Gordon glances over his shoulder. On the boat, Hooded Guy makes small talk with Cheryl and Chloe while scanning the parking lot. Gordon turns back to me. “As I told you over the phone, only approved guests can come to Wisewood.”
I clench my cell in my pocket. I could forget the e-mailed threat, take Gordon’s word for it that my sister is flourishing. I’d love nothing more than to head back to Boston; if I leave now, I might make this afternoon’s creative meeting. Nobody’s going to deliver that brief better than I will.
But if the roles were reversed, Kit wouldn’t give up. She would attach herself to Gordon’s back like a koala if that’s what she had to do to get to me. She may struggle to stand up for herself, but she never, ever fails to defend her people.
Kit never would have lied to me in the first place.
With matching composure I say, “Then approve me.”
“The approval process requires—”
“I don’t care. Bend your rules.”
“I’m telling you, there’s nothing wrong with her,” he snaps.
The crack in his poise terrifies me. Why is he so insistent? I unleash the stress, the panic, the guilt I’ve been tamping down. “How do I know she’s not hurt or in danger?” I explode. “If you won’t take me to Wisewood, I’m going to the cops.”
He stills. “Wait a minute.”
“I’m not wasting another second with you.”
I turn on my heel. Gordon yanks my wrist so hard that I yelp. “Get your hands off me.” I pull free of his grip, backpedal a few steps. He peeks again at the boat. Hooded Guy is on his feet now, pacing and fidgeting. Gordon stiffens.
“Fine.” He eyes his companion. “You’ll leave Wisewood first thing tomorrow.”
“Gladly.” I rub my wrist, glaring at him.
“You’ll pay the night’s room and board.”
“Not a problem.”
“You’ll follow our rules.”
I make no effort to hide my eye roll but nod anyway.
Gordon steps aside. “Hurry and get on.”
The boat bounces like a toy on the churning water. Cheryl and Chloe watch me with enormous eyes as I walk. Even Hooded Guy snaps out of his reverie to gaze my way. I stop halfway there, my boots glued to the concrete.
Gordon clears his throat. I feel his eyes drilling into the back of my neck and I lurch toward the dueling musks of brine and gasoline. With each step, I try to ignore my gut. Everything will be fine. I have to tell her the truth.
Hooded Guy scrambles to the front of the Hourglass to make room for me. I climb on board and nearly lose my footing. Beneath me, the water thrashes. My stomach twists.
I’m coming, Kit.
4
I WORRIED I might hurl the puffed rice cereal I’d had for breakfast that morning. The swim teacher watched me expectantly. I peered at my classmates, most of them a humiliating foot shorter than I was. They splashed around the pool like sea otters, all of their faces already wet. I held my breath, cupped water in my hands, and splashed it across my face （+1）。 My heart jerked.
“Very good!”
I wiped my face and opened my eyes. The swim teacher, a teenager at the high school I’d attend someday, patted me on the shoulder.
He grinned. “You’ve come so far these past couple weeks.”
Considering I’d thrown up in the locker room before my first three classes, I supposed he was right. I stood in the chest-high water, wishing I were as carefree as the younger kids. On the one hand, I wanted to move up class levels as soon as possible to get away from the six-year-olds. On the other, I could see the students in the more advanced levels at the deep end of the pool. They were ducking underwater and staying there for way too long. And they were doing it on purpose. I shuddered.
“One last drill,” my teacher called out. “We’re going to practice floating on our backs.”
I sighed with relief. I could handle floating on my back. It was floating on my front that made me want to jump out of my skin.
After the class finished the final drill, we all sat around the edge of the pool so the teacher could give us pointers. The other kids dangled their legs in the water, but I kept mine crossed. Logically I understood there couldn’t be any finned monsters at the bottom of a public pool, but that didn’t stop my brain from insisting that something was slithering toward my legs, waiting to sting my arms, pull me under, wrap me in its tentacles, hold me until I stopped fighting.
I shook the thoughts from my head. It was easier to spend as little time in the water as possible.