Deep Blue Secret (3 page)

The desktop was cold on my elbows fueling my anxiety.
What was
that
all about?
I thought; puzzled by my sudden lapse of insanity that sent me racing through the school grounds. I was seriously starting to wonder what was wrong with me.

But the mystery of the face still clouded my thoughts. It couldn't just be a face. There had to be an actual person attached to that face, to those familiar, green eyes.

He was here at my school. Why hadn't I noticed him before? Was he a new student? If he was, then why would he look so familiar to me?

Maybe he used to live here, then moved away for a while…and now he moved back again. Or he used to go to a school nearby, like Corona Del Mar or Estancia, and we'd met before through friends at a party or something and now he went to our school because he happened to move recently.

Ugh!
That's completely absurd,
I thought, scolding myself
.
How could I come up with something so ridiculous?

Mr. Wallace finished his lecture and sent us to the back tables to work on the lab. My partner, Ryan, did most of the work while I nodded and smiled, pretending to understand what he was doing.

Even though I was baffled by the mystery guy at break, I felt surprisingly at ease, giddy even. It was like I had a riddle I desperately wanted to solve and couldn't figure out for the life of me, but I wasn't frustrated—I was enjoying it.

In between classes I searched for the face through the hallways and outside. On my way to lunch I did the same. It was a fun game, but I wasn't winning.

I sat with Heather at our usual outdoor table to eat. Nicole, Lindsey, and a few other girls usually sat with us too.

Heather grabbed my arm as soon as I sat next to her. “I heard that
someone
has a date this weekend…”

Oh right. She was talking about Nick. I almost forgot. “How is it possible that you already know that?” I said impressed.

“Oh please,” she said. “You
do
remember who you’re talking to, right?”

Next thing I knew Heather was making an announcement to everyone at our table of the news. An entire table full of girls squealed and clapped in unison, causing curious glances from around the lunch area.

After everyone took turns expressing their jealousy and wishing me luck on my date, Heather retold the story of her first kiss on the
It’s a Small World
ride at Disneyland when she was a freshman. She and Lindsey both agreed that this would be a good opportunity for me to finally do the same, especially with
Nick Christensen
.

Kissing did sound like a lot of fun. Heather had done a lot of kissing since that boat ride and she never ceased to tell me about it. But I didn’t want to just do it for the fun of it. I wanted it to mean something.

I mulled over the idea. Maybe I was building it up to be something bigger than it needed to be. What if, once I finally tried it, it would be a huge disappointment because I made too big a deal out of it? Should I just kiss Nick Christensen on Friday and get the whole thing over with? It might be fun.

But it didn’t seem like a decision I could make in one lunch period. I had to at least see if I liked the guy, right? It could wait until Friday.

I left our table to make my usual social rounds, hopping from one group of friends to the next to hang out and chat for a few minutes. I was like my mom in that way. She was friendly and talkative with everyone she met.

At least I was like that most of the time, especially at school, but lately it felt like I was living a double life. I didn't always enjoy socializing like I used to. There were times I could be in a crowd full of friends and feel utterly alone.

When I had the random episodes of depression triggered by music or emotions, it was even worse. Then I was definitely not in the mood to socialize. But there was no problem today. I was my happy, carefree self, enjoying the laughter and company of friends.

I was still in high spirits when the bell rang, signaling the end of lunch. The mystery face didn't make an appearance, but I did get my hopes up a few times. I'd see a nice head of hair or a set of broad shoulders and go to investigate, but they were never attached to the sparkly-eyed boy that was the object of my pursuit.

I walked to Spanish half expecting to see his green eyes pop out from behind one of the large trees that dotted the school grounds. But they didn't. Where did he go? Was the whole thing made up in my head, the product of an overactive imagination?

I didn't believe that. He was definitely real.

Spanish class breezed by. Señora Morales broke us into groups to create skits using a list of vocabulary words. Our abilities were limited and the whole thing turned out sort of silly, but we had the entire class in tears of laughter by the end.

I had such a good time I almost forgot about the game with my mystery boy—almost. But as soon as I was outside I found myself jumping right back into my search to find him.

All the way to photography class I pictured the mystery face poking out from behind the trees and winking at me with his glowing eyes, taunting me to chase him. But I finally gave up, at least for today. I settled in at my desk with one last hopeful thought. If I went to the same place at the same time tomorrow, our paths could possibly cross again.

Then I pushed the dreamy green eyes to the back of my mind.

A haze circled around me, like I was watching myself from a distance, lost in my dreams. I was just a child again, giggling and playing in the front yard under the afternoon sun. I rode a purple bike with shiny tassels on the handlebars. I remembered the bike. It was a present from my mom for my seventh birthday.

Mom’s searching voice echoed from around the corner like a song. “Sadie-bear…time for dinner.”

I pranced to the front of the house, weightless, as if floating on clouds. Everything was so simple, so happy.

I called out to her, pretending to pout. “Just a few more tries?
Please,
Mom?”

She nodded and waved, her words muffled. “Okay. Just a few more minutes.” Then she drifted back to the house like an angel.

Mom’s flowers swayed in the sunlight as I launched my bike down the sidewalk. The coastal breeze pushed me gently from behind. For a moment I felt invincible. The spokes on the wheels whooshed forward in triumph, ready to explore the world around me.

 Then everything went dark. A clap of thunder roared through the air and I let out a childlike scream. My little body shuttered from the unexpected sound. My eyes jolted towards the sky, finding a swarm of black clouds gathering in swirls over my head, threatening to pour down on me.

A strange sense of fear moved through my limbs and the bike wobbled back and forth between my knees. The handlebars veered erratically from side to side until I landed with a gasp in a patch of pointy branches and leaves.

I lay there limp, sniffling as tears welled up in my eyes until a hand reached down in front of my gaze. I raised my head. The figure of a boy stood over me, face unclear, his identity blurred.

Still, I felt I knew him somehow. My heart knew him.

All of his details were smudged except the eyes; distinct clear eyes that sparkled like green diamonds. I knew these eyes. They were meant for me.

The gray sky melted away, leaving a halo of white all around us.

Calm wrapped around me like a blanket when I heard his steady voice. “Let me help you.”

He knelt by my side and wiped a tear off my cheek. “Don’t cry. Everything will be all right.”

I felt safe with the faceless boy, at ease. Timidly, I asked for his name.

 His strong voice fell quiet like a whisper in the wind. “My name is Rain.”

“Rain?” I pouted. “But I don’t like the rain. It scares me.”

His words danced around my head. “You don’t need to be scared. I’ll protect you.”

I lifted my fingers to his blurry face. “Wait, I remember you now. Diamond-eyes. That’s your name, silly. You must’ve forgotten.”

I patted his cheek with my tiny hand. “Silly, Diamond-eyes. How could you forget your own name?”

 The touch of his skin dissipated like puffs of air, his face beginning to fade.

 “Wait,” I called. “Don’t go.”

I tried to reach for him, to hold on to something, but the glowing green eyes flickered and disappeared.

***

Sound jerked my mind from blissful sleep. I rolled in the crinkled sheets with a groan and slapped my hand against the clock to free myself from the dreaded alarm.

If only I could drift back to serenity in my mind and be with him a little longer. The same familiar boy I’d dreamt about since I was a little girl, whose face I could never quite remember when I woke up. His eyes were the only clear image that remained, two brilliant gemstones that glowed just for me.

It had been a while since I’d dreamt of the green-eyed boy, and as I lay in bed gathering my energy, I couldn’t help but think of the guy I’d spent all day yesterday searching for at school. Something about the two seemed similar, connected. Could there be a chance they were the same person? Was he even real? And why was his image stored away in my subconscious?

I always felt strangely sad the mornings I woke from these dreams. It was almost like I missed him, even though I had no clue who he was.

But the sadness didn't last long; a sleepy smile took its place. I would miss the green-eyed boy and the warmth of my bed, but I had a life
full
of warmth. I looked forward to another day of high school. Now I just needed my body to agree with me.

I slid from the fluffy sanctuary and pulled a robe over my pink tank-top, stumbling blurry-eyed down the hall. As I reached the bathroom door my mom burst from her room, full of energy—as usual.  She was already dressed in casual capris and a bright fuchsia shirt, her dark blonde hair styled in a messy up-do.

She grabbed my face planting an exaggerated kiss on my cheek. “Morning, Sadie-bear.”

I stared with half-opened eyes. “
Mom
,” I complained. “It’s too early to be so…perky.”

“Suit yourself,” she said, her cheer unaffected as she skipped away to the other side of the house.

Seriously, I didn’t know where that woman found her energy. Usually I was sound asleep by the time she got home from her shift at the hospital, yet she always managed to wake up before me.

The hot water rained down my head in the shower, my favorite radio station serenading me in the background. A new song I liked played through the air and I felt instantly happier and more awake, ready to coast through another sunshiny day.

After the shower I went straight to the compact stereo on my night stand. I wanted to finish listening to the song that was playing in the bathroom.  The silvery-white CD player was a gift from my mom for my seventeenth birthday. I probably used it more than anything else in the house.

I sang along to the music as I made my bed, prancing around the room and swinging pillows up to the headboard from off the floor. I wasn't over-exuberant about it like girls you would see in movies, jumping around like a rock star, using a brush as a mock microphone, but I did like to sing.

After throwing on some jeans and a lavender blouse, I grabbed a few fun bracelets and slid them over my wrist. I rarely left the house without wearing some kind of bracelet or wrist band, at the very least a watch. It was more for functional purposes than to make a fashion statement.

It was just easier to cover up the black birthmark inside my left wrist than to have people doing a double take when they caught a glance of it. Someone even mistook it for a bug once and tried to flick it off my arm.

It
was
unusual though, so who could blame them. It resembled glass or rock rather than skin, sort of like obsidian. And the tear-shaped mark wasn't exactly small either, probably a good quarter inch through the widest part. The attention it received used to bother me, but it rarely got noticed anymore.

It didn’t take long to cross the quaint, single-story rambler where I’d lived my whole life. It was my grandparent’s house. My mom moved in when she was pregnant with me, but my grandma and grandpa both died in an accident when I was only four years old. It’s been just me and Mom ever since.

 When I trotted into the kitchen, the sweet aroma of maple syrup enveloped the room. Mixing bowls and cooking utensils covered the counter tops in disarray as my mother flipped slices of bacon onto a paper towel.

I sat on one of the stools pulled up to the bar-style counter, so I could face her while she cooked. “Is there an army coming for breakfast you forgot to tell me about?” I asked.

Mom smirked. “I’m just in the mood to enjoy a nice meal with my daughter. Is that such a crime?” She added a sigh. “It seems like we hardly get to do that anymore.” 

She dipped a slice of bread into egg batter and eased it onto the griddle, then turned to me with a smile, waving a spatula in the air. “Plus, life’s too short not to enjoy a little French toast every once in a while.”

My mother had a way about her, a positive energy that radiated in all directions. It was contagious.

“I definitely agree,” I said with a chuckle.

She handed me a plate full of scrambled eggs, bacon, and French toast topped with strawberries. My eyes widened at the mountain of food. After a few more circles around the kitchen, Mom joined me with her own plate piled just as high. Good thing this wasn’t a daily ritual.

I grimaced and rubbed my stomach. “Whew, I’m stuffed. Thanks for breakfast, Mom. It was really good. But seriously, if I eat another bite, I might grow out of my jeans before school starts.”

She laughed and grabbed my plate, placing it in the sink.

I glanced at the clock on the microwave. “Oh, I better get going.” I shot up and grabbed my bag. “I don’t want to be late.”

Mom’s voice trailed after me as I hurried from the room. “Okay, sweetheart, have a good day.”

“Love you!” I called as I hurried out the door.

At school things started out fine, but halfway through the day all my classes seemed to drag. I was dragging too. I thought I’d recuperated quickly from the sad feelings this morning after dreaming of the faceless boy, but I couldn’t stop thinking about it. The fun of my pursuit from yesterday was completely gone too. I still couldn’t find those familiar green eyes, and this time there was nothing fun or exciting about it.

At lunch Heather kept asking me what was wrong, and I told her it was nothing, like, fifty times. Of course that wasn’t really true, but what was I supposed to tell her? Oh I’m just upset because I’m obsessing about a boy that probably only exists in my imagination? I loved Heather and told her pretty much everything, but I didn’t think this was the kind of thing she would really relate to. Plus, the idea of saying what I was really thinking out loud just sounded so stupid.

Heather still didn’t look convinced when I left our table to go to class, but I was actually starting to feel a little bit better. I always looked forward to photography at the end of the day. Maybe it would cheer me up and get my mind off things.

It was in my nature to enjoy things that were artistic and creative, although I still hadn’t found my passion yet. My mom believed everyone had something they loved so much that it made them feel complete when they found it. Like her love for helping people through nursing.

Mr. Brown was my photography teacher. He had shaggy brown hair and a full beard hiding half of his face, like a mountain man. It was clear he’d found his passion through photography. Each day he would post a single slide of a photograph up on the screen that he believed had an element of excellence.

First he would encourage us to spend several minutes
feeling
the photograph.
Let it speak to you, how does it make you feel,
he would say. Once he was satisfied that our emotions had been stirred, he would discuss the technical aspects of the piece, how the artist had acquired the desired effect through camera and lighting adjustments. This day was no exception.

He spoke the name with reverence as he announced, “Today we’re going to view a beautiful piece courtesy of the great photography legend, Ansel Adams.”

Mr. Brown lifted both his arms. “I present to you…” He paused for dramatic effect. “Lights,” he prompted, as a student hopped from his chair, flipping the switch.

“
Rose and Driftwood
…” He motioned as if revealing a new invention to a crowd and finally the slide illuminated the screen.

Aside from a few hushed snickers at the teacher’s liveliness, we all studied the photograph in the traditional silence.

I examined the black and white photo for a moment, paying attention to the interesting details. It was quite exquisite. The lines in the driftwood made breathtaking patterns of swirls and stripes appearing almost to shimmer. The tips of the delicate rose petals were kindled with light, revealing intricate veins.

Then an odd sensation crept over my skin. My heart fluttered and emotion swelled within my chest. For the first time this year, one of Mr. Brown’s esteemed pieces of art spoke to my soul.

I stared at the screen forgetting to blink, unable to break my eyes from the image looming over me. My limbs froze. A swirling maze of lines and shadows hypnotized me, deep shadows that overpowered the fragile petals.

Some unseen force mesmerized my mind, bore its weight down and imprisoned me with despair. My heart sank to the depths of my chest with horrible realization. It was me—the rose was like
me
.

The flower was delicate and pristine. It possessed the potential to captivate, to serve a purpose. Yet there it lay, helpless on a disheveled plank of timber; somber, drifting, and alone. Nature meant it to live with color, swaying in the breeze and surrounded by life. But it did not uplift. It did not bring cheer as it should, drained of all light it once held.  Where was the inspired affection? The friendship? The love? There was none. Darkness condemned the innocent to despair.

The world went blank. I lost track of place and time, entranced by the ache inside me. I no longer stared at the rose, but at a blur of shadow and light with no meaning. I longed for something I couldn’t define. A hunger grew inside me no morsel of food could relieve.

Something called to me through the emptiness, beckoning me to come—a silent voice only I could hear—but I was lost. I searched for the voice, I yearned to find it, frantic almost, but I found nothing.

My name echoed over and over.

“Sadie? Earth to Sa-die…” My mind crawled back to awareness. Mr. Brown waved his hand in front of my glazed eyes with a concerned expression. The other students had already dispersed from the room.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

My movements were slow, like wading through a pool of thick mud. I shook off the heaviness and focused my eyes, blinking repeatedly.

“I…uh…I’m fine.” I wasn’t quite ready to stand.

“I’m not feeling well,” I added so he wouldn’t think I was crazy.

“Would you like me to help you to the nurse?” he offered.

My legs trembled as I stood, using the chair to steady myself. “No, that’s all right, I’ll be fine.”

“I’m not sure you heard the homework assignment. You looked a little dazed.”

“Homework?” I mumbled. “Sorry, I guess I missed that.”