Chasing Xaris (2 page)

C

APTAIN
Tye.

My dad’s nickname.

I felt a sharp ache in my chest, then a rush of panic. Oh no. I wrapped my arms across my rib cage, binding the pain in place.

“Chandler!” a familiar voice called.

I opened my eyes. Ari had disappeared and Jordan was racing toward me, kicking up sand in his wake.

He dropped to his knees and grabbed both my arms. “Are you okay?”

I almost laughed in response. Okay? My head was pounding and probably bleeding. My legs felt like logs. And my chest was aching again.

With a shudder, I remembered what it had felt like to have that chronic pain. My chest had hurt all day, every day, like I had a broken rib that refused to heal. Gran and Grandpa had noticed something was up. Gran had suggested counseling. Grandpa had suggested a summer away at some leadership conference in
Washington, D.C.

Both options had sounded awful, so I had told them I’d get better on my own. I had
started by fending off any thought that made my chest hurt. Bit by bit my mental muscles had grown taut and strong.

But those muscles were failing me this morning. Memories from that night rolled in like relentless waves. Being at Winnie’s house for a sleepover. Getting the phone call from Gran. Hearing there had been a car accident, a hit-and-run.

Why had Ari mentioned murder? The driver of the other car had killed my parents, but it had been an accident. And I still didn’t know why Ari knew anything about it, accident or otherwise. How did he even know my dad?

I shook my head, trying to free myself of Ari’s words. But they were stirring up so many questions. I couldn’t fend them all off.

My hands curled into fists. Ari had dredged up this stuff and then just abandoned me on the beach. That was so not okay.

With a groan, I rolled onto my side and searched for Ari. But he had definitely left—right after rescuing me. Had he actually attacked the shark? That sounded so ridiculous. But I’d seen all the blood in the water, and Ari had seemed
just fine. That meant he must have done the injuring.             

Jordan pulled me to a sitting position. Black splotches dotted my vision, but I blinked them away. A small crowd of surfers
had gathered about ten feet behind Jordan.

“You had us crazy worried,” Jordan said. His face paled behind his smile. “You weren’t moving. We thought…”

His green eyes were crinkled, and his hand rubbed my arm, leaving behind a trail of warmth.

I swallowed. He cared so much, and I had cared so little lately.

Jordan released me and cleared his throat. He pointed to my temple. “You’re gonna have a gnarly bump. Think you’ll need stitches?”

“I hope not.” I touched the tender place on my temple, wincing at the memory. My board had probably been the culprit, not a shark—I had felt a tug on my leash right before the slam. The gash wasn’t bleeding like before, so that had to be a good sign.

“Chandler?”
Jordan jabbed me in the shoulder. “Are you spacing out again?”

I jabbed him back. “No.”

“Then tell me what happened.”

I hesitated. I didn’t want to tell
Jordan about the shark—or about Ari attacking the shark. I couldn’t imagine saying that out loud. I’d sound insane.

“I tossed in a wave, and my board hit me,” I said.

Jordan grinned in approval. “You must have ate it bad.”

“Pretty much.”
I took off my ankle leash and rose to my feet. My head spun.

Jordan steadied me. “Careful.
Want me to walk you home?”

“I’ll be okay.” I took a few steps to gain my balance. “Have you seen Ari?”

“Nope. Why?”

“Just curious.”

I rubbed my neck, feeling my watch scratch my skin. I glanced down and saw I was already ten minutes late. Grandpa wanted me home by seven on school days.

“I have to go.” I reached to pick up my board, but
Jordan nudged my hand away.

“I’ll get it to you later.”

“Thanks.”

I hurried toward the pier
, looking out at the lineup, but I couldn’t find Ari.

Jordan joined me. “Who are you looking for?”

“Ari. Do you know where he lives?” I asked.

Jordan shook his head. “Nobody does.”

“But doesn’t he have a friend? Someone who’d have his phone number?”

Jordan gave a stiff shrug. “Ari doesn’t talk to anyone. Except you sometimes.”

Well, Ari had apparently talked to my dad, too.

“Chandler, what’s going on?” Jordan moved in front of me, blocking my way to the pier. “Why the sudden obsession with Ari?”

“I’m not obsessed. It’s just important that I talk to him.” I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “Like, really important.”

“Ari will be here tomorrow,” Jordan said. His voice was softer. “He wouldn’t pass up this swell.”

I had my doubts. Ari never surfed this pier in the evenings, which meant he probably hit other breaks, too. There was no guarantee I’d see him here tomorrow. I stepped around
Jordan and surveyed the water one final time. Where was the shark slayer hiding?

Shark slayer
.

I wondered why that phrase had popped into my head. It reminded me of an old
Florida legend I’d heard. I tried to remember more, but the story’s details stayed just out of reach. And unfortunately I didn’t have time to just stand around wondering about it.

I waved goodbye to Jordan and raced up the beach. My legs felt annoyingly weak. Every time my knees threatened to buckle, I imagined Grandpa’s scowl if he discovered I wasn’
t home yet. I picked up my pace, jogging through the parking lot and down palm-studded streets.

After a few blocks, I reached my grandparents’ house at the end of Laney Drive. Their two-story house had always reminded me of a fort.
The stucco was a smoky gray, and giant hedges surrounded the lawn on every side.

I crept through the side door of the garage and cracked the back door open, cringing when the hinges squeaked. With any luck, my grandparents hadn’t heard that.

The steady click of Gran’s wall clock thumped through the otherwise silent kitchen.
I exhaled in relief and slipped upstairs to my bedroom, shutting the door behind me. I plopped down at the desk and flipped my laptop open. The internet had to have something on the old Florida legend.

A loud rap hit my door. My hands hovered over the keyboard.

“Can I come in?” Grandpa’s voice asked.

I glanced down at my rash guard.

“Um…” I shot up from my chair and ran into the connecting bathroom. “One second.”

I grabbed the fluffy robe Gran had bought me and flung my arms into it.
Glancing in the mirror, I wrapped a towel around my head to hide the cut on my temple. If I didn’t move my head too much, the towel would stay in place.

“Come in.” I stepped into my room as Grandpa opened the door. “
Just about to shower,” I said, too loudly.

Grandpa’s large frame took up most of the doorway. He wasn’t overweight, just really tall with broad shoulders. Plus, guys alw
ays looked bigger in Hawaiian shirts, and those were Grandpa’s go-to casual wear.

“What’s up
, Grandpa?” I asked, pulling the robe tighter over my rash guard.

Grandpa gestured for me to sit on the bed. “I just read an email from the college counselor at your school.”

I swallowed and moved to the bed.

“She emailed you?” I asked, sitting.

“She responded to my email, yes,” Grandpa said. “I wrote her to see how you were progressing.”

“Oh. Well, is everything okay?”

“You tell me.” He turned my desk chair toward the bed and sat down with a heavy sigh. “She said that you haven’t expressed interest in any specific school, but I thought you had already settled on a college.”

My cheeks warmed.

“The University of Florida is the top school in the state,” Grandpa continued. “Your mother went there… until she married your father. And so did I. You don’t get that kind of alumni networking everywhere, Chandler, and it will help so much with your career plans.”

I nodded.
I understood that college and alumni and networking meant everything to Grandpa. He had chosen a career in finance, with the suit and office and all that. But I so didn’t see that for me. If I had my way, I’d move to California, get a job, and surf bigger waves. Maybe enter some contests. Maybe pick up a sponsor.

“Chandler, do you understand what I’m saying?” Grandpa asked.

I wondered what it would be like to tell Grandpa about California. His brown eyes were kind but so intimidating. My gaze dropped to his hands. Fuchsia paint lined his fingernails.

“Grandpa, you know what painting means to you?” I asked quietly.

He frowned. “Yes.”

“That’s what surfing means to me,” I said. “I was sort of thinking about California.”

“For
college? That’s awfully far, Chandler. And making a school choice based on a hobby isn’t a wise decision. I’ve never let painting interfere with my career.”

I heard the stubborn
tone in his voice and knew further talk was useless. He wouldn’t understand. He would have, though, years ago. He used to spend every weekend in gardens, his canvas in front of him, his face in a trance. Now he only painted a few hours a week and only indoors, from pictures.

“I know that surfing is important to you,” Grandpa said. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “But a degree from UF will open so many doors. And Winnie is set on UF, isn’t she? Don’t you want to go to school with your best friend?”

“Of course,” I replied automatically.             

“Good.” He stood and patted my shoulder. “You have such a bright future,
Chandler.”

“Thanks.”

With a nod, he left and closed the door behind him.

The seconds ticked by. I slumped in my chair and stared at the
polished wood floor, vaulted ceiling, and iron furniture. Still so foreign. Still so… not me.

I’d spent hours researching California. I’d looked at the best surf breaks, restaurants that were hiring, apartments for rent. But even then, I had known that moving to
California was more fantasy than reality. I couldn’t abandon my life to start another—it would hurt my grandparents too much.

UF wouldn’t be so bad. I’d still be able to surf on the weekends.
And if I could surf I’d survive.

My thoughts drifted to
the way I’d felt on my board that morning. Like I was soaring. But then I remembered everything after. The shark, Ari diving into the water, all the blood.

I opened my laptop and typed in, “Old Florida legends shark slayers.” Unfortunately, the websites I found were either about harrowing shark attacks or proud fishermen with their mammoth catches. I tried other phrases but still didn’t find anything. At least, nothing that sounded familiar or could be linked to Ari.

With a sigh I checked my email and saw Winnie had sent me rough drafts of a few stories she’d written for her online jewelry store. What made Winnie’s jewelry unique were the stories she paired with each item. She made up most of the stories herself, and since Winnie watched lots of suspense movies, her tales usually involved family secrets and dramatic deaths.

My fingers paused over the keyboard. Maybe I had read the shark slayer legend on Winnie’s website.

I clamped my eyes shut, anxious to remember, but my mind stayed annoyingly blank. I considered calling Winnie right then, but I’d get more details from her in person.

I shut my laptop and headed back to the bathroom.
After I’d showered, I inspected the gash on the side of my face at the mirror. It wasn’t deep, which surprised me considering how hard my board had hit me.

I put on a band-aid to cover the cut, dusted some bronzer on my cheeks, and framed my brown eyes with liner. Then I pulled on an outfit Gran purchased for me. Her wardrobe picks usually involved a khaki skirt and frilly shirt combo, but I wore them anyway to make her happy.

I grabbed my backpack and headed downstairs.

“Morning, love,” Gran said as I rushed into the kitchen. Wisps of blond-white hair fell down from her bun, framing her tanned face like ribbons. The Weather Channel played on the TV in the background.

“Thanks.” I sat down at the round table, and Gran brought me a plate of blueberry French toast, her specialty.

“What happened?” Gran asked with wide eyes. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine. I wiped out and my board got me.”

Gran kept staring at my band-aid. “Maybe I should take you to the emergency room.”

“Gran, I swear I’m okay. It’s just a little scrape.” I picked up my fork and dug into my French toast, hoping Gran would abandon her inquiry.