Girl at Sea (4 page)

People would call her lucky because she was going to Italy. If she tried to tell them that Italy wasn’t going to be so great, she would look like the ultimate spoiled brat. “Daddy’s taking me to Italy!” Pouty lips.

No one knew what being with her father was like. No one could see the evidence littered around her. Not just the house, but this room was full of evidence, little pieces of the story.

Everywhere she looked, signs of her own former and now impending doom.

The raspberry soda can from Peru: purchased on one of the very first trips after Dive! was made. Not content with the person offered by the hotel, her father hired an “expert” guide to take them through the rain forest. He got them lost for four hours. This soda was the thing she bought when they finally made their way back to a town.

The Japanese ramen bowl: it had contained the ramen that she ate after getting her tattoo done. It was raining. The tattoo burned and itched like crazy. She and her father ran across the 23

street to one of Tokyo’s countless ramen bars. Clio could remember every moment of that day. She and her father were tucked into a small blond-wood booth, with red paper dividers separating them from the world and giving their little corner of the city a warm glow. It was good soup too, with fresh roasted pork and green onions. Her father was talking about his next plan. He had an idea for opening a school, a radical place, with no buildings. It would just offer constant experience, like the life that Clio was leading. He had taken her out of normal school by then. Clio loved the idea of other kids joining her. She paid for the bowl so she could keep it.

She loved the shade of red. It was a slow day, so her father paid the chef to let Clio come to the back and learn how to chop and cook a little. They used to buy a lot of things then.

They arrived home from Japan to find two things. One, the massive tattoo on Clio’s arm was a bridge too far for Clio’s mother. And two, her father’s “business partner” had defrauded them. Whatever money hadn’t been spent was essentially gone.

The party was over.

It took her father a while to get the message. He refused to believe it. Refused to go back to work. Tried to keep on doing things as before. There was a fight every night. He grew sullen.

Her mother grew quiet. And finally, they sat her down to tell her that sometimes parents don’t get along and can’t be married anymore.

Clio took Suki to her room and stayed there for a day. She even dragged Suki’s litter box and food inside. When she emerged again, her father had gone. Her mother said that he had moved to an apartment with his friend from work, Martin. Clio 24

didn’t know that dads could just move out of houses and in with friends. Apparently, they could.

He kept in touch, of course, swinging into her life at all the wrong times. He’d fall silent for weeks and then turn up outside her school expecting her to come along with him for some insane weekend battle reenactment or a quick trip up to New York to do the underground tour of Manhattan’s abandoned subway stations.

Suki sat on the edge of the drawing table now, looking out the window. This was his favorite spot. Who would look after Suki if they weren’t here? Would Suki go to Kansas? Clearly, her mother had to go to Kansas. Even Rob could go to Kansas. Clio could fight this if she wanted to. She could tell her mom no—

that she was coming along. Kansas. A dry, flat line. No friends in sight. Her mom would be busy in the studio, and she . . .

She envisioned herself standing on a lone plain, looking out at hundreds of miles of empty farmland. The tallest thing in sight. A surefire target for lightning.

No. Maybe there would be some kind of silo. One lone silo in the distance. That would draw the lightning.

No matter what, she wouldn’t be here. There would be no Ollie. She flipped open her sketchbook. She had started her eighth picture of him. The plan had been to give him one. That was how she was going to try to start it off. It made her want to cry. In fact, she started to until she heard footsteps on the creaking stairs that led to her room. Clio blotted at her eyes as her mother carefully pushed open the door and held out a takeout menu.

“I thought maybe we could order something together,” she said.

25

“I’m not very hungry,” Clio said. “The sesame seeds were very filling.”

Her mother sat down on the step.

“I’d be angry too,” she said. “I’d be furious. I would have been slamming doors and running out of the house. I think you’re taking this really well. I’m proud of you.”

Nothing was more annoying than your mom giving you credit. It was a total angst diffuser.

“What’s he doing this time?” Clio said. “What kind of freaks does he have with him on his boat? Is it a pirate society? Do I have to bring a parrot? Eye patch?”

“He just said bathing suits and shoes with rubber soles.”

“It’s going to be something weird,” Clio said, looking her in the eye. “And you know it.”

Her mother sighed, a long, painful sigh.

“I know you don’t believe me right now,” she said. “But this could be really good for you, Clio.”

Clio just looked at her mom for a moment.

“There’s something I have to do first,” she said, holding up the name tag from Galaxy. “I have to return this since I’m not going to be working there.”

“So, I can call your father? Tell him yes?” her mom asked.

There was a horribly perky note in her voice.

“Yeah,” Clio said. “You might as well.”

The store was dead, so they were pumping Johnny Cash over the speakers. When Clio had first started coming here, Johnny Cash was just some very old, very annoying singer tormenting her as she picked up her supplies. But she had come to love the deep voice 26

and the simple guitar because they were the backdrop to some of her best conversations with Ollie, when the store was quiet. He liked the music, and she found she was able to like it too.

Ollie wasn’t up front. Clio scanned the registers. The newest girl was working at one of them. She had short black hair and wore a silver mesh drape over a white T-shirt with a tag that said
Janine.
Clio suddenly hated art store girls, even though at this moment, she technically was one. Art store girls would do
anything.
They would be all over Ollie in her absence. This Janine girl in particular would go after him. She was new—he was nice.

He would end up showing her something she didn’t understand, some trick with the cash register, and that would be that.

Clio shook her head. This sudden paranoia . . . not good.

She firmly held the theory that everyone gets at least one very stupid superpower. Hers was a weak kind of homing beacon. She could find people or things really easily. If she was looking for Suki, for instance, she always seemed to know exactly where he’d be. And she also seemed to know when Ollie was in Galaxy and where exactly in the store he could be found. It wasn’t that impressive. The store wasn’t
that
big.

She cast out her senses to find him. He was here. Somewhere off to the side of the store. What hadn’t been supplied for a while? She headed for aisle two, Turpentine and Solvents, one of the darker and less pleasant aisles.

“Back already,” he said. “What’s up?”

Clio opened her mouth but was unwilling to speak. She didn’t want this to be true. She wanted her phone to ring and her mother to tell her that it was all off. But there was no ring. Now the stupid phone was silent.

27

“I can’t take the job,” she said quietly.

“Why not?”

“It’s a long story,” Clio said. “My dad . . . he’s got visitation rights. I have to go and see him.”

“Is he far?” Ollie asked. “Different state or something?”

“Italy,” Clio said.

“Oh. That’s far. But . . . nice for you, huh?”

Once again, her father’s magical ability to make things suck was shining through.

“It’s not quite what it sounds like,” Clio said. “But yeah, it’s far.”

He let out a deep sigh.

“This is no good,” he said.

“Maybe I can escape,” she responded, looking at his eyes, hoping he understood what she was feeling.

“It doesn’t sound like something you’d want to escape from,”

he said. “What? To come back here?”

Had she given away too much?

“No,” she said quickly. “I guess you’re right. I’m not coming back. I mean, I’m coming back
home
, but . . .”

He nodded slowly.

“I’ll tell Daphne if you want,” he said. “It’s a shame.”

She put out her fist, which held the name tag. He put his hand on it.

“Why don’t you keep it?” he said. “Maybe you’ll need it.”

“Or forget my name,” she said. “Always good to have a name tag. In case I forget who I am.”

“I’ll remember for you,” he said. “Promise.”

28

Your Kind of Crowd

For Clio, getting off the plane at the Rome airport was like being thrown directly into an Olympic relay event. There was a marathon line to the passport control, in which she was moved, shuffled, butted in front of, and pushed. Then there was a scramble for the bags and a run for customs, which all led to the final release into the airport proper, where everything became a total free-for-all.

At least she had her speedy suitcase.

Back before, when they had lots of money and were traveling a lot, Clio had purchased an incredibly expensive pink suitcase with a pattern of rose and green circles. She bought it with the very first Dive! check that arrived in her name. It was made of some advanced kind of lightweight plastic and had better wheels on it than a Mercedes. It was just one of those things in life that gave her tremendous satisfaction every time she looked at it. No matter what happened to her, she had a great suitcase. A light, 29

fast suitcase. She could outrun anyone with this suitcase, no matter how heavily it was packed.

Running seemed like a very good idea. With every step Clio took in the direction of her father—getting off the plane, getting her passport stamped, getting her bag—she felt her heartbeat become heavier and faster.

And then, finally, there he was in the throng of people just outside the arrival doors. Her father was always easy to spot. He was the blond one that some woman was slyly eyeing. It was always a little weird to know that you had a handsome dad. His hair was sandy, always a little too long. He was (it pained her to think it) fairly built. He looked perpetually thirty, even though he had long passed that age.

Today he was easier to spot than normal. He wore somewhat tight, ragged jeans cut off bizarrely at the meridian of the kneecap, a deep blue dress shirt with rolled-up sleeves, black Converse sneakers, and, most disturbingly, a white fisherman’s cap, one size too snug.

“Oh dear God,” Clio said to herself, stopping in her tracks.

She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t. A boat. A tiny fisherman’s cap. No. No, she had to turn around.

It was the crowd that forced her on. Only fifty paces and a glass wall separated them now. The suitcase glided along the floor with the grace and speed of an Olympic skater.

Come on!
it seemed to be saying.
Let’s just keep going. Hop on
me and I’ll get you out of here.

I can’t,
Clio’s mind replied.

Why not?

Because there’s nowhere else to go.

30

The world’s a big place, Clio. We’re in an Italian airport. We could
pull out your credit card, get on another plane, go anywhere.

My credit limit is way too low.

You know things are pretty bad when your mind is having crisis talks with your suitcase. Clio soldiered on, and with every step, her father’s grin grew wider. He had a huge mouth too. His smile was practically as big as her foot.

“Please,” Clio said, maneuvering the pink suitcase through the crowd, “please let him be
kind
of normal.”

“Hey, kiddo!” he yelled. “Ciao! Italy, huh?”

“Yeah,” Clio said, bracing herself for the huge embrace that enveloped her. “It’s Italy.”

“Our flight to Naples is in an hour and a half, so there’s time to grab a bite. Give me that, kiddo.”

He reached for the suitcase.

“I’ve got it,” she said.

“You must be exhausted. Let me have it.”

“I’m fine.” She tightened her hold.

Something in her refused to give over control of the suitcase. It was hers. Her suitcase, her stuff, her life. She would have insisted even if her hand was broken. Even if she was
dead
. Her zombie would pull the suitcase before she would let her dad have it.

“Come on,” he said. “Let me help you with that, kiddo. You relax.”

Clio had already skittered ahead a few feet, taking the pink suitcase with her. Victory.

“We all just flew down from London,” her dad said breezily as he followed her along.

31

“Who is
we
?” Clio asked.

“You’ll love them. This is your kind of crowd.”

She seriously doubted that the “we” was “her kind of crowd.”

She didn’t have a crowd. Or if she did, it was the crowd called normal human beings. And her name wasn’t kiddo. That was the newest annoying thing, just developed at his secret annoyance labs.