Damselfly (17 page)

As the Toms get harnessed in, I notice that an assistant is switching on the drones one by one. Dr. Christiansen already informed me the drones will be released right after we make our dive, but they won’t be put into “seek” mode unless we wander off course—i.e., decide to get the hell out of there.

Other than the bounty hunter bee drones, there are also several camera drones. Those will follow us after we separate from Cameron. We’re supposed to fly in formation and do a few tricks. Then we land on the speedboat that will be tracking our movements.

That’s it. Simple enough. Why is my heart beating so fast?

“Hey.” Blue offers me his hand. “You look a little nervous.”

“Oh! I’m fine! Hey, how about we all hold hands? That way we can dive together when we’re released.” Blue nods, and I take his hand as well as Shrike’s. The rest of them grudgingly link up.

The door opens, and a rush of wind pins my hair to Cameron’s stomach. I can hardly get a full breath through the pressure. So much air and I can’t seem to find any oxygen in it.

Cameron holds a thumbs up for us to see, and we all nod. Yes, we’re as ready as we’re going to be.

He lumbers to the edge and throws himself overboard. My lips are flapping in the wind, and it takes me a few seconds to keep my wings from struggling to take over.

Blue. Everything is so vividly blue. From the water to the sky. Cameron turns us around so we can see the island itself. There’s the ribbon of beach and Diamond Head.

Cameron pulls a cord, and the sudden jolt knocks the wind out of me. I nearly let go of Blue and Shrike, but they are both holding my hand in an iron grip. We’ve slowed down to floating. Cameron holds up another thumbs up for us, and my harness gives way.

Stomach lurching, I dive forward with the Toms. Straight as arrows, we shoot down toward the ocean. Blue squeezes my hand before both he and Shrike let go. All seven of us unfurl our wings at the same time and level out into a “V” formation as we practiced. I’m leading the way. I duck my head down to make sure they’re all there, and Row gives me a little wave.

Up ahead, one of the camera drones is getting into position.

It’s flower time.

I take a deep breath and wish we’d gotten more than one day to practice this before I fan out my wings, pull myself into a ball and stop flying. The guys pivot around me like petals. They slowly fly in pinwheel formation before tucking in close. Then we all explode out from the center and zoom in different directions. I nearly crash into Perry, but we both recover just in time.

We open our wings and snap out of freefall. The strain of the sudden slowdown almost makes me lose my breakfast.

After doing a few more easy formation exercises, we coast down to the waiting speedboat and land on one of the seats. There’s barely anyone on board—only a driver and a young woman who I assume is only here to set up the food. The rest of the crew is supposed to meet us here.

I’m panting. After a few weeks of being cooped up in a little room, I’m in the worst athletic shape of my life. Sweat beads up from my skin, but the cool Pacific breeze dries it instantly. My lungs begin to tighten, and I pat down my suit, looking for my medicine. I tug it out of a Velcroed pocket and inhale the contents of one of the capsules.

Shrike nods at the tin in my hand. “How often do you have to use that?”

“Only sometimes when I exercise. It’s unpredictable.”

He grins mischievously. “Does it slow you down?”

“Not usually. Why?”

He shrugs and runs his hand through his dark brown hair. “We’ll have to race sometime. Are you fast?”

“Faster than a butterfly.”

He scowls but then laughs. “I guess I did ask for that.”

“Well, you were the only one who picked the name of a butterfly-eating bird. A little hard to forget if you ask me.”

“I was trying to make an impression. It’s hard to do with Blue around.”

“Yeah, well, usually you want to make a
good
impression.” I slide the tin into my pocket. The other Toms are scarfing down food from the craft services table on the floor. Looks like a lot of tropical fruits.

“Okay, I get your point. But I’m not a bad guy. Really.”

I fold my arms and study his face. He looks earnest enough, but I can’t quite figure him out. He seemed so intent on turning me off the first time I met him, but now he’s actually trying. Like he’s had a change of heart somewhere.

I don’t get it, and I’m not really in a trusting sort of mood lately.

“Okay, well, how about you tell me how awesome you are over some lunch?” I brush past him.

“Forget it then.”

“Suit yourself.”

I was right about the tropical fruits. The “fruit bar” is half of a pineapple cut open and filled with bits of melon, strawberry, blueberry, pineapple, and banana. Beside it is a halved coconut full of fruit dip.

It reminds me of the tzatziki sauce George makes, and I wonder how he’s doing. Dr. Christiansen didn’t bring him along for the trip because she knows his sympathies lie more with me than with his job. I miss him.

Row’s laughter grabs my attention, and I look up to see him run and dive toward the dip, only to pull back at the last second and flutter to the ground. He catches me watching him, and a grin breaks out across his face.

A blueberry fight has started between Al and Perry. I dodge one stray, juicy bullet and grab a walnut shell bowl full of pineapple and strawberries before walking over to Blue, who is leaning against the side of the boat.

“Hey. Can I join you?”

“Of course.” He tilts his head against the wall and breathes in the ocean air.

“I bet this reminds you of home.”

“It does. This is your first time seeing the ocean, right?”

“Yep. Want a bite?”

“No, I’m not very hungry. Thank you though.” He shifts his wings into a more comfortable position and folds his arms. “Was Shrike trying to make nice?”

“How’d you figure that out?”

“That’s his way. He’s a bull in a china shop. Breaks everything and then wishes he hadn’t.”

I consider that for a moment. “He said he’s not a bad guy.”

Blue snorts out a laugh. “Maybe. But being ‘not bad’ is nowhere close to being a ‘good’ guy. I don’t trust him anymore. I never know what he’s going to do. But Row—”

“There you go again.”

“What?”

“Why are you always bringing up Row? You keep shoving me at him.” I make a pushing motion with my hands and accidentally flick a blob of pineapple on the ground. Blue retrieves it, flies up to the edge of the boat, and pitches it overboard.

“I’m not trying to push you toward him,” he says. “I just want to see you end up with a great guy.”

“So,” I say, feeling brave, “why not yourself? I’m curious.”

“I think you’re more his type.”

I burst out laughing. “Oh, really? How many girls our size are there who are
your
type? I didn’t know you had so many choices.”

He stares straight ahead. “I don’t. But you do.”

I sigh in disgust and lean against the wall. “You’re impossible.”

That, at least, gets a grin from him.

“Sorry, gotta move!” the driver shouts as he throws the throttle down. The floor beneath me jerks forward. Both Blue and I lose our footing and tumble backward into the seat. Chunks of fruit bump and roll around us. A girl—I imagine she’s an assistant—falls to the floor in the center aisle and nearly crushes Al under her knees.

Foaming saltwater crashes over the bow and spatters across the windshield. Several drops make it all the way to me and soak me to the skin. The driver looks frantically over his shoulder and accelerates even more. We hit a large wave, and I’m suddenly airborne.

My wings snap into motion right before I slam into the chest in the rear of the boat. I crawl into a cup holder and loop my arms through the plastic openings inside.

What on earth is going on? I peer over the top. Row and Shrike had a similar idea—they’re inside the long mesh pocket lining the side of the boat. The fallen assistant has picked up Al and is dusting him off like he’s a doll. I can’t see Blue or Perry, and my heart starts beating harder. Where are they? Is it possible they were tossed overboard? Even with our wings, it would be hard to recover and reorient after being punted into the water.

Apparently the assistant is wondering the same thing because she drops Al into the same mesh pocket with Row and Shrike and walks to the edge where I can’t see her.

We’re still riding fast over the water and I have no idea why. Where are the others? We were supposed to meet Dr. Christiansen and all her cronies before heading toward land.

Then I see it: a long speedboat with more power than ours coming up along the left side of us. While our boat flops over the waves like a belly-flopping kid learning to dive, this boat slices through with barely a bump. And it’s full of people with cameras. Big cameras, little cameras—they’re part of one never-ending firework of flashes.

The boat sidles dangerously close to ours, and our driver waves at it to go away. I count at least twenty people clustered together along the edge. Several of them are leaning over, pointing and searching, cameras at the ready in case they spot us.

Faint voices pull my attention to the guys in the mesh pocket. They’re on the wall facing away from the other boat, so the cameras can’t catch a glimpse of them. Row yells and points right down below me. I hesitate to look and expose myself to those cameras. It feels like stepping out into public with no clothes on, but I do it anyway.

It’s Blue. He’s squatting at the corner of the table and a seat. Perry lies unconscious behind him, a huge welt on his forehead, completely obscured by the plastic table. They have nothing to hang on to, so if there’s another bump or abrupt change in speed, they’re going to hit something and hit it hard.

Blue looks up at me and motions toward Perry, then toward the cameras. We need to get him to safety in such a way that doesn’t expose him.

I glare over at Row. He’s going to get an earful for this later. Why isn’t he flying over to help?

Then the lights come on. If he flies over, they’ll know something is wrong. That is, unless we distract them somehow.

I vault over the edge of the cup holder and flash out my wings. The wind nearly drowns out the resulting shouts from the press boat, but I can still hear them.

I fly to Blue and pull him up to a standing position before linking my arm through his.

“What are you doing?”

I turn us around and wave at the cameras. “Distracting them. Come with me.”

“What about Perry?”

“Trust me,” I say through my smile of clenched teeth. Row and Shrike are already climbing out of the pocket.

I drag Blue out into the open, taking care to stay behind the windshields so we don’t get gusted off the boat. We fly to the passenger’s side and sit on the top of the seat back, offering the cameras a perfect view of us. I give Blue what I hope is a convincingly flirtatious smile, and we both wave. The crowd on the press boat crushes against the railing, and one poor woman looks as though she’s about to be smooshed in half.

Hurry up, Row.
I turn my head to the side, pretending to let the wind draw my hair out of my face. The guys have crept around the edge and are now air-lifting Perry to the pocket. Just need to buy them a few more seconds.

I scoot closer to Blue, then allow my wings to pick me up and flutter me right into his lap. His eyes fill with surprise, but he wraps his arm around my waist anyway. When I wave to the cameras this time, he doesn’t join me. Icky-stained guilt oozes through my veins. I feel like I’m using him—using
us
—and, even though it’s for a good purpose, it bothers me. I look down into his eyes, and I find a gentle rebuke there.

He stands, picking me up in his arms easily, but he holds me as far from himself as possible. Several people on the press boat cheer pump the air with their fists before returning to their photography.

“I’m sorry,” I say, although I’m not quite sure why.

“You’re doing your best.” The words have the sting of an insult. “Is Perry safe?”

I give my hair a toss into the wind and glance over at the pocket. All four of them are inside. “We’re good.”

He suddenly pulls me tightly to him and kisses me hard on the cheek before spinning me off to the side. My wings recover before my heart does, and I hover above the seat back, my hand still in Blue’s. I remember to smile right before the cameras capture my stunned expression. Where will all of those pictures end up?

My stomach bottoms out. Jack will see them. He’ll see me in the arms of another guy, flirting and getting a kiss on the cheek.

I give Blue a nod and return to my cup holder. The driver begins a slow turn toward the spot where we will meet the others. The press boat pulls away and gives ours more room. I guess we gave them what we wanted. We bought some personal space for ourselves with me and Blue’s show.

Is this what my life would have been if I had gone to college? Escaping the cameras in between classes? How would I have ever made any friends?

My entire body feels heavy and I sink down into the cup holder. Blue joins the guys in the pocket. Once again, I’m all by myself. The loneliness closes in like so many bars on a cage, and the cameras are my prison wardens.

I squat down so no one can see me, and I wait.

Chapter 22

We find the rest of the crew waiting on a yacht. After an assistant takes Perry away to get fixed up, the rest of the Toms and I waste no time getting inside where we are shielded by the tinted windows. I watch the poor speedboat driver melt into a puddle when Dr. Christiansen stomps onto his boat and gives him a scolding. Even though I can’t hear anything she’s saying, I cringe anyway.

The inside of the yacht cabin is a bustling production center. The Toms and I find a corner with couches our size and settle in.

“I hope Perry’s okay,” Row says.

“He’ll be fine,” says Shrike. “That guy is tough as nails.”

We all fall quiet because we know that’s not true of any of us. A bow-tied waitress stops by and takes a small tray off of her regular one and sets it down on the coffee table in the middle of our circle.