Wrecked Read online

  Gray was standing at the podium on the stage, clicking from one photo to the next. Sitting alongside Gray were the survivors: Jeremiah, wearing a Grateful Dead T-shirt that definitely wasn’t part of the uniform. Alan, his eyes red and puffy. Gen’s seventh-grade sister Natalie, glancing up at the photos in disbelief.

  “Best friends, gone,” Gray intoned, staring out into the auditorium for emphasis. “My best friends,” she added, her brown eyes momentarily connecting with Miranda. “It’s not enough to merely remember. We have to ensure that something like this will never touch us again. One instant, one person, can change the course of many lives, either for good, or, in this case, for bad. And the only bright spot that can come from such a tragedy is to make the world a better place. And it can start with our school, to be a place of unity, connection, and the power to transcend tragedy,” Gray continued, flashing the audience a brilliant smile, the timing as smooth as if she were performing a dramatic monologue for the Miss Teen South Carolina competition.

  Miranda watched in horror. Gray’s speech was less a memorial than an accusation. At that point—as the photos flipped from one memory to the next—she began crying. Slowly at first, but then faster, harder, until it was impossible to catch her breath. She turned, desperate to run away, but saw Dr. Carlson charging up the aisle, holding a box of Kleenex in one hand, her cell phone in the other, as if she were going to call for reinforcements if Miranda didn’t take the box of tissues, sit down and act like a cooperative mourner. But before she could reach her, Miranda dropped her crutches and ran, not caring that she essentially blew her cover of being injured. She burst out the door of the auditorium and continued to run, not risking looking back.

  She ran past the school, feeling her heart burn in her chest. The ferry dock was only a mile down the road, and back when she played soccer, it would have taken her eight minutes, max, to run down there. Now, she knew she looked pathetic and her spine stiffened every time a car drove past. She didn’t want anyone to slow down or stop to ask if she was okay. Because the answer was, of course she wasn’t. And she wouldn’t be until she got as far away from Calhoun as possible.

  Finally, alternating hobbling and running, she made it to the ferry, relieved when the upper deck was almost empty and she could walk right on. She went into the tiny, claustrophobia-inducing elevator, eager to feel the salt spray against her face.

  “Heading to Whym?” A woman asked, sliding next to her on the almost-empty deck.

  “Yeah,” Miranda mumbled, before she looked up and gasped. It was the same woman from the hospital the other night. Now, she was wearing a white tennis skirt and a white sweater with three-quarter length sleeves.

  “Miranda,” the woman said. It was a statement, not a question.

  Miranda nodded, trying to catch her breath. “You surprised me,” Miranda said finally.

  The woman smiled slightly and her violet eyes widened. Her skin seemed sparkly in the fluorescent lighting. “I never had a chance to introduce myself. I’m Coral Smith. New to Whym.”

  “Nice to see you again, ma’am,” Miranda said, automatically holding out her hand.

  “The same, Miranda,” Coral said, smiling.

  The ferry lurched off the dock and onto the sound. Miranda watched the chop behind them. Who was this woman? It was unusual for people Miranda didn’t recognize to ride the ferry. And from the diamond-studded bracelets on Coral’s wrists and her tasteful clothing, it was clear she was wealthy. Generally, wealthy residents of Whym preferred to take their own boats unless absolutely necessary. And then there was the question of where she came from. Her accent was impossible to place.

  “What are you doing here?” Miranda asked, hoping Coral didn’t take the question as rude.

  The boat lurched slightly, and Miranda’s bag slid off the seat and onto the floor as Coral laughed a low, tinkling laugh. “I like it,” Coral said finally. “I love the island, and the ocean, and all the legends. It’s very romantic,” she said.

  Miranda shrugged. “I don’t know if that’s the word I’d use,” she said bitterly.

  “Why not?” Coral asked curiously.

  “It’s just small and superstitious and people are slow to forgive. I don’t know. I’m going to move as soon as I graduate,” Miranda said. “Or sooner,” she added, a thought forming in her mind.

  “Really? Where would you move?” Coral pressed.

  “California? New York? Anywhere but here would be pretty good about now.” Miranda pulled out her Shakespeare text. At this point, she’d rather risk sonnets than this conversation.

  Coral nodded, as if taking in the answer. “Is it because of the accident?” She asked after a beat.

  Miranda’s back stiffened and her cheeks flushed. She considered storming off the deck and moving to another seat, or simply excusing herself and hiding in the bathroom. But then, the woman put her hand comfortingly on Miranda’s leg and suddenly, Miranda felt all the tenseness and stress begin to slightly seep out of her core. “Yes,” Miranda nodded. “It was my boat,” she continued.

  Coral sucked in her breath. “My dear girl, I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay,” Miranda said finally.

  “But it can’t be. You lost your friends, your boyfriend’s unconscious . . . I can’t imagine. How many friends are left?” she pressed.

  Miranda shook her head. Really, none of her friends were left at all. “Including me, there were four survivors total. Gray, Jeremiah, Alan . . . ,” she said, listing off the names to herself. “But they don’t really talk to me anymore. Of course, I’m glad they’re alive,” she babbled.

  “Gray, Jeremiah, and Alan . . . ,” Coral repeated. “Well, I suppose that’s a blessing. But the rest of them, to be lost in the ocean . . . That’s why I always move around. If you never get close, you can never get hurt. But you already got close. So now, the question is, what will happen next?” Coral asked, as if she were talking to herself.

  “I don’t know,” Miranda admitted. Suddenly, the boat jolted, throwing Miranda forward.

  “We’re okay. Stay calm and we’ll be moving in a few moments,” the disembodied voice of the captain came through the crackling loudspeaker.

  “I suppose that’s something I need to get used to. They say that that’s the work of the sea witch. I suppose these waters are dangerous,” Coral mused to herself. “I mean, of course, with your accident . . .” Coral trailed off sympathetically.

  Suddenly, the boat jolted forward again and Miranda gripped the armrests of her chair so tightly that her knuckles turned white. Thankfully, Whym was within sight, and she wouldn’t have to listen to this woman’s superstitious conversation anymore.

  Miranda stood up and swung her bag over her shoulder. “I need to go. And there is no sea witch. I mean, bad things just happen. And it’s not a witch or monster, it’s just bad luck. There are just stupid people who can’t drive a stupid boat,” Miranda said, her voice shaking with anger. She didn’t want to leave the house ever again, and she certainly never wanted to get back on the ferry. Before she could listen to Coral’s response, she ran down the steps and waited on the platform of the car deck.

  It wasn’t until she stepped onto the rickety dock that she realized she had no way of getting home. Teddy had the car, and the house was five miles away, doable when her leg was okay, but definitely not today.

  She squinted into the sun. Unless she wanted to wait a few hours for Teddy to come home, she’d have to call the house to get a ride. It wasn’t like she could exactly hang out unobtrusively in town anymore. She didn’t even want to know what would happen if she walked into the Sand Witch diner to order lunch, or settled down in one of the aisles of The Sound and the Story bookstore, and she didn’t want to find out.

  But before she could pull out her cell, dial the house and ask if Roger could pick her up, a sleek black car edged up to the curb.

  “Would you like a ride?” Coral asked. “It would be my pleasure,” she continued in her smooth voice.
r />   “Fine,” Miranda said, knowing she sounded rude.

  “Lovely,” Coral smiled her tight-lipped smile and waited for the driver, a skinny, ancient man, to open the back door.

  “I live up on the other side of the island. Toward the bluff on Breaker Lane. Last house on the hill,” Miranda rattled off, sliding onto the leather seats. Maybe Coral was eccentric, but at least she was nice.

  “Of course. I’m happy to help. And please do consider me a friend. I know what it’s like to feel like an outsider,” Coral said as the driver wordlessly peeled off from the curb.

  “Thank you,” Miranda said. Sure, it was supremely weird, but it was a nice change of pace from being actively hated.

  “Of course. And I’d love for us to have tea on my yacht. You can point out all the hotspots of the island.”

  “Okay,” Miranda shrugged, feeling shy. They sat in silence until the car silently coasted up to the house.

  “This is me,” Miranda said. “Thanks!” Miranda called, slamming the door shut. The window rolled down and Coral leaned out.

  “I’m sure we’ll meet again. And feel free to stop by the Sephie any time. And if you want to, bring any of your friends . . . Gray, or Jeremiah,” she mused.

  “Thanks,” Miranda said, cutting her off. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Roger lurking by the rose-covered trellis that separated the front and back of the house. As soon as the car glided away, Roger strode over to Miranda.

  “Who was that?” Roger asked suspiciously.

  “I got a ride,” Miranda shrugged.

  “You should have called,” Roger said in a warning tone, as if he were immediately going to run to Eleanor’s study to report on what had just transpired. Roger grabbed her satchel from her hands and walked through the trellis and toward the path to the back door.

  “You coming in?” Roger called over his shoulder.

  Miranda shook her head. She didn’t want to go inside and deal with Louisa following her around the kitchen with an after-school snack, and she certainly didn’t want Eleanor to come into her room and tell her she’d heard from Dr. Carlson about Miranda’s impromptu departure.

  “I’m going swimming,” she said, not waiting for a response.

  Limping toward the back of the house, she was relieved to see that the backyard was empty, devoid of the gardeners and landscapers that generally made up the bustle of activity on the estate. She quickly bounded into the pool house and rummaged through the bottom drawer of the dresser until she pulled on the shapeless blue Speedo she’d been forced to wear for eighth-grade swim team. It was ugly, and it matched her mood.

  Once she pulled on her sweatshirt, she was hurrying across the driveway when suddenly she heard the creak of the French doors sliding open. Miranda glanced up, and her heart sank.

  It was Eleanor, dressed in a lilac suit. She’d obviously just come home from some sort of brunch.

  Miranda shielded her eyes from the sun and pulled her sweatshirt down past her hips. “Hi, Grandma,” she said finally.

  “I got a call from Dr. Carlson,” Eleanor called, making her way onto the patio. “She said you left early. Where did you go? And how did you get home? Where’s Teddy?” Eleanor asked, a hint of panic in her voice.

  “He’s at school,” Miranda yelled. “I took the ferry home. I’m fine.”

  “So I see,” Eleanor said, almost to herself. “Well, I wish you’d called. You’re only making this difficult, Miranda,” Eleanor added.

  “Like it wasn’t difficult for me already?” Miranda asked, barely containing her anger. “My whole life has been difficult!” she added.

  In all the years that she’d lived with her grandmother, they’d never had a fight. Eleanor seemed to perfectly balance the roles of doting grandmother and benevolent dictator, sort of like an elderly kindergarten teacher. She occasionally became disappointed, but she’d never really get mad.

  Eleanor opened her mouth, as if to speak, then closed it.

  “Well, I’m sorry to hear that,” she said as she moved closer. “And the only way it will get easier is for you to continue to try. And, Miranda, you didn’t try today. And I asked you to. As soon as I got the call from Dr. Carlson that you’d left, I called Dr. Dorn, and he said . . .” Eleanor was pursing her lips as if she’d sucked on a lemon. Miranda tuned her out. She knew exactly the speech Eleanor was about to launch into.

  You need to stay active. You need to grieve. She’d heard so much of Dr. Dorn’s secondhand advice via Eleanor that actually having therapy with him was overkill. And it wasn’t like it was even useful—the advice could be found in any Wikipedia entry on grieving. And any of the pills he doled out—including the multi-colored trapezoidal pills that were supposed to handle slight depression, as if slight depression was all someone who lived through an accident that killed her friends suffered—could almost certainly be found in Eleanor’s medicine chest.

  “Let me guess,” Miranda said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Dr. Dorn said I needed to go to school and maybe take a bunch of the pills he keeps offering. It’s like Dr. Dorn is a drug dealer with a really nice business card!” Miranda said, her voice steely and controlled. She saw Eleanor’s eyes widen in horror. Well, fine.

  “Miranda!” Eleanor yelled, the sharp tone of her voice as stinging as a slap. She grabbed Miranda’s wrist tightly and drew her in toward her until their eyes were only inches apart.

  “What? It’s the truth, isn’t it? Why can’t everyone just leave me alone?” Miranda yelled, her voice echoing in the air. Overhead, several seagulls cawed as if in direct response to her outburst.

  Eleanor relaxed her fingers slightly but didn’t break eye contact. “I won’t talk to you if you’re going to be like this. But I think you need to learn sooner rather than later that the world doesn’t care that you’re hurting,” Eleanor said in a low voice. “But I suppose, now that you’re here, we can at least head to the hospital and visit Fletch.”

  Miranda shook her head. “I don’t think I should,” she said softly.

  Eleanor opened her mouth as if she were about to say something, then mashed her lips in a thin line. Finally, she spoke. “Very well. I see that you’re out of sorts, and I won’t subject the Kings to that. But I will say that I cannot have you feeling sorry for yourself. It’s not helpful to anyone, it’s not useful, and, quite honestly darling, it’s selfish,” Eleanor said, each word measured, controlled, and angry.

  “Fine!” Miranda retorted. “So, I’m selfish. Maybe that’s better. And it’s not like the Kings even want to see me. I’m sure they’ll be thrilled that I’m not there!”

  “I won’t speak to you when you’re uncooperative and angry. I will give them your regrets. But I will say this,” Eleanor said, leaning even closer to Miranda, the expression on her face impossible to read. “The day your mother died, part of me died, too. I would never have chosen this life for myself, but I embraced it, because I had to. And you’ll have to, too. And the way you do it, is to just move forward and move on. Because there is no other choice. So all I ask is that you try to act normally. Not just for your sake, but for my sake, and for the sake of your future. No skipping school. No swimming without Louisa. And no yelling. You are still a young lady, and I expect you to act like one while you’re under my roof. Do we understand each other?” Eleanor asked, setting both of her hands on Miranda’s shoulders.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Miranda said, staring at the floor.

  “Good,” Eleanor murmured, brushing her dry lips against Miranda’s forehead. “Chin up, you hear?”

  “Yes,” Miranda said sullenly.

  “I hope that’s true, for your sake,” Eleanor said as she turned and slowly walked up the sandstone path to Roger’s waiting car.

  As soon as she’d heard the car leave, Miranda slid into her own car, reveling in the sense of freedom that surged through her as she pressed her foot on the accelerator. Even when she was angry, Eleanor was never the type to invoke a curfew and Miranda felt glad. Besi
des, now that she didn’t have any friends, it wasn’t like she could exactly get in trouble.

  She drove through the back roads of Whym, which were flanked by low-hanging Spanish moss and willow trees. The air smelled like early October, of bonfires and falling leaves, with just a slight chill in the air. Miranda rolled down the windows and, true to her word, turned up the radio. An old Grateful Dead song was playing. Typical. The Grateful Dead were one of Teddy’s favorite groups. They’d also been her father’s favorite. There was even a picture of Miranda as an infant at one of the shows, wearing a tie-dyed onesie and sitting on top of her father’s shoulders. She’d looked so happy in the picture.

  Miranda turned down the path to Bloody Point. Despite its gruesome name, brought about by a pre-Revolutionary War battle between natives and settlers, Bloody Point was beautiful. And even though the Whym Island elite believed it was on the wrong part of the island, Miranda had always been magnetically drawn to it, ever since she was allowed to explore the island on her own. Even before she’d gotten her license, she used to run or walk the five miles there. It was worth it. While the beach right outside their house was all smooth sand and shallow water, the Point was wild, surrounded by scrubby palmetto trees, patches of dark sand, driftwood, and, about half a mile off the shore, a hull of a ship, jutting out of the waves.

  Legend had it that it had been a mid-nineteenth-century sailing ship that had been purposely wrecked by a captain enchanted by the sea witch who ruled the waters. She’d apparently come to shore as a human and had slowly driven him insane until she’d forced him to drive the boat into a rock. It was said that her powers were especially felt at the Point, and that she would curse a couple who kissed while standing in her waters. Miranda and Fletch had kissed there just a week after they’d started dating, which only confirmed that legend.