Second Star (21 page)

As the wave begins to build again, Jas restarts the Jet Ski, pulling Pete expertly behind him. Witch Tree is not a pretty wave; the water is green and murky, not crystal clear like the water in Hawaii or luminously blue like the water down the coast. As the wave grows, its face becomes choppy, rather than smooth and glassy like the waves in Kensington.

The wave rises and I wait for it to crest, wait for Pete to let go of the towrope. But Jas keeps pulling him and the wave keeps growing, even bigger this time than the last.

The sun finally, finally breaks through the clouds, illuminating the ocean. At once, the air is crystal clear. This wave doesn’t even resemble the waves I’ve seen before. It doesn’t even seem
related
to the waves that ride up on the shores of Newport Beach. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a wave grow higher than ten feet; this wave that builds to twenty, thirty, fifty feet is a different animal entirely.

When Pete finally releases the towrope and drops into the wave, it looks like he’s free-falling down the face of a cliff. It looks like madness. It looks like lunacy.

But it also looks like grace.

I don’t think I could turn away if I wanted to; it’s as if a magnet is pulling my gaze ever closer to the wave. Pete was made to do this; so was Jas, and maybe my brothers, too.

Pete comes flying out the side of the wave, and Jas circles back to pick him up out of the water. Even from here, even over the sound of the wave crashing and the wind howling, I can hear them shouting. They look more excited than little kids on Christmas morning.

Jas takes the wave next. He flies down the face of it, the water almost black beneath him, except for the white line of foam trailing behind his board. He holds his arms out wide, his left hand flat against the wave behind him as though it’s as solid as a wall. But then I guess that’s exactly what it is: a wall of water. A skyscraper right here in the middle of the sea. His black hair shines in the sunlight, and his ride seems to last for hours as the wave continues to lengthen out in front of us. Pete whoops from his place on the Jet Ski; he keeps a close watch so that he can pull Jas out of the soup once his ride is over.

“Maybe they
are
superheroes,” I say out loud.

“What?” Belle asks.

I shake my head. “Just something I was thinking earlier. Like they are two superheroes fighting for world domination.”

Belle laughs, surprising me. “Yeah, and look what they can do when they join forces,” she says as the wave curls over Jas’s head, crashing into the ocean with a deafening roar. Pete grabs him from the water before the foam gets too thick.

The wave begins to build again, and I wonder who will take the next ride. The boat rocks jerkily from side to side.

My parents spent their honeymoon on a yacht in the South Pacific; my father once told me that sleeping out on the open water, the waves lapping the side of the boat, was like being rocked to sleep in an enormous cradle. The memory makes me want to laugh out loud. Being on this boat is like being held in the jaws of some wild animal, the kind that whips its prey back and forth, stunning it before it kills it. I watch the wave rise and fall as though I’m possessed by it, until it feels like it’s coming from someplace deep inside of me, until I can’t remember, no matter how hard I try, what it feels like to stand on solid ground.

Beside me, Belle is picking up her own board. “My turn now,” she says, waving at the boys to come back to the boat for her.

“Good luck,” I shout as she jumps overboard.

33

Jas puts his arms around me as we watch Pete tow Belle away from the boat.

“You must be freezing,” he says, rubbing my arms up and down with his enormous hands.

I shake my head. Much to my surprise, I feel warm; I’m sweating. Adrenaline is pumping through my body. I wonder how many waves there will be like this one, how many times I’ll get to watch Jas surf the latest behemoth the ocean offers up.

“I can’t wait,” I say out loud, and Jas kisses the top of my head, understanding exactly what I mean.

As Pete pulls Belle into the wave, the sun slips behind the clouds and it begins to rain. But even from here I can see that Belle isn’t about to stop. Not when she’s so close.

“That girl has guts,” Jas says, a hint of pride in his voice. “I can count on one hand the number of girls in the world who are strong enough to take that wave.”

“Hey!” I say, elbowing him in the ribs. “Don’t knock girl surfers.”

Jas shakes his head solemnly. “I’m not,” he says as he pulls the hood of my sweatshirt over my head. “Just the opposite.”

The second that Belle lets go of the towrope, the skies open; what was a drizzle is now a downpour. I suppose the rain really doesn’t matter; we’re all so soaked already. But without the sun, visibility is all but nonexistent.

I have to concentrate to see Belle’s blond hair streaking across the face of the wave. If the tip of the wave weren’t white with foam, I wouldn’t be able to see the moment when the water shifts, crashing down on top of her with a speed and a force that shock me, as though the wave is a living thing with a mind set on shoving Belle from its surface.

Belle flips off of her board, head over heels. Pete tries to turn the Jet Ski, but somehow the wave is still pounding down. Pete can’t drive directly into its center, where Belle is currently getting worked. Jas and I watch in silence, keeping our eyes trained on the spot where Belle’s blond head keeps disappearing and reappearing.

The surface of the water is completely white with foam, and Pete drives the Jet Ski dangerously close. Jas explains that a Jet Ski simply can’t drive over soup; in foamy conditions the engine isn’t able to get enough water to propel itself forward.

“He’s going to stall if he’s not careful,” Jas says stonily. But he and I both know: nothing is going to keep him from getting to Belle. Jas leans over the bow of the boat, his feet poised to spring.

“Wait!” I say desperately, but it’s too late, he’s already gone, swimming toward the wave. The ocean is so loud now that I don’t think he could have heard me anyway.

Jas makes his way out to where Pete is waiting on the Jet Ski, just outside the impact zone of the wave. He climbs on just as Pete dives off of it and begins swimming toward Belle. Slowly, carefully, Jas directs the Jet Ski to follow.

It seems like hours have passed before Pete gets to Belle and is able to pull her out of the soup and onto the Jet Ski. Jas takes off in the direction of the boat, leaving Pete behind to try to swim his way out of there.

“Here,” Jas shouts; he barely stops the Jet Ski as he heaves Belle in my direction. I fit my hands underneath her armpits and pull her up onto the deck. She moans softly. Jas circles back for Pete, and together they scramble onto the boat, leaving the Jet Ski behind.

“Go!” Pete shouts at the captain.

“What about the Jet Ski?” I ask dumbly, looking out at the sea. Belle’s board is left out there somewhere, too.

“Forget it,” Jas says, kneeling down beside Belle. It’s then that I see that the deck is covered in blood. The right leg of Belle’s wetsuit is slashed open and blood is pouring from the opening.

“Oh my god,” I say softly.

“The fin of her board must have sliced her,” Jas says.

He and Pete are working together, tying towels around her leg to stanch the bleeding. Now I’m freezing; I can’t stop shaking. The motor roars and spits as the boat takes off, the captain navigating his way through the chop, desperately trying to lead us back to shore. But ten, twenty, even thirty minutes have passed, and we’ve barely moved. I can still hear the roar of Witch Tree behind us. Smaller but still massive waves rise in front of us. It feels like we’re trapped between mountains.

Jas pulls me down onto the deck beside him and puts his arm around me. Pete shifts Belle’s leg in his lap, pressing his hands tightly over her wound. I think if he could wrap his whole body around her to apply more pressure, he would.

“What do we do?” I whisper to Jas. Belle looks small and pale, and the pool of blood beneath her leg continues to grow; Pete’s grip and the soaked towels we tied around her haven’t made a bit of difference. Jas shakes his head.

Belle moans; softly at first, and then louder. “Just the same,” she says. “Just the same.”

“Shhh, Belle,” Pete murmurs. “Just hang on a little bit longer.”

But Belle shakes her head and struggles to sit up. Her eyes flutter open and she looks right at me.

“Just the same,” she says, and it seems that it takes every ounce of her strength to speak. There is something she’s determined to say, and I know enough about Belle to know that once she makes up her mind to do something, she will do it, even when each breath she takes is an effort. I’m surprised to realize that it’s something we have in common, that look that we get on our faces when we’re absolutely determined to do something, the look that Jas recognized when he watched me surf on my own.

So I ask, “What’s just the same, Belle?”

“The ocean,” she says. “Same today as it was
that
day.”

“What day?” I ask.

Belle’s gray eyes haven’t lost any of their steel; they lock with mine as she says, “The day that your brothers went missing.”

I feel like a balloon someone has just sliced open; all of the air goes out of me and I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to take a breath again.

“I was there,” she says, struggling on every word. “Six months ago. I was there.
Here
. They were on dust,” she says, her eyes flickering from my face to Jas’s.

“They surfed Witch Tree on dust?” Pete says, incredulous. “You can’t even surf Kensie on dust.”

Belle nods weakly. “I tried to stop them,” she whispers; I can barely hear her above the wind and the rain. “I swear I tried. But they wouldn’t listen.”

She’s crying; or maybe that’s the rain on her face. I can’t tell whether the water on my face is coming from inside of me anymore either.

“I almost told you,” she adds. “Before you left our house, I almost told you, but I just couldn’t.” She shakes her head. “Just couldn’t,” she repeats, her unspoken apology floating in the mist between us.

I almost laugh at the idea of this girl, this powerhouse who didn’t hesitate before she splashed into the ocean today, unable to tell me anything.

“I watched them,” she says, desperately. “I kept my eyes on them every second, until…”

The words she doesn’t say hang in the air; she watched them every second until she couldn’t watch them anymore. Until they disappeared. I shake my head, thinking about the figures I saw on the beach last night, the voices I heard. They must have been ghosts.

Carefully, pressing against the soaked deck and then grabbing at the side of the boat, I stand up. The boat is heaving and pitching; the captain is shouting at me from his place behind the controls.

“Sit down, Wendy,” Jas says, reaching for me. “It’s not safe.”

I shake my head, carefully backing away from him. I have to keep my hands gripping the edge of the boat to keep from falling as the ocean tosses us around like a wild mustang. The captain keeps shouting, pointing at something behind me. I begin to turn; a wave twice the size of any I’ve ever seen is building in front of me.

My brothers are dead. Jas and I can search every wave around the world, we can follow every swell: we will never find them. They vanished six months ago, just like everyone said. I was wrong to believe I could find them and bring them home, more wrong than anyone has ever been about anything. More wrong than Jas was to sell them the drugs, more wrong than Pete was to lie to me, more wrong than Belle was to hide the truth.

I let go.

The first thing I feel is the cold. I thought I was cold on the boat, but this is something else entirely. It’s a cold that shocks me to my very bones, blinding me so that I can’t even see the boat anymore. I wonder just how far the wave flung me. For a second, before I hit the water, it felt like I was flying.

Water is not soft on impact. It’s as hard as ice against my skin. Instinct has me struggling to stay on the surface of the water, wrestling with the waves that plunge me down deep, over and over.

I flail my arms desperately; soon I can’t tell which way is up. Maybe I’m swimming deeper when I think I’m swimming for the surface. I open my mouth to gasp for oxygen, genuinely surprised to find that I’m underwater, and instead of air, my mouth is filling with liquid.

I wonder how long I can hold my breath. I’ve always heard that in situations like this, you discover that you can survive without oxygen for longer than you ever imagined.

Belle and Pete and Jas all swam in this water before me and survived; but then they had their flotation vests on and all I have is this sweatshirt that feels like it weighs a thousand pounds.

How long did my brothers fight in this water? How long were they able to hold their breaths? Did they stay together or did the waves drive them apart? Did one of them drown first? Did the other have to watch, helpless, as the person he was closest to on the planet disappeared under the water for the last time? Are they here now, floating somewhere beneath me, waiting for me to join them?

Suddenly, I want to swim down, down, down, into the depths of the icy water below me. There is still one way I can find my brothers, even if I can’t bring them home the way I planned. But I can join them. I throw my hands above my head, trying to propel myself deeper.

Then someone is grabbing me, pulling me higher.

“Hang on to me,” Jas says, his voice thick. He must have jumped in after me; of course he jumped in after me.

He’s holding me tighter than I’ve ever been held before.

“Hang on to me,” he says again, but I can’t seem to make my arms wind around him, can’t make my fingers hold on. Maybe they’re frozen from the cold or maybe they just don’t want to. Maybe my body has already made up its mind; it’s ready to let go.

My head slips beneath the surface again, and Jas struggles to pull me up.

I picture my lungs filling with water every time I go under, just a little more each time. Who knew it was possible to drown so gradually?