Wrecked Read online

  And like so many legends, this one was somewhat grounded in reality. According to geological record, meridian lines could be found below the point, which could be the cause of electromagnetic shifts that could lead to quickly forming storms or sudden changes in the tide. And maybe it was also pulling Miranda. And so what if the space was cursed? Wasn’t she as well?

  Miranda pulled the car slightly off the road, so it was hidden from the street by a row of trees. She got out of the car and walked the well-worn path through the brush and toward the sand. As usual, the entire area was deserted.

  She pulled off her sweatshirt and yanked off her shorts. Then, not waiting for her skin to adjust to the slight breeze licking her thighs, she sprinted into the water and threw her body into a wave, allowing the water to carry her. The cold felt redemptive against her skin.

  She flipped onto her back. I could just let the water take me. The thought popped into her head, unbidden. Even though every time she woke up, she’d imagine what would happen if she could just permanently stay asleep, she’d never really thought about killing herself. What would happen if I just swam, deeper and deeper out to sea, and never came back?

  Miranda began kicking, faster and faster, as if a force greater than herself were propelling her toward the horizon. Going to school had unhinged something in her. She felt anger where before there’d just been numbness. When she finally got to the ship hull, she stopped to tread water. She looked down. Her scar glistened, still bright red, even beneath the surface, but it didn’t hurt when she moved it. She shook her other leg. Although she could feel the water stinging the wound, it didn’t hurt.

  She took a few more strokes, then stopped and squinted back at the beach. Nothing was there, but she had the eerie feeling she was being watched.

  “Genevieve?” She said out loud, knowing she was only giving in to her imagination. Genevieve believed in ghosts, and had even given Miranda a Ouija board for her thirteenth birthday.

  “Can we ask for Fletcher?” Even back then, she’d had a crush on him. She just hadn’t thought, given her history and her newcomer status on the island, that she’d have the chance over the likes of Darcy or Gray.

  “You’re supposed to choose dead people, dumb-ass!” Genevieve had said in her sweet-as-sugar Southern accent. Thanks to her bohemian upbringing, Gen had been the first girl of the Ferries to swear, drink, and—if her accounts of her many hot and heavy trysts were to be believed—lose her virginity.

  “You shouldn’t ask her that,” Gray had said, poking Genevieve in the ribs. At that, Genevieve’s face had fallen as she’d remembered that both of Miranda’s parents were dead.

  “I mean . . . ,” she’d faltered.

  “It’s okay. It doesn’t matter,” Miranda had said quickly. It had been one of the first times she’d been invited to hang out with the Ferries outside of school, and she didn’t want to ruin it by being different. She didn’t want to be the girl with the dead parents. “I don’t even think of them,” she lied, pushing the Ouija pointer away from her.

  “I guess we could try my Great Grandma Emmaline,” Darcy had quickly chimed in.

  At that, Miranda desperately tried to tear her mind away from the flashback, but it continued to play in slow motion. Before the accident, none of her friends had known anyone who’d died. It had been Miranda who had stood out then, for having had a personal connection to tragedy. Now, it was the same story. Genevieve had passed away still never knowing anyone who’d died.

  Miranda shivered and the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. She whirled around, and there, treading water only a few feet away from her, was a guy.

  Miranda shrieked and swam as fast as she could to shore, where she ran gasping up the beach. She felt weirdly violated. The beach was supposed to be hers.

  The guy followed behind her, panting. “Sorry to have scared you,” he yelled from the high-tide line.

  “What the hell?” Miranda muttered as she rifled through her pile of clothes, self-conscious of the jagged scar that ran from the top of her hip to the bottom of her knee, ending in a flourish that looked like the top of a question mark. “What are you doing here?” Miranda yelled, her heart pounding. She definitely hadn’t seen anyone enter the water. She knew she was being paranoid and unreasonable—after all, it was a public beach—but she didn’t understand where this guy could have come from.

  “Swimming,” he said, in an odd accent that was impossible to place. It was formal, like Coral’s, the words meticulously pronounced as if it was a second language. “What about you?”

  Miranda squinted, taking a closer look at the guy. He had dark hair and his chest muscles rippled, as if he were a Greek statue come to life. Before Miranda and Fletch had started dating, Genevieve always said that Fletch had the body of a Greek god. But he didn’t. Not compared to this guy.

  “I’m not doing anything. I’m leaving,” Miranda yelled, her heart hammering. She forced herself to run, then. Once out of sight, she stood behind the trees that separated the dirt road from the beach. Something about him made her want to continue to watch him.

  The boy turned toward the woods, as if he were staring right at her. Miranda deliberately glanced away. She knew she was hidden well enough that he wouldn’t see her, but it felt too weird to be staring at him while he stared toward her.

  She glanced toward the horizon. Down by the harbor, about half a mile down the island, boats were circling in and heading into the nearby harbor. In particular, the Sephie seemed to be cruising straight into the point. Lights were twined around the mast, and at first Miranda thought there must be a party on board. But when she squinted, she realized there was only one passenger: a woman wearing a flowing beaded gown, her blond hair tousled around her head. Miranda squinted. The woman looked like a spotlight was illuminating her, but there were no other lights on the ship besides the tiny decorative ones on the mast.

  It was Coral, but in the light of the rapidly sinking sun she looked different than she had before. Her skin was too pale, her eyes too wide, as if she were a grotesque Fun House mirror image of herself.

  Miranda yanked her gaze away, back to where the boy had been standing. But no one was there, and all she could see for miles on end were waves crashing endlessly into the shore.

  SIX DAYS. HE’D BEEN SO CLOSE TONIGHT, HAD FORCED HIMSELF to swim up closer to her than he ever had in the past. After all, he was on a mission. He’d waited until the end of her swim, and had watched when she abruptly stopped, gazing off at a boat in the far distance.

  That had been his mistake. He should never have waited for her to stop. Because once she stopped, all he could do was stare. And then she’d gotten scared, and he’d felt like he’d been yanked in two directions. He was relieved she’d run before he could take action, and annoyed at himself for stopping. She was just a human. Maybe Sephie was right—she hadn’t even wanted to be saved. She looked completely different than the girl he’d rescued last month. Her eyes were hollow, and she had a haunted expression on her face. But she was still beautiful. He just wished he could somehow erase her pain.

  She’d run away so quickly, as if she was afraid of him. And she should be. And yet . . . didn’t she have even one tiny flicker of the memory that he’d saved her? All Christian could hope was that maybe, once his mission was complete, he could forget her as easily as she’d most likely forgotten about him.

  Christian stroked to Down Below, feeling more and more trapped, the farther he went. He was well aware of the irony that it was Miranda who kept him tied to Down Below. If he hadn’t broken the code, he’d have been allowed to formally petition to live as a betwixtman Up Above. He’d look like a human, and act like a human, and would formally renounce any powers over the sea. He’d breathe oxygen all the time. He’d become comfortable with walking on sand. Maybe he’d even travel in one of those cars they loved. If only he hadn’t interfered.

  It was like Sephie said. He was too impulsive. Which was why this time, he’d wait. After all,
he had nearly a week to take her soul. There was no need to rush. His plan would be flawless and he’d be free. Simple.

  As soon as he entered Sephie’s kingdom, he was stopped by Valentine.

  “Did you do it?” Valentine asked in a ragged voice. With dark circles under his eyes and a wild expression on his face, Valentine looked even worse for wear than Miranda had. Christian’s heart twisted. He needed to do this, if not for himself, for his brother.

  Christian shook his head. “I will.”

  “Why didn’t you, then?” Valentine asked. “It’s just a human. It will be easy.”

  “I . . . I will,” Christian repeated.

  “When?” Valentine asked, frustration evident in his voice.

  “Tomorrow. I just needed to make sure that I had the correct person . . .”

  Valentine raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything. “Tomorrow, then,” he said uncertainly. “Do you need my help?”

  Christian shook his head.

  “It’s just a human girl,” he repeated, more for his benefit than Valentine’s. It was just a girl. Tomorrow, he wouldn’t hesitate.

  IT WAS HALLOWEEN, AND GEN APPEARED AT THE DOOR wearing a silver-sequined bikini, her hair covered in silver glitter. Black eyeliner lined her lips and eyes, and plastic vampire fangs were capped on her teeth.

  Miranda opened the door and ushered her in. “What the hell?” Miranda asked, surveying Gen’s homemade attempt at a costume. They were supposed to head to Fletch’s for a party that even kids from the mainland were attending. That, in itself, was exciting—usually kids from the mainland didn’t come to Whym parties because once they came, they were at the mercy of the ferry schedule and unable to leave, even if they got a text that a better party was occurring somewhere else.

  “Guess what I am?” Gen asked, raising her eyebrow.

  “Someone who caught onto the vampire trend a few years too late? I have no idea,” Miranda said, smiling and waiting for Gen to accuse her of not having any imagination, which was an insult Gen lobbed at her at least once a week.

  “No, and of course you wouldn’t guess. You’re barely wearing a costume. Where’s your Halloween spirit?” Gen asked rhetorically.

  “Well, I would have worn something more festive, but someone beat me to the glitter,” Miranda said, looking down at her own mermaid costume, which was simply a bikini, with a tail fashioned haphazardly out of an ugly old purple satin dress Eleanor had once bought her. Miranda had had a feeling she’d ditch the tail pretty much as soon as they got down to the beach.

  “Whatever. Boring. You’re supposed to be a mermaid. Sex it up. The Sea Witch should not be sexier than a mermaid!” Gen said in mock horror.

  “Is that what you are? Because you’re pretty sexy. I can’t compete!” Miranda rolled her eyes, knowing Genevieve was loving the attention.

  “Let’s just hope Matt White has a thing for witches,” Gen smiled, flashing her fangs. Since Valentine’s Day, Gen had had an on-again, off-again flirtation with Matt, a sophomore mainlander.

  “So you can kiss him, or bite him?” Miranda asked. “And since when is the sea witch part vampire?” she’d asked, closing the door behind her and following Gen to the BMW parked in the gravel driveway.

  “It’s called artistic license,” Gen explained. “And maybe if Matt doesn’t kiss me, then I’ll bite him. I haven’t decided yet.”

  They quickly reached the beach behind Fletch’s house, where a bonfire was burning in the center of the sand. Kids were laughing, dancing, drinking. Immediately, Matt had emerged from the crowd and slipped his arm around Gen’s waist.

  Gen raised her eyebrow at Miranda, when all of a sudden, the sand beneath them began shaking and slipping, as if an earthquake beneath the sea was occurring. Miranda fell to her knees as she saw the ocean in front of them part, and a large figure, with snakes for hair and bright violet eyes, emerged from the water, stepping closer and closer to shore. People screamed as the figure lurched toward the shore. As it opened its mouth, it seemed to be calling Miranda’s name. Then, in a flash, the figure’s face turned into the face of the boy she’d met on the beach. He continued to approach her, and Miranda continued to scream, but at the same time, she wasn’t sure whether she was supposed to run toward him or away from him . . .

  “Miranda?”

  Miranda sat up and wildly glanced around, but all she could see was the light of the moon casting a small sliver of light across the dusty pink duvet.

  Just a nightmare. But it had been so weird. It had started out so normally. Then it had turned horrible, especially with that figure burned into her subconscious. What the hell was that?

  “Teddy?” Miranda called, turning on her bedside lamp and pulling Fletch’s sweatshirt over her head, even though her face was slick with sweat. It was only nine o’clock, but it felt like the middle of the night.

  “I’m fine,” Miranda whispered, trying to reassure herself. After all, she was far away from the ocean. Everything was the same as it had always been. She and Eleanor had had a fight, she’d gone swimming, and she’d finally fallen asleep on top of her comforter, without bothering to change out of her clothes. That was all.

  Teddy rushed in. “Are you okay? You were screaming,” he said.

  “I’m fine.” Miranda sat up and yanked her hand through her hair.

  “Are you sure?” Teddy asked, sitting gingerly on the edge of the bed. “Because you freaked out at Chapel. It was the only thing people were talking about.” Concern was evident in Teddy’s large brown eyes. “And then when Grandma got home, she said you yelled at her and then disappeared. She’s really worried. And honestly, I’m freaked about you, too. You’re being weird,” Teddy said, smiling wanly, obviously using one of the insults they used to lob at each other without thinking to try to lighten the mood. Not like it worked. She was being weird. But she didn’t know how to fix it.

  She couldn’t believe Teddy, the boy who used to be afraid of the dark and carry around his rubber giraffe everywhere, had turned into the glue that was holding the family together.

  “I think I deserve to act a little weird. And I didn’t mean to freak at Grandma. I just can’t deal sometimes. It’s like she thinks if we don’t say anything about the accident, it’s like it didn’t happen. She’s just sometimes so out of touch that it makes me want to scream. But then she always wants me to visit Fletch . . . it’s like she cares more about how we appear to outsiders than how I feel.” Miranda shrugged.

  “That sucks,” Teddy said finally.

  Miranda laughed sharply. “I don’t really blame her,” she said, knowing she sounded more and more unbalanced the more she spoke. “Everyone thinks it’s my fault. They really do. Gray pretty much told me that.”

  “Who cares what people think? It wasn’t like you killed anyone. It was an accident.” Teddy shrugged. “People are idiots.”

  “Statement of the year,” Miranda agreed.

  “But you shouldn’t feel guilty because they’re being idiots. It doesn’t make sense.”

  “I know,” Miranda said sharply, flopping back on the bed and gazing out the picture window. In the moonlight, she could just see the Sephie in the distance, rocking back and forth on the calm ocean. She wondered if Coral was on board, and what she did there, all day by herself. From a distance, she couldn’t tell if the ship was emblematic of freedom or imprisonment, which was why it was so creepy. It reminded her of one of those nineteenth-century Romantic landscapes they’d discussed last year in art history. Ms. Kendal, the art history teacher at Calhoun, had said the preoccupation with ships at sea was a way to illustrate the uneasy power play between nature versus free will in the form of industrialization exerting control over the environment. More than one hundred years later, and the score was pretty clear, at least when it came to Miranda’s personal experience: Nature, 2, Miranda, 0. Maybe it all meant that Miranda should get the hell off the island and move somewhere away from the ocean and boats.

  “Everyone really hates
me,” Miranda said quietly, tearing her gaze away from the ocean.

  Teddy opened his mouth as if to protest, then closed it again.

  “It’s okay. It’s the truth,” Miranda said, realizing it even as she spoke. A feeling of calm washed over her. At least that was something concrete, real. “You should go back to bed,” she said finally. She couldn’t stand the frightened, nervous way Teddy was looking out for her, as if he thought she’d snap any moment. He might be right, but if she was about to have a mental breakdown, she didn’t need her brother as a witness.

  Miranda noticed the hurt in Teddy’s eyes. “I’m fine, really,” she said. As weird as it seemed, she wanted to fall back asleep. As awful as they were, each nightmare seemed to give her some type of clue into the accident. It was just that she couldn’t figure out what they meant.

  “Pinky swear?” Teddy asked, holding out his hand.

  Miranda smiled as she hooked her finger with Teddy’s; their tacit agreement as binding as when they were kids and used to pinky swear not to tell Louisa when they caught each other sneaking cookies from the kitchen, and, when they were older, sneaking alcohol from Eleanor’s liquor cabinet.

  “If you’re sure,” Teddy said, and slipped out of the room, lightly closing the door. As soon as he left, Miranda closed her eyes, desperate to sleep. But all she could think of were the haunting blue eyes of the stranger on the beach. He hadn’t been a hallucination, she was sure of that. It was the only thing she was sure of.

  Right as the sun rose, she finally fell into a restless sleep, where the only thing she knew was that she had to somehow see him again.