked swinks and ate until they couldn’t eat any more. Jinny showed Ess how to make chains from the purple bursts of wild clover that grew in the grass. They climbed the cliffs and lay in the sun. They paddled in the shallow stream that ran through the prairie, where tiny silver fish nibbled their toes. “Deen used to swear they were trimming his toenails for him,” she told Ess. “I almost believed him. But I think he nibbled them himself.”

  “Eww!” shouted Ess. And they both laughed. But Jinny couldn’t help feeling like part of her simply wasn’t there, with Ess, in the prairie. Like her shadow was gone, or some other layer of herself. As much as she wanted to be present, she felt like she’d left part of herself behind somewhere—maybe in the sea. Though it wasn’t the sea she thought about, or the dark fin rising above her, but rather the vision she’d had of the small green boat. When she closed her eyes, it was the green smudge she saw, heading toward her. It made her heart race to think of it.

  Many hours later they returned, and Jinny felt better. She was worn out from walking and running and swimming, and her tiredness felt good. She found she wasn’t mad at Eevie anymore. Still, she headed straight for her cabin. She didn’t want to lose this easy feeling. She wanted to hold on to it for a while. But as Jinny opened the cabin door and stepped inside, Ess peered longingly down at the beach, where the others all seemed to be playing a game of catch with a ball of rags.

  “Want to play?” she asked Jinny, her brow wrinkled.

  Jinny smiled, but she shook her head. “Sorry, Ess. I will later. Maybe tomorrow. But right now I just need some rest.”

  “Oh,” said Ess.

  “You can go, if you want.” Jinny nodded toward the game. “It’s fine. Really. I just think I want to stay here. Read for a bit.”

  Ess stared back at the cove, where the others were running and shouting, laughing out loud. Then she turned back to Jinny and shook her head. “No. I want to stay with you,” she said.

  “Really?” Jinny was surprised. “Thank you,” she said, and meant it, deeply. Even if part of her wanted to be alone.

  So Jinny stepped into their cabin, shook the dirt from her feet, and sat on the edge of her bed. As Ess crawled up and curled beside her, Jinny gave the girl a quick hug. She was glad not to be alone just now after all. Very glad.

  After that, Jinny reached for a book, and for a long while she read aloud about a little girl with a pet horse and a monkey. It was a wonderful story, one of Jinny’s favorites, and Ess listened intently. But at some point, Jinny’s voice drifted off, and her eyes fluttered shut. She fell into a dreamless hole, a thick inky sleep. She’d been up since before dawn, and her body needed rest. It took what it needed, as bodies do.

  Until something woke her.

  A sound. Even in her groggy state, Jinny knew what it was. The sound echoed inside her. It spoke to her. And something inside her rustled and woke. It was as though she’d been waiting for it—the bell. As though she’d known it was coming.

  “No!”

  She sat up in bed.

  No.

  Beside her, on the floor of the cabin, Ess was playing with her family of sand dollars. Lining them up like a long thin train, in some very specific order Jinny couldn’t fathom.

  Ess looked up at Jinny, startled to hear her shout. “Did you have a bad dream?”

  Jinny didn’t answer. What could she say? She jumped down and hopped over the line of shells, then scrambled for the door. It couldn’t be. It couldn’t be. Not yet. She wasn’t ready. And after yesterday . . . No!

  But it was time, and Jinny knew it. She had known, for sleeps and sleeps, she realized now.

  When Jinny stepped from the cabin into the late-afternoon sun, she squinted.

  Ess trailed behind her, still clutching a sand dollar. “Jinny, wait!” she called. “Wait for me!”

  Jinny looked back at her Care. She paused, stretched out a hand.

  Along the beach, everyone else was running for the cove. Just like every other time the boat had come. Every other time. Only this wasn’t like every other time. Not even close. This was her time. It was Jinny’s turn. Everything felt different, even the air around her—magnetic, charged. She had never been so unready for anything. Had Deen felt like this? She couldn’t imagine. She remembered that day, so well, so sharply. The gray sky. How sad she’d felt, how hard it had been. The catch in Deen’s voice, the look in his eyes. And yet he’d gone. Even when she’d asked him to stay, he’d gone. Because that was what people did when their turn came. They left.

  Now it was her turn.

  When Ess slipped her fingers into Jinny’s, Jinny gripped them tightly. Together, they walked down the beach, to join the others in the cove. But slowly, slowly. Not running at all.

  Everyone was lined up. They stood waiting for Jinny. Nothing could happen without Jinny. Oz and Jak stood, clutching their knives. Nat and Eevie, side by side, both looking nervous. Ben, with an arm around Sam, and Joon, standing slightly apart, holding the horrible bell. When Jinny and Ess finally arrived, Joon set the bell on its hook and shot Jinny a look she didn’t completely understand. Good-bye, it said gruffly. And maybe I’m sorry.

  Off in the distance, through eyes squinted against the bright sun on the water, Jinny could see it, the small green boat appearing through the mist, just as she’d pictured it. Like a memory. The water was calm in the flat, happy sunshine. Nothing like the vast, angry sea she’d been lost in only the day before. It was amazing how different the sea could feel from one moment to the next. It was amazing how different Jinny herself could feel.

  She tried to remember all the other times she’d stood this way, but besides Deen’s leaving, she found they all blurred. “Emma,” she said out loud. But it didn’t help. She couldn’t conjure up a clear memory of that moment, or her Elder, really. Tate . . . that was clearer.

  She looked down at Ess, at the bits of leaf and sand in her hair and the smudge on her cheek. She looked around her, and everything felt wrong. All wrong. This was too nice a day for leaving. It was a day for napping, for sitting still, for clover chains, and picking swinks in the windless sunshine. They were going to have root soup for dinner, Jinny’s favorite. She could smell it in the air.

  Root soup. W
hy was she bothering to think about soup?

  Jinny felt Ess trying to wriggle her fingers and realized that her own grip on the girl’s hand had become too tight. She relaxed but didn’t let go.

  “Jinny, what is it?” asked Ess. “What’s happening?”

  But Jinny couldn’t stand to look down, make eye contact. She still hadn’t managed to explain any of this to Ess. Why hadn’t she prepared the girl? What had she been waiting for? It would only be worse this way. Jinny knew that now. She got it, too late. Someone else—probably Ben—would have to talk to Ess about this. Poor Ben. It suddenly hit her that she really hadn’t done her job as Elder, hadn’t told Ben all the things he needed to know. He’d asked and asked, and finally given up. And now it was his time, and there were things she hadn’t told him. What had she been thinking? What was wrong with her? How had she let Ben down this way? Jinny felt her belly begin to cramp. She wished she could bend over, fold herself in half, but she stood up straight. She forced herself.

  They all waited in silence and watched the boat come in. It made a beeline for the very spot where they were standing. Soon Jinny could see the child who would replace her. A white shirt and a blur of brown hair. For a brief moment, she hated him, this boy. As the boat drew nearer, she could see his hair was curly. He was crying, of course, and snotting. He came quickly, and in moments, the boat was digging its trench in the wet sand at their feet.

  The boy blinked, and Jinny gasped, startled, as she saw that his eyes were blue. Like her own, apparently. Jinny had never seen blue eyes before. Was this was what she looked like? Was this what other people saw when they looked at her? It was strange, mesmerizing. The boy’s eyes nearly glowed.

  Beside her, Ben coughed, and Jinny glanced over at him. He looked at her sadly, and stepped forward, because that was his part this time. He knew that much. This was his job to do. As it had been hers last time. Ben reached out his arms and lifted the boy from the boat. He set him down gently in the sand beside Ess.