I stalk along the wall towards the bedrooms, checking each one, and each closet. I check the bathrooms, the pantry, the front porch, and a small coat closet.
No one. I’m totally alone.
I go back to the phone on the counter with a little relief, and then press the home button to wake it up. Someone was in here.
The flashing icon is there and it says New Message.
I press the tab and a text message pops up. We’ll talk soon. Don’t forget why this is happening. There’s a little icon at the end of the text that looks like it might be a mushroom. And that’s it.
I grab the phone and hold it to my chest. Is this Nick? Was he here? Someone had to drop this phone off. Oh, I’m so happy! I run to the front door and throw it open. I want to scream his name. I know he’s not gonna come back to me now, not if he left me this message, but I want to scream out how much I love and miss him so he’ll know.
But I catch myself and stay silent. I need to hold it together. It’s so close—the worst year of my life is almost over. I just need to hold it together a little longer. So I lift my hand and pretend he’s walking down the driveway and I wave to my imaginary brother.
And then I go back inside, close the door, lock it, and slump down to the cool tile floor and let the tears out.
After almost a year of missing him, he was here.
I read the message over and over and over again. I read it thirty times at least. God, I’m grinning from top to bottom, that’s how happy this message makes me. And even though I want to save it so I can read it again, I erase the message and start checking the phone. There are no calls or contacts. But there’s one picture in the photo album. And that makes my heart beat fast again, but not out of happiness.
At first glance it just looks like a picture of Nick and I, playing on a beach. I know the beach, not the exact name, but I know where it was. The Caribbean. Which means it was our birthday. Because we spent every birthday in the Caribbean until we were sixteen.
But in this picture we are young. Six. I know this because there’s balloons tied to the thatched-roof cabana in the background and they all have sixes on them.
Sixes.
Which is funny, almost. I mean it could be. If that wasn’t a teenage James sitting in the sand with me, holding a Hello Kitty notebook in his hand as I bury his feet in the sand.
I get up and dart to the kitchen where I left the notebook. I can’t take my eyes off it for a few moments because the memories come flooding in.
How in the world did I not recognize him?
“Do you like your present?”
He’s holding the pink notebook so the sand doesn’t get all over it.
I just smile and nod as I continue my task of burying him in the sand.
“What’s your name?” the man asks.
I look up at him and grin. “You have to guess. That’s the rules.”
“Jane,” he says.
I just laugh.
“Pete.”
This time I giggle uncontrollably. “Pete! That’s not a name for a girl!”
“Just tell me, no one will know.”
I shake my head at him. I know which rules can be broken and which ones can’t, and giving out my name is a no-no.
“The Admiral said we can be friends.”
My dad did say that. I heard him. But that’s not enough to break the rules. No names. That is the number one rule. Only codes. But codes are even more secret than names. I will get a whipping if I give out my code to anyone. But if no one knows my name or my code, then why bother having them?
“This is my party,” I tell the man to change the subject. He’s staring at me and his eyes are so green, I stare back. We are both being rude, but I can’t help it. It’s like a pretty fish when I’m snorkeling. The pretty ones can sting you, that’s what Nick says. I’m not supposed to touch anything pretty under the water. But that lionfish was so beautiful, I couldn’t help myself.
“I’ve been stung before,” I tell the man, as I continue with my task of covering him with sand.
He frowns at me. “By what?”
“Jellyfish mostly. On my feet. I step on them sometimes. But”—I hold up the tip of my finger and he squints at it—“the lionfish get me here.” I grin at him but he’s not smiling. “I touch them.” This man’s eyes are pretty like the lionfish.
“Why in the world would you touch—”
“I’m six today,” I tell him so he won’t think too much about the lionfish. I like to touch them. I want to feel them. And the stings don’t always hurt. I’ve been stung four times, but I’ve touched a lot of lionfish. I don’t always get stung. I know which parts to avoid now.
“I know,” he says back in that deep rumbling voice. His body relaxes. “I’m Six today too.”
I tilt my head and stare at his green eyes as I continue to pile sand on his feet. Most grownups don’t want to play with me, and I’ve never had a hunter even look at me before. But he’s not a hunter yet. Today is a special day for him too.
I stand up and run over to grab a stick near my towel and then dart down to the wet sand. The tide is going down and this is the best time to draw. When the tide is coming in, it erases your pictures. But when it’s going out, they stay until the sun bakes them and the wind makes the picture shift back into nothing but ripples.
I fall to my knees as I get to the water’s edge and then look over my shoulder. He’s watching me carefully. “I’m going to draw you a picture!” I yell back at him.
He nods and smiles as my father walks up and sits down next to him. I know they are talking about me, but I don’t care. I’m drawing a picture. I draw notes first. I read piano so I can make all kinds of notes. I copy the song I was writing last week. It’s a simple one, but it’s a sweet melody that I’ve been humming for weeks before I decided to write it down in notes.
I draw the piano next. And me, playing it. I draw a guitar and a violin. And my dad comes over to see what I’m doing and not breaking any rules before he leaves.
I look over my shoulder as my dad walks away with the green-eyed hunter. My dad puts a hand on his shoulder and they talk about serious things. I can tell by the look on their faces.
And then they both look at me and the hunter shakes his head.
My father puts up a hand and smiles, pointing over at me, then he claps him on the back and turns away.
No one. I’m totally alone.
I go back to the phone on the counter with a little relief, and then press the home button to wake it up. Someone was in here.
The flashing icon is there and it says New Message.
I press the tab and a text message pops up. We’ll talk soon. Don’t forget why this is happening. There’s a little icon at the end of the text that looks like it might be a mushroom. And that’s it.
I grab the phone and hold it to my chest. Is this Nick? Was he here? Someone had to drop this phone off. Oh, I’m so happy! I run to the front door and throw it open. I want to scream his name. I know he’s not gonna come back to me now, not if he left me this message, but I want to scream out how much I love and miss him so he’ll know.
But I catch myself and stay silent. I need to hold it together. It’s so close—the worst year of my life is almost over. I just need to hold it together a little longer. So I lift my hand and pretend he’s walking down the driveway and I wave to my imaginary brother.
And then I go back inside, close the door, lock it, and slump down to the cool tile floor and let the tears out.
After almost a year of missing him, he was here.
I read the message over and over and over again. I read it thirty times at least. God, I’m grinning from top to bottom, that’s how happy this message makes me. And even though I want to save it so I can read it again, I erase the message and start checking the phone. There are no calls or contacts. But there’s one picture in the photo album. And that makes my heart beat fast again, but not out of happiness.
At first glance it just looks like a picture of Nick and I, playing on a beach. I know the beach, not the exact name, but I know where it was. The Caribbean. Which means it was our birthday. Because we spent every birthday in the Caribbean until we were sixteen.
But in this picture we are young. Six. I know this because there’s balloons tied to the thatched-roof cabana in the background and they all have sixes on them.
Sixes.
Which is funny, almost. I mean it could be. If that wasn’t a teenage James sitting in the sand with me, holding a Hello Kitty notebook in his hand as I bury his feet in the sand.
I get up and dart to the kitchen where I left the notebook. I can’t take my eyes off it for a few moments because the memories come flooding in.
How in the world did I not recognize him?
“Do you like your present?”
He’s holding the pink notebook so the sand doesn’t get all over it.
I just smile and nod as I continue my task of burying him in the sand.
“What’s your name?” the man asks.
I look up at him and grin. “You have to guess. That’s the rules.”
“Jane,” he says.
I just laugh.
“Pete.”
This time I giggle uncontrollably. “Pete! That’s not a name for a girl!”
“Just tell me, no one will know.”
I shake my head at him. I know which rules can be broken and which ones can’t, and giving out my name is a no-no.
“The Admiral said we can be friends.”
My dad did say that. I heard him. But that’s not enough to break the rules. No names. That is the number one rule. Only codes. But codes are even more secret than names. I will get a whipping if I give out my code to anyone. But if no one knows my name or my code, then why bother having them?
“This is my party,” I tell the man to change the subject. He’s staring at me and his eyes are so green, I stare back. We are both being rude, but I can’t help it. It’s like a pretty fish when I’m snorkeling. The pretty ones can sting you, that’s what Nick says. I’m not supposed to touch anything pretty under the water. But that lionfish was so beautiful, I couldn’t help myself.
“I’ve been stung before,” I tell the man, as I continue with my task of covering him with sand.
He frowns at me. “By what?”
“Jellyfish mostly. On my feet. I step on them sometimes. But”—I hold up the tip of my finger and he squints at it—“the lionfish get me here.” I grin at him but he’s not smiling. “I touch them.” This man’s eyes are pretty like the lionfish.
“Why in the world would you touch—”
“I’m six today,” I tell him so he won’t think too much about the lionfish. I like to touch them. I want to feel them. And the stings don’t always hurt. I’ve been stung four times, but I’ve touched a lot of lionfish. I don’t always get stung. I know which parts to avoid now.
“I know,” he says back in that deep rumbling voice. His body relaxes. “I’m Six today too.”
I tilt my head and stare at his green eyes as I continue to pile sand on his feet. Most grownups don’t want to play with me, and I’ve never had a hunter even look at me before. But he’s not a hunter yet. Today is a special day for him too.
I stand up and run over to grab a stick near my towel and then dart down to the wet sand. The tide is going down and this is the best time to draw. When the tide is coming in, it erases your pictures. But when it’s going out, they stay until the sun bakes them and the wind makes the picture shift back into nothing but ripples.
I fall to my knees as I get to the water’s edge and then look over my shoulder. He’s watching me carefully. “I’m going to draw you a picture!” I yell back at him.
He nods and smiles as my father walks up and sits down next to him. I know they are talking about me, but I don’t care. I’m drawing a picture. I draw notes first. I read piano so I can make all kinds of notes. I copy the song I was writing last week. It’s a simple one, but it’s a sweet melody that I’ve been humming for weeks before I decided to write it down in notes.
I draw the piano next. And me, playing it. I draw a guitar and a violin. And my dad comes over to see what I’m doing and not breaking any rules before he leaves.
I look over my shoulder as my dad walks away with the green-eyed hunter. My dad puts a hand on his shoulder and they talk about serious things. I can tell by the look on their faces.
And then they both look at me and the hunter shakes his head.
My father puts up a hand and smiles, pointing over at me, then he claps him on the back and turns away.
