Enigma (4 page)

“Why don’t you try being one of the cool kids for once? You might like it.”

“Just because you’re a high school heartthrob, it doesn’t mean that I want to be popular too. Besides, I’m not a kid.” I tapped Brett’s cheek playfully.

“Watch out for the kooks Kate,” he said as he ran to the bus stop.

I slipped my iPod into position, turned the volume up, and placed my sunglasses perfectly on my nose. Driving away, I felt like a complete poser, a traitor to my inner self.

Down the street, I turned the corner and leaned over to turn the music down a little. But as I looked up, I saw a figure in front of the car and immediately slammed on the brakes. My heart was pounding and as I slowly opened my eyes, I prayed that I hadn’t hurt anything or anyone.

I took the key out of the ignition, jumped out, and ran around to the front of the car, but nothing was there. I was sure I’d seen someone standing directly in front of the car. Confused, I got down on my hands and knees and looked underneath the car, but nothing was there, either.

Just as I was about to get back into the car, I noticed a piece of material wedged underneath the front tire, and above it, there was a small dent in the wheel arch. The material was white and looked like part of a T-shirt. I must’ve hit someone, but they’d vanished. I was beginning to wonder what it was with me and people disappearing. I was sweating and my heart was still racing. People glared at me as they drove past and I cursed my father for buying the car.

Removing my jacket, I sat in the car, turned the air conditioning up, and debated whether to wait around. But there was no point; the person I’d hit was gone.

I thought about reporting the incident to the police, but what good would that do? There was no real damage to my car and nobody around to press charges against me. It was my fault for not paying attention to the road anyway.

I relaxed a bit and stared at the piece of material in my hands. It was my only piece of evidence, and I’d probably never find its owner. After giving myself a pep talk, I placed the key in the ignition, turned the music down and drove off, glancing in my rear-view mirror more often than necessary. I wasn’t looking forward to telling my father about the dent in the car, but at least that was all I had to explain.

W
hen I got to school and pulled into an available parking space, I was mesmerized by the sea of shiny new cars around me. Guys pulled up in black and silver convertibles and easily caught the girls’ attention.

On the other side of the parking lot, an assembly of motorcyclists pulled up alongside each other, and the girls were going crazy over them, too. The motorcyclists were my type and I often fantasized about sitting on a bike, wrapping my arms around a sexy biker, and feeling the soft leather of his jacket rubbing against my face.

After getting out of the car, I clumsily slammed the door and dropped my keys. I picked them up, and that feeling of butterflies swirling around my stomach returned. I reapplied my lip gloss in the wing mirror, before heading toward the entrance of the main building. I needed to get to the student support center to get a schedule, but it was loud and hard to see the signs through the crowds. When I finally saw an arrow for the student support center, I followed it around to the north side of the building.

I got my schedule and realized that my first class started across campus in five minutes. I panicked, bit down on my bottom lip, and walked faster; I didn’t want to draw attention to myself by being late.

As I rushed through the crowds of students, I saw a guy wearing a white T-shirt that was ripped at the bottom. My heart skipped a beat and I felt a sudden surge of adrenaline rush through my body. Forgetting about my class, I followed him, frantically pushing my way through the crowd, not wanting to lose sight of him. Just moments ago, the noise in the hall had been overwhelming and now, focused on only one thing, it seemed silent. I called out to the stranger who I suspected had collided with my car.

“Hey, you in the white T-shirt!” I hollered down the hall.

Several people looked at me. Normally, I would’ve been mortified at being stared at, but at that moment, I couldn’t have cared less. Another rush of adrenaline raced through me, urging me to continue my mission. The louder I yelled, the quicker he seemed to walk, but why?

“Hey, the guy with the ripped white T-shirt!”

Not concerned with everyone glaring at me, I continued pushing my way through the crowd. I pushed faster as the stranger kept walking, refusing to turn around and acknowledge me. I turned the corner hot in pursuit of my target, but just as I was gaining on him, a guy stepped out in front of me, knocking me down. I quickly jumped up, not concerned with his apology, and continued pushing my way through the crowd. But it was too late.

He had disappeared.

I threw my bag on the floor. I was so close, and now so far from finding this mysterious guy. I’d never felt so insistent on anything before and had never felt such a rush of adrenaline. The moment seemed almost surreal and everyone around me must have thought I was completely crazy.

Maybe I was.

W
hen my first day of college—which could only be described as a nightmare—was over, I walked to my car, desperate to get home and relax. Images of the day flashed through my mind: I’d run someone over, hollered down the hall at a complete stranger who ignored me while everyone else stared at me like I was insane, and I’d been ridiculously late for Intro to Art. I must have made quite a first impression. Tomorrow was my first English class and I vowed to be early.

Trying to get the car door open, I dropped my keys. When I bent down to pick them up, I glanced over at the front wheel and noticed that the dent was gone.

Was I going crazy? Maybe I’d been deprived of too much oxygen while trapped under the ocean’s current and part of my brain had been affected permanently.

As I sat on the ground clutching my bag and doubting my sanity for a few minutes, I remembered the T-shirt. There had definitely been an incident between my car and a stranger. After all, I had the torn piece of fabric as evidence. I anxiously pulled it out of my pocket, looked at it, and sighed with relief.

I wasn’t losing my mind.

CHAPTER 4

I
was pleased when the weekend arrived. But after spending all of Saturday writing an essay for Intro to Art, I decided to relax on Sunday. As usual, I woke up early, but was surprised to hear voices coming from the kitchen. I hoped there hadn’t been any trouble with Brett at his new high school. Warily, I went downstairs and opened the kitchen door to see what all the commotion was about, and was surprised to see my mother, Heather, Brett, and Flo huddled around the table.

“Kate, Kate, come and take a look at this!” Heather shouted, her eyes wide and sparkling.

“Heather, what’s going on? Why are you in one of your hyperactive moods? Did you give in to a sugar craving?” I asked sarcastically.

“Don’t spoil this for me, Kate.”

“Well what am I supposed to be looking at?” I asked, pretending to be interested.

Heather twirled and her hair swept across my face. “Me! Take a good look at me!”

“Heather, stop talking in riddles and just spit out what you have to say.” Brett nudged me, disapproving of my attitude.

“Well, little sister, you’re looking at the new winter model for Vogue! Ahh! You are truly blessed to be my sister, Kate, because I’m going to be famous! Ahhh!”

I widened my eyes and smiled through gritted teeth. “I guess I should congratulate you then,” I said half-heartedly.

Heather smiled and Brett made immature faces behind her back, while I tried not to laugh.

“I’m going to be an international star!” Heather boasted in her high-pitched voice, while accepting a hug from my mother.

“As a mother, I am honestly so proud of you, Heather darling. My daughter is going to be famous! Wait until I tell your aunt Amanda. She’s going to be incredibly envious.”

Soon, my mother would be calling everyone in her phone book to boast, exaggerating about how her daughter was going to be an international supermodel. I looked over at Heather who was still twirling around like an over-excited child. This time, Brett got a mouthful of her wiry hair. Heather’s happiness made me jealous; her fairy-tale dream had come true. But I couldn’t imagine anything worse than being famous: everyone wanting to know all of my personal business, having paparazzi following me everywhere and invading my privacy while waiting for the glamour shot. No thank you. But, Heather? Yes, she would be in her element. The more attention she received, the happier she was.

“I have to go; I have to pack for my exciting, life-changing trip,” she announced.

For a moment, a sincere smile spread across my face. Maybe this was good news for me too. “Where are you going, Heather?” I asked, genuinely interested.

She smiled so widely that I thought her cheeks would burst. “Paris, Kate. I’m off to Paris for at least three months. I hope the world of fashion is ready for Heather Harris because here I come!” She flew out of the kitchen with my mother catching her tail.

“Good luck, Paris,” I said quietly, and Brett laughed. Flo tried to cover her smile, and it was a telling sign that she agreed that Heather leaving was the best news we’d all had in a while. I discreetly glanced over at Brett. He looked okay, and I was pleased.

I grabbed an apple and headed out to the garden, which was quiet and granted me the peace I needed. I walked past the pool and huge, circular Jacuzzi, and onto the freshly-cut grass, which was lush and green. I loved the way it felt on my bare feet.

Taking a bite of my apple, I heard a splash. I stood still and pressed my ear to the fence, trying to hear through the thick wood. I waited for what seemed like ages before there was another splash.

Looking at my watch, I calculated five minutes and thirty-six seconds between each splash. The impossibility of this had me hooked; I knew I had to investigate further. I threw my half-eaten apple on the ground and ran as fast as I could over the grass, past the pool, through the house, and up the staircase until I reached my bedroom. Almost flying onto my balcony, I saw . . . nothing.

Whoever was in the pool was gone.

I was about to turn around and walk back into my bedroom, but my eyes were drawn toward next door once again. I had to look twice. I just couldn’t believe what I was seeing and stood open-mouthed. There, hanging over a sun lounger, was a torn, white T-shirt. I felt like someone had smacked me across the face.

It was him! The guy who I’d hollered down the hall at was my mysterious next door neighbor. I had to confront him, but I didn’t have the courage to do so to his face—not with him being so adamant about avoiding me yesterday.

Tearing a piece of paper out of my notebook, I sat down at my dresser and put pen to paper:

Dear White T-shirt Guy . . .

I scribbled that out; it sounded like I was some kind of stalker.

Dear Guy Next Door . . .

That was hardly a winner either. I decided to skip the whole “Dear” bit, and just wrote one short line:

I think this belongs to you!

I wrapped the torn piece of T-shirt inside the note and sealed the envelope. I left the front of the envelope blank, finding the mystery of the letter quite exciting, and looked out my window. It was dark enough, so I snuck out of the house while Tobias was at his yoga class. Closing the front door quietly behind me, I made my way over to the house next door.

My heart raced with each step and my body tingled. I tiptoed up the steps to his front door, and left the envelope on the top step. I was back home within minutes and started feeling anxious, wondering how he would react to my note. I began doubting myself, but it was too late for regrets now.

T
he next morning, I woke up wearing yesterday’s clothes. I stretched and looked over at my clock, then jumped up. I had twenty minutes to get to my English class.

I jumped in the shower, brushed my teeth, and brushed my unruly hair before pulling it back into a tight ponytail. Then, there was a loud knock at my door, which startled me.

“Kate, hurry up, will you! Everyone is waiting for you!” Brett said.

“What are you talking about? I’m still getting dressed!” I yelled as I tied my pumps.

“Heather is leaving and Mom wants you downstairs to see her off. Get a move on!”

I rolled my eyes. I thought there was an emergency, or that I had forgotten something important. “I’ll be down in a minute!” I yelled. There wasn’t even time for minimal makeup, so I grabbed my bag and headed downstairs.

It was odd to see everyone in the same room. Dramatic tears rolled down Heather’s bony cheeks, and my mother was crying too. Brett stood behind her with a blank expression on his face, and my father repeatedly looked at his watch. I walked over to Heather and begrudgingly wished her good luck before almost tripping over her pink, polka dot suitcases as I ran out of the house.