Wrecked Read online

  “Thanks!” Miranda added. “Come on,” she grabbed the crook of Teddy’s elbow and yanked him off the stool.

  “What’s wrong with you?” Teddy burst out as soon as they were out of earshot of Louisa.

  “Nothing,” Miranda said, grabbing her keys. “Get in.”

  “You have sand in your hair.” Teddy narrowed his eyes. “You’re acting weird. Did you go swimming again?”

  “Yup,” Miranda said simply. “I was sleeping in the pool house, and I didn’t want to explain that to Louisa. And I have an extra uniform in my locker. I’ll change later,” Miranda said, backing out of the driveway. She felt giddy, as if a fog had been lifted. Someone on the island didn’t hate her. Someone on the island didn’t think the accident had been her fault. And she couldn’t wait to see him again.

  “I’m worried about you,” Teddy said finally, casting a suspicious sidelong glance at Miranda as she turned down Beach Haven.

  “You shouldn’t be,” Miranda shrugged. “I’m better than ever. Really.”

  “Okay, well, can you tell me why? I covered your ass. The least you can do is give me something. I’m glad you’re fine, but I was freaking out. I thought you might have . . .” Teddy let the rest of the sentence trail off, but Miranda knew how it ended . . . killed yourself. She shivered.

  “I was swimming,” Miranda said curtly. Beyond the line of trees on the driver’s side of the road, she caught a glimpse of the ocean crashing against the white sand.

  “You were swimming until seven a.m.? By yourself ?” Teddy asked.

  “Who else would I be with?” Miranda lied, feeling almost giddy. Someone, somewhere, didn’t automatically equate her name with disaster. There was the possibility of something better. “I was just swimming. It’s pretty at night. No one bothers you, no one sees you . . . you should try it. By yourself,” she added, in case Teddy got any ideas to accompany her tonight.

  “I’ll take a rain check, thanks,” Teddy said. He opened his mouth as if he were going to say something else, then thought better of it.

  “Whatever floats your boat. Or, I guess, in my case, wrecks it,” Miranda said, laughing at her dark humor while Teddy looked at her with concern.

  All of a sudden, Miranda spotted an empty parking spot in front of Aunt Edie’s Pie Shack, one of the cafes near the dock that catered to the fishermen on the island. Instead of the faux-weathered trim of the luxury shops, Aunt Edie’s was really weather-beaten, with peeling gray paint and shutters that were falling off their hinges. It didn’t matter. What did matter was that every pastry they made was amazing, and absolutely worth all the calories.

  “I told you we needed donuts,” Miranda explained. “Coming?”

  A tinkle of chimes sounded as she pushed the creaky wooden door open. The five cracked Formica tables scattered on the stained linoleum floor were occupied by a motley crew of middle-aged crabbers.

  “That boat’s not playing by the rules. I don’t know what they do in international waters, but they need to learn a thing or two about common island decency,” one of the men said loudly as he took a large bite of an egg-and-cheese sandwich.

  Miranda cocked her head. They were obviously talking about Coral and the Sephie. She certainly had embedded herself in the island, although why anyone would want so badly to live on Whym was anyone’s guess.

  “And the owner is some foreigner. I’ve seen her. She’s definitely a looker, although why any husband would let a woman like that alone on the ocean . . . I’ll tell you what, if she needs someone who knows his way around the ocean, I’m her man!” a man wearing a fisherman’s cap responded.

  “You’re the man we’ll send if we want to drive her out of town!” Another white-haired guy guffawed, slapping his beefy hand against the table.

  “And if we want to drown her boat!” another man rejoined.

  Miranda couldn’t stop staring as the men continued to talk. Mostly, she was just relieved that Coral was the new subject of conversation on the island. Maybe in a few months, they’d totally forget about the boat accident. It wasn’t a great consolation, but it was something.

  “Y’all gonna git anythin’, hon, or are you just here for the ambience?” Edie asked, wiping her skinny hands on her apron. She pronounced the word “ambience” like “ambulance.”

  “I’ll have a bowtie donut. And a bear claw. And . . . one of those,” Miranda said, pointing to a bin of unidentified, sugarglazed pastries that lay behind the smudged glass. Her appetite felt insatiable, as if it was imperative that she use this time to make up for all the meals she’d skipped in the past month.

  Edie nodded as she scooped up the pastries and plunked them into a white bag. She handed it to Miranda, then cast her gaze on Teddy.

  “You, kid?” she asked gruffly. Teddy shook his head, clearly confused by Miranda’s behavior.

  “All right. Five dollars,” Edie said, holding out her palm. Miranda passed her a bill and greedily grabbed the greasestained paper bag.

  “Are you okay?” Teddy asked warily, trailing behind her out the door.

  “You’ve asked me that like, twelve times. I’m not going to change my answer now,” Miranda said breezily as she pulled a bear claw from the bag and took a large bite, pressing the pastry up on the roof of her mouth so she could really taste the sugar.

  She eased into the Lexus, barely flinching as her bad leg thwacked against the underside of the steering wheel. Teddy sucked in his breath. Miranda locked eyes with him. For the first time she realized how much her pain had been his pain. She hadn’t even realized how much her sadness had cloaked her family. Even Eleanor had no doubt been affected by it. “Really, Teddy, I promise I’m fine,” Miranda said meaningfully. “Or I will be, soon. I don’t even need my crutches,” she added, remembering the feeling of relief and safety she felt waking up on the sand in Christian’s arms. She needed to feel that again, she realized as she drove onto the parking lot of the ferry seconds before it lurched away from the dock. She felt a sense of victory—she’d made it on the ferry at the last minute. Maybe it was a sign her luck was starting to change.

  CONSIDERING EVERYTHING, THE DAY WENT SURPRISINGLY WELL. Sure, she didn’t speak in any of her classes, but she also didn’t run away, cry, or curse, which was a pretty big improvement over the first few days. She’d learned to perpetually look at a spot four feet in front of her on the floor, so she never had to catch anyone’s gaze, and to put in her headphones to block out any rumors. As the bell for lunch sounded, she felt more in control than she had these past few days, and was ready to endure whatever came her way.

  Whatever, that is, except for a larger-than-life poster of Fletch.

  REMEMBER THE FERRIES! BENEFIT FOR FLETCHER KING THIS SATURDAY, the banner announced. A recent photo of Fletch had been blown up and taped onto the poster. He was wearing a blue button-down shirt and an easygoing smile. That had originally been a picture of the two of them, taken at the Kings’ annual Fourth of July barbeque, an event that drew almost everyone from the island. Her picture, however, had been cropped out, so all that remained of her was a ghostly hand, resting on Fletch’s shoulder.

  He looked so happy and alive in the photo that it made Miranda’s heart clench. In the month since he’d been in a coma, it had become harder to remember that he used to be really alive. Now, whenever she thought of him, she thought of him connected to wires, suspended in the world between life and death. No. That wasn’t true. He was dead. And she’d visit him today in the hospital. She needed to say good-bye. Because saying good-bye was the only way for her to remember him as he’d been.

  “Could you move?” A voice interrupted Miranda’s reverie.

  Miranda whirled around to see Gray, trailed by Jennalyn Scott and Kacie O’Connor, two mainland girls who’d never come to Whym, not even when they were invited to parties.

  “Hi,” Miranda said stiffly.

  “It’s just kind of weird for you to be, like, posing in front of this, you know?” Gray asked, wrinkling her no
se. “It makes the cause seem less sympathetic?” she added, veiling her statement like a question.

  “I understand,” Miranda said, trying not to feel annoyed.

  Just then, the main Calhoun doors opened and a woman walked in, wearing a white linen dress belted at the waist, her white-blond hair pulled into a high bun, her violet eyes accented by secretary-style black glasses frames. It was Coral.

  “Hello!” Coral called across the lobby in an actress-y type voice. What was she doing here? Did Coral even know where she went to school?

  But instead of acknowledging Miranda, Coral made a bee-line for Gray, gently holding her shoulders and kissing both cheeks. Miranda watched in surprise as Coral stepped back.

  “Gray, this looks lovely,” Coral said in a breathy voice, taking in the poster. Then, her gaze fell on Miranda. “Miranda, how lovely to see you, as well!” she said, doing the same kiss-kiss routine she’d done on Gray.

  “Hi,” Miranda said, looking back and forth between Gray and Coral. What were they doing with each other?

  Coral turned to face Miranda. “I have you to thank for connecting me with Gray. When you told me about your survivor friends, I felt I had to do something. I’m donating the boat for the benefit. And of course you’ll come?” she asked, her tone making it clear it wasn’t a question.

  “Of course,” Miranda said coolly. “Lovely to see you,” she said, using a voice similar to the fake-breathy one that Coral had used. She quickly headed to the computer lab, where at least she’d have some privacy.

  Behind her, she could hear Gray and Coral planning the specifics of the event. It was so odd: Why was Coral so obsessed with the accident? Miranda also felt oddly betrayed, as though Coral shouldn’t talk to Gray. Which, of course, was ridiculous. Of course she wasn’t going to go to the benefit, but maybe Coral could help Gray and the rest of Calhoun realize that she wasn’t a bad person. Still, it was just one more confusing riddle to try to solve.

  Miranda pushed open the door to the computer lab. Unlike the hardwood chairs and creaky, pockmarked floors of most of the school, the computer center in the science building was all white walls and gleaming silver tables. It was also completely unoccupied, since everyone brought their laptops to school and had no use for the hulking MacPros that sat in rows on the tables.

  Miranda slid into one of the chairs and glanced at the computer. She’d been waiting all morning to be alone, and now that she was, she didn’t know what to do. She hesitantly pecked in a few letters on the keyboard: C-H-R . . .

  And then she stopped. She didn’t know anything about him. Not where he went to school or where he lived, or even what his last name was.

  She wondered where Christian was. She imagined him in a freshman seminar class at College of Charleston. Or walking into Edie’s and hanging out with the crabbers, trying to get a seasonal job. She wondered if he was thinking of her.

  Miranda sighed in frustration and clicked back to the Calhoun Academy homepage. According to the events listed on the calendar, today was a homecoming rally for the soccer team. She used to love those: The whole team would dress up in their soccer uniforms and stand in front of the microphone in the gym, urging people to come to the practice. Usually shy in front of a large crowd, she never felt that way at Calhoun rallies. Instead, she’d risk the wrath of Headmistress Wyar by promising that the varsity team would take off their shirts and show off their blue-and-white Calhoun pride sports bras if they won. Rallies made her feel like she belonged; like she wasn’t such an outsider.

  Miranda glanced up at the clock: 12:23. She still had twenty more minutes of lunch. Before, lunch had never seemed long enough. It had become an art: To round up Darcy, Lydia, and Genevieve, drive to the sub shop, eat lunch, and come back with two minutes to spare.

  She logged into her e-mail. Nothing. It was as if she’d fallen off the face of the earth. Two months ago, every time she checked her in-box, she’d find e-mails from coaches from colleges across the country, she’d have links to ridiculous cute animal pictures Lydia had sent, she’d have requests from her grandmother’s historical society friends, asking her if she’d mind babysitting during a Whym Island founders event.

  The door creaked open and Lindsay Price, a junior varsity soccer player sophomore, walked in. She was wearing her soccer uniform, complete with her white socks pulled over her shins and her hair pulled into two blond ponytails on either side of her head.

  Last year, Lindsay had been her “little sister,” which meant that she secretly put candy in her locker on game days and kept an eye on her at beachside victory parties. Lindsay, in turn, had practically worshipped Miranda, trailing after her like a puppy during sessions in the weight room and wedging herself next to Miranda on the couch during pasta dinners. Not like Lindsay would worship her now.

  Lindsay opened her mouth and Miranda knew she was only seconds away from some sort of verbal attack. She needed to get out. She slung her backpack over her shoulder, and walked briskly out the door, hoping that a visit to Fletch would be enough to somehow make up for her night with Christian.

  SHE PULLED HER CELL OUT OF HER BAG AND TEXTED TEDDY: Heading to the hospital to see Fletch. Get a ride home after practice. Call if you can’t. Then she headed out the door. Of course no one stopped her.

  Miranda drove to the hospital, on the other side of town from Calhoun. As she drove, she turned her iPod to Neil Young. Fletch loved him. If Fletch had been in the car with her, he’d have been drumming his fingers along the dashboard, occasionally breaking out into miming a guitar riff. Miranda felt terrible thinking about Fletch, lying unconscious in a hospital bed, while she’d spent the night with another guy at the place that used to be their spot. What kind of girlfriend did that? And what kind of girlfriend just decided that her boyfriend was dead when his heart was still beating? But she knew, deep down, that this is what Fletch would want. Because Fletch—the cute-cheesy guy who she’d kissed and laughed with and loved—was gone.

  Miranda parked, rushed into the main entrance of the hospital, and was immediately blasted by the far-too-cold air conditioning. She wished Christian was with her. She needed a friend.

  “Hi!” A perky receptionist glanced up from the central desk that faced the front doors. Miranda shook her head. She didn’t need any directions or information. She knew exactly where she needed to go: Fourth floor, ICU.

  She walked into the elevator, glad that she didn’t recognize any of the white coat-clad doctors and surgeons surrounding her. The worst would have been to find herself face to face with any of the doctors who’d worked on her leg, who would surely ask why she wasn’t using the crutches and why the scar wasn’t properly covered in compression bandages.

  “Who are you looking for?” a nurse at the station in the center of the hallway asked. Miranda didn’t recognize her; she must be new. All the other nurses merely nodded her to the room.

  “Fletcher King,” Miranda said, impatiently shifting from foot to foot.

  “Fletcher!” The nurse repeated. “Fletcher . . .” A shadow of a frown crossed her face. “Hold on one second,” she said. Miranda watched as the nurse began whispering with another nurse.

  Without waiting, Miranda walked into his room. Neither of his parents were there, and the only sound was the hiss of the ventilator. But Miranda didn’t feel afraid.

  “Fletch,” she whispered, perching on the edge of the bed and burying her face in his shoulder. He didn’t smell like woodsmoke, he smelled like antiseptic. She buried her face deeper into his shoulder and snaked her arm around the many tubes attached to his chest and lay down.

  “I miss you,” she whispered. His hand felt warm. “And I hope wherever you are, you’re so happy. Because that’s all you ever wanted. And I just want you to know how much I’m going to miss you.”

  She paused and hugged him more tightly. The monitors continued to beep. “You saved me. You and Christian both did. Thank you,” she said. “You probably wouldn’t have even taken credit for it, right?” s
he whispered.

  “I love you, Fletcher King. And know that’s why I need to say good-bye.” She breathed, closing her eyes.

  “Miranda!”

  Miranda’s eyes flew open to see Mrs. King storming in, Mr. King close behind. Mrs. King’s eyes were red and blotchy and Mr. King was holding one of the impossibly tiny boxes of tissues from the nurses’ station.

  “For you to come in here, without permission . . . ,” Mrs. King choked.

  “Hi,” Miranda said, extracting herself from the bed and looking Mrs. King straight in the eye with a feeling of intense sadness. She realized that Fletch was gone, too. Miranda could just see it in her eyes, in her slumped shoulders, in her voice. She wouldn’t stay. “Thank you for letting me visit your son. He saved me, and I will always, always remember that,” she said.

  She didn’t look back in the whole walk from the ICU to the parking garage. She immediately drove to the ferry dock and headed to Bloody Point. It was only five o’clock, hours before the sun set. “Please be there,” she whispered under her breath. She needed to see him now, before she lost her nerve.

  For as long as she could remember, Miranda’s favorite time of day was twilight. As soon as the sun began setting, her soccer games were better, her conversations clearer, and her thoughts stopped racing. But now, as she was running to Bloody Point, her thoughts were like butterflies on a Tilt-A-Whirl, dizzying and impossible to pin down. She was loyal to Fletch. But Christian made her feel alive again, made her feel like she wasn’t cursed, and made her feel that somehow, she’d have a normal life. When she was with Christian, she felt like the best version of herself. When she was with Fletch, she just felt scared and sad. She felt like a terrible person for admitting to herself that she was comparing her comatose boyfriend to Christian, but she couldn’t help it. Christian actually made her want to live, not just get through the days.