Chasing Xaris (3 page)

“Would you like me to look at it?” Gran asked.

“No, I’m good.”

Gran stood by the table, just inches away, for what felt like an hour before returning to the counter to grab a pitcher of milk.

“So what does your day look like?” She poured me a glass and set it by my plate.

“Just a regular Wednesday,” I said.

“And how’s Winnie?”

I took a sip of ice-cold milk. “Good.”

Gran nodded as if this were fascinating news.

I felt guilty for not expanding, but Gran wanted to have a heart-to-heart every morning.

“She’s adding headbands to her store,” I added.

“How nice.”

I swallowed my last bite and gulped down the rest of my milk. “’Kay, I have to go,” I said. “Thanks for the breakfast.”

Gran stood with me and met me at the door. “There’s a sixty percent chance of rain after one, so you know what that means.”

“Right.” I grabbed an umbrella from the stand. Gran believed any percentage over fifty might as well be a hundred.
She’d be downright irritated if it didn’t start raining promptly at one.

“Love you, Chandler,” she said.

“Love you too,” I replied as Gran folded me into one of her long, lavender-scented hugs.

I patted her back with one hand, hoping she couldn’t sense my discomfort. Gran’s hugs still felt funky—too tight. Her whole presence in my life felt too tight, actually. And she kept spending less and less time on her volunteer work, and more time at the house with me.

I released Gran, but she held on for another moment before finally letting go. I forced a smile and headed into the garage. While I still wasn’t used to my grandparents or their lofty way of life, I did love their birthday present—a sand-colored Prius.

Ten minutes later, I pulled into the parking lot of Sunrise Park High School and searched for Winnie’s old VW Beetle. But I didn’t spot it as I circled the lot.

Why did this have to be the one morning Winnie wasn’t early? Curbing my annoyance, I parked and hurried on campus to wait.

Our school’s sprawling, one-story building sat on a bright green plot of grass. Palm trees lined a sidewalk that cut through the front lawn toward the main entrance. I strolled down the cement path past a gang of surfers by the picnic tables.

“Chandler!” Jordan called from one of the tables.

He waved, all smiles, and I felt a rush of warmth. Which triggered a throb from my chest. I grimaced. This could not be happening again.

I waved at Jordan and kept walking. It felt better to keep him at a distance—I’d already learned that rule. Why had I broken it this morning?

But then I felt a tug on my arm, pulling me to a stop.

I whirled around and glanced from Jordan to the picnic tables at least fifteen feet away.

“Dude, you are really fast and really quiet,” I said. My voice sounded breathless.

“Impressed?” he asked.

“Surprised,” I said.

My eyes went to his hand on my arm. I stepped back, pulling free from him.

Jordan’s smile faltered. He shuffled his feet and pointed to my temple. “So, you okay?”

“I’m fine. Thanks,” I said, looking into the parking lot. Past
Jordan, I saw Winnie parking her Beetle right beside my Prius.

“Thanks for everything this morning, Jordan,” I said. “You were seriously great. I’ll pick up my board after school. See you later?”

“Wait.”
Jordan turned with me. “I officially think you should hang out at the tables again.”

“Officially?” I
smiled and glanced at the crew of surfers. How many waves had I caught with those guys? I had avoided them after the accident because I hadn’t wanted to talk about it. And then avoiding had become habit.              

Winnie was the only one I hadn’t completely shunned. She hadn’t let me. When I had ignored her calls, she had brought over her
jewelry kit and set up shop in my room. She had also brought her suspense movies. As I suffered through jabbing music, she made rings, bracelets, and necklaces. She hadn’t talked much, but she had sat beside me.

My gaze shifted to Winnie now, slapping down the sidewalk in her flip flops and tight jeans. Sunlight bounced off her brown skin and oversized bracelets clanked on her small wrists.

I had never been so relieved to see my friend. She’d tell me all about the shark slayer story. She had to.

“
L

ISTEN
, Jordan, I have to talk to Winnie about something kind of important,” I said, nodding to my friend as she approached.

“I still don’t get why you hang out with her,” Jordan said.

“I swear you guys would like each other if you actually talked,” I said.

“I swear you’re wrong,” Jordan replied.

“Morning, Win,” he said.

Her hazel eyes narrowed.
“It’s Winnie.” She tried to look down at him, but Jordan was just as tall as her. “Still can’t handle two syllables?”

“Nice bracelets,” I said.

Both of them stared at me.

“What happened?” Winnie asked, pointing to my temple.

“Surfing accident,” I said.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, thanks. So, um, want to head to class early?”

“I’d love to, Chandler.” She gave
Jordan a sweet smile. “That’s another name with two syllables you could practice.”

With a flick of her bobbed hair, she looped her arm around mine and led me down the sidewalk. Since Winnie was nearly six feet tall, even I had to scurry to keep up with her.

“It was fun making out, Winnie Rollins,” Jordan yelled after us. “Let’s do it again sometime.”

Winnie whirled around. Her glossed lips formed a perfect “o.” She snapped her head around to see who had heard. Judging from the cheers at the picnic tables, most of the surfers had.

“’Bye, Jordan,” I said, turning Winnie away. I steered her down the sidewalk to the front doors.

“I don’t get why you’re friends with him,” she said.

“I swear you guys would get along if you gave each other a chance.”

“It’s too late for that.” Winn
ie proceeded to explain the many ways Jordan Lane had offended her over the years as we walked through the front doors and down an open-air hallway. “And I know he was the one who put that snake in my pool.”

“Winnie, that was like seven years ago. And the snake put itself in your pool.”

“He talks weird,” Winnie said.

“He talks like I do,” I said.

“You don’t sound as weird as he does.”

Since she meant this as a compliment, I didn’t press the issue.

Winnie marched up to our classroom door and pulled open the door. Artificially cold air blasted my face and arms.

“Winnie, I’ve got to ask you something,” I said.

“Can it wait?” Winnie asked. “I have to give my report today.”

“Oh. No problem.”

Winnie made a beeline for her desk on the left side of the room. I followed and sat behind her in the last row. Our teacher, Mr. Whitaker, sat just behind me on a stool, bent over his book. He was so into his reading that he didn’t even notice us.             

I sank into my chair and watched people trickle into class.
Jordan gave me a grin as he headed for his seat on the opposite side of the room.

“Win,” he mock-whispered.

Winnie’s back stiffened, but her gaze stayed focused on the note cards in her hands.

Behind me, Mr. Whitaker sneezed.

“Bless you,” I said, turning to look at our teacher.

Most of us called him Mr. Whit, which Winnie found hilarious. Apparently “whit” meant some version of little, and Mr. Whit was definitely not little. The stool made his tall body look even longer, like a giraffe on stilts. His customary blazer and wool scarf looked
totally out of place in the eighty-degree weather. Personally, though, I liked his offbeat outfits better than the khakis and polo shirts other teachers wore.              

Mr. Whit smiled, and his brown eyes crinkled in the corners. “
Gracias
, Chandler.” He laid the book open on his lap, revealing a yellowed map of Florida on its pages.

“Researching?” I asked, pointing to his book.

“Of course,” he replied. “Research builds bridges from the past world to ours.” His gaze shifted to my band-aid. “What happened?”

“Surfing accident,
” I said.

“I see. But you are doing well otherwise?”

“Um…” I had narrowly escaped a shark attack and launched an investigation into my parents’ deaths. “Sure,” I said.

“Glad to hear it,” Mr. Whit said. He pulled a gold pocket watch from his blazer and clicked it open. Its tarnished surface matched his blond hair.

“I suppose I have to teach now,” he said, with a resigned expression.

“It’ll go by fast,” I assured him. “And you could always let us out early.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he said, smiling slightly.

He’d been my teacher last year too, so now we bantered.

The bell rang and Mr. Whit strolled to the front of the class. He rested his arms on the oversized lectern.

“
Buenos días
, class,” he said. “Today we continue our reports on famous shipwrecks. After we finish the reports tomorrow, we’ll cover Native American archeology for about two weeks. This should lead us right up to Thanksgiving break.”

The beauty of being
an upperclassman at my high school was you could take elective classes like “Archaeology.” Most of the students in here were juniors like Winnie, Jordan, and me.

“As we’ve discussed the past few weeks,” Mr. Whit said, “underwater archaeology is exploding, thanks to advanced mapping systems and underwater robotics. The sea’s been clutching a myriad of historical secrets over the centuries. Now it’s our turn to reclaim them.”
             

Poor Mr. Whit. He reminded me of a wistful Indiana Jones, an explorer who would rather be on an adventure than teaching in a classroom with motivational posters. He sort of looked the part, too. He was youngish, mid-thirties maybe? And he had the broad shoulders of someone who’d worked on dig sites.

“Now, let’s continue our reports on shipwrecks. Winifred Rollins,” Mr. Whit announced.

Winnie’s head
snapped up from her note cards. “That’s me.”

Mr. Whit’s lips twitched, suppressing a grin. “Yes, I know. Are you ready to present?”

“Yes.” Winnie grabbed a folder and her note cards and hurried from her chair.

Mr. Whit strode to the back of the room. “Whenever you’re ready
,
señorita
,” he said.

Winnie pulled up her report on the front computer and dimmed the lights.

“I’m going to talk about
The Adelle
—a shipwreck with a sad story.” Winnie’s voice was low and ominous. Her gaze narrowed on Jordan. “A tragedy riddled with villains.”

Winnie pointed to the first slide of her report. It had a black-and-white picture of a young couple.

“Baldric and Adelle Ingram were Philadelphia socialites living at the turn of the twentieth century,” she said. “The Ingram family had made its fortune through railroads and merchant shipping, and the couple was famous for throwing lavish parties that hosted the most renowned artists of their time.”

Even though Winnie had added overly sinister music to her slideshow, the report itself interested me. Winnie explained that Baldric was a
n obsessive husband who was majorly unstable. He would give Adelle diamond earrings but then beat her for not wearing them enough. Then, he’d make amends by giving her an even grander gift, like a vacation home in Atlantic City. He had even named one of his family’s steam ships after her.

Adelle
actually fell in love with the captain of that steamer, a man named Dominic Reynolds. Together, the lovers had set a plan in motion that would free Adelle from her husband. She had secretly joined Dominic on
The Adelle
’s next voyage from Philadelphia to Havana, Cuba with a shipment of coal. But
The Adelle
had encountered a tropical storm off the Florida coast and sunk. A few survivors made it to shore—Adelle and Dominic weren’t among them.

“And so the lovers met an early death in a watery grave,” Winnie said. She closed her eyes and bowed her head.

Jordan’s hand shot up in the air. “What happened to the jerk husband?” he asked.

Winnie’s eyes popped open. “I’m not finished yet. I was taking a moment of silence.”

“I sort of thought that was your ending.”

“You sort of thought wrong.”

“Jordan, let Winifred finish her report,” Mr. Whit said from behind me. “Winifred, please continue.”

“Thank you, Mr. Whitaker. Interruptions can be so distracting.”

Winnie cleared her throat and finished the story. According to Winnie, Baldric had been beside himself with grief over Adelle’s death. When his family built another steamer, Baldric had named it
My Adelle
. He spent much of his life on that ship, surviving a few storms of his own.

As an old man, Baldric had confessed his ill treatment of Adelle to her sister. He admitted that every time he had voyaged on
My Adelle
, he’d hoped to meet his death at sea like his wife had met hers.

“He thought that if he died like Adelle, they would be eternally united,” Winnie said. “But Baldric died in his bed. His last words were of his late wife—and the lost ship that became her coffin.” Winnie bowed her head for several seconds, then looked up with a
grim smile. “The end.”

Jordan sat up straight in his chair and clapped. Loudly.

Winnie ignored him as the rest of us clapped too.

“
The Adelle
’s never been found, you know,” Mr. Whit said. I turned around to see my teacher’s brown eyes twinkling.

“Perha
ps one day she’ll be seen again,” he added.

Other students gave their presentations after
Winnie, and I vaguely listened. It was hard to concentrate when all I could think about was the shark slayer legend. I considered texting Winnie, but Mr. Whit was sitting right behind me.

When class finally came to a close, I waited a whole five seconds before jumping up from my desk.

“How do you think my report went?” Winnie asked, slinging her backpack over her shoulder.

“You did awesome,” I said. “Really. It was perfect.”

“I agree,” Jordan said, on his way out the door. “Really stupendous.”

I hid a smile as Winnie’s eyes narrowed. She didn’t say anything, but she waited until Jordan left before walking down the rows of desks into the hallway.

I followed her. “You really did do an awesome job.”

“Thanks,” Winnie replied. “Mr. Whit was definitely into it. Did you see his face?”

“He sits behind me.”

“He was enraptured.”

Winnie had been doing that lately, using words like “equivocal” and “circumvent.” My guess?
She had bought a thesaurus to intensify her stories.

“Winnie, have you ever heard of shark slayers?” I asked, hurrying to keep up. This pace was fast even for her.

“Shark slayers?” she asked.

“It’s an old Florida legend,” I said, “a story about guys who could kill sharks. Sound familiar?”

Winnie pursed her lips in thought. “It’s new to me. Sounds fascinating, though. What do you know about it?”

“Not much.”

“Have you searched online?”

~~~

It wasn’t fair to be annoyed with Winnie. But as I pulled out of the parking lot that afternoon, I couldn’t resist feeling frustrated. She was my only lead, and she didn’t know anything about the legend. The rain didn’t help my mood either, but Gran would be happy it had precipitated as scheduled.

As I passed the Pizza Shack on Sunrise Boulevard, I thought of the countless family dinners my parents and I had shared there. Dad had been obsessed with their meatball pizza.
Mom had always ordered their fish of the day.

The memories made my chest ache
. Of course. But I had the urge to roll down my windows like Mom and Dad had done on this road. It was raining, though, as scheduled by Gran.

At my grandparents’ house, I decided to forgo surfing and search online again. That’s how badly I needed answers. A few hours later, I had learned way more about sharks than I had ever wanted to know and nothing about my legend. I finally gave up and rested my hopes on Ari surfing at Laney Pier the next day.

I hurried through my homework and then texted Jordan about bringing my board to the pier in the morning. After I’d showered and changed my band-aid, I sank into bed. My thoughts instantly turned to Ari and what he’d said on the beach.
I still can’t believe they were murdered.

~~~

As I jogged under the dark morning sky, I tried to clear my mind. I’d had a rough night’s sleep again. Nightmares of faceless men chasing me through my grandparents’ neighborhood.

I shoved those thoughts aside and concentrated on the pounding of my feet. The steady sound calmed my mind’s whirl into a hum. Ari had better show up today. I hardly knew anything about him
, so it would be crazy hard to track the guy down otherwise.