Goodbyes and Second Chances (The Bleu Series Book 1) (2 page)

Chapter
Two

I look at the remains of the burnt-out boat
and charred dock that were the victims of our poorly-executed stunt. The lake
is crystal clear, so I can easily spot more remnants on the sandy bottom.
Another charred piece unceremoniously plops into the water and sinks to join
the other remains. It’s shallow here, so we get the fun task of pulling that
mess off the lake floor, too. I shake my head and let out a long sigh. We
really shot ourselves in the foot with this one.

It’s spring
break, and we were bored. Due to last night’s boredom, problem solved . . . I
guess. Because now on this humid April day, we have the chore of cleaning up
the mess we made. Pleasure boats pass by with noisy passengers enjoying their
cushiony lifestyle as we dredge up the soggy debris. I look towards Kyle. He is
intently studying some bikini-clad teenage girls who catcall to him and the
other boys as they pass by. I roll my eyes in my friend Leona Hill’s direction.
Her deep mocha eyes return the gesture. She and the other two escapees
volunteered to help us clean up the mess made by our stupidity. This is how we
roll. We stick together. We have a strong bond due to circumstance, an unspoken
pledge to stick together through thick and thin. Because, who do we have but
each other? If you are not from the less fortunate side of the tracks, you
haven’t a clue. It’s never easy-peasy.

Not all of the
residents from Shimmer Lakes Trailer Park are of the poor white trash lineage.
Leona is from the poor black background. She lives with her dad in a small
trailer down the street from mine. Her mom passed away when she was only a
baby. Her dad is a nice man. Dillon thinks of him as a hero because he was also
a soldier like Dillon’s dad. Mr. Dan went to war, too. And although it gave him
back, it didn’t return him the same as he was when he left. He suffers from
post-traumatic stress disorder and has had a hard time fitting into society
since returning. Some days he doesn’t even make it out of bed, but he does the
best he can for his daughter. Leona has such an exotic beauty, with rich brown
skin and golden eyes. You just want to spend time admiring her beauty. I swear
she needs to be a model. Her hair is in thick, well-kept dreadlocks that are
blonde on the tips. She totally pulls it off.
 

The other two
helping us today are the King twins. They are identical in looks and nature.
Maxim, who we call Max, is a few minutes older than his trouble-prone brother,
Maverick. We call him Mave for short. Mave is all about getting into mischief,
and to be honest, it’s his fault this time, too. Max plays the guitar and Mave
rocks out on the drums in Dillon’s band, Bleu Streak. Both have wavy brown hair
that brushes well past their shoulders and matching brown eyes. We grew up
together, so it’s pretty easy for us to tell them apart. Max’s nose is slightly
wider at the tip than his brother’s. And that’s not saying much because their
noses are just as thin as the rest of them. They both are tall, well, maybe
they’re average but everyone seems tall from where I stand. And they’re way too
bony, even though they eat like hogs. They always have something in hand,
devouring it and whining simultaneously that they are starving. I personally
think those two have a bad case of worms. We actually hide our favorite snacks
when we see them coming, because the dudes will eat you out of house and home.
No joke.

We may be
considered a misfit bunch, but we have one another’s backs always.

What happened
last night is unfortunate to say the least. It’s spring break and all we wanted
to do was have a little fun. We’re teenagers. We’re entitled, right?

Now, we don’t
have the fancy pleasure boats like the others across the lake, but we poor kids
know how to improvise. The boys found an abandoned boat in the back of one of
the old sheds on the property a few years ago. It was Aunt Evie’s dad’s boat,
so she gave us permission to do what we wanted with it. With some boat junkyard
digs and some bartering with a few boat mechanics, we had ourselves a fully
restored 1953 Chris-Craft Sportsman. The wooden frame shined its mahogany gleam
after lots of elbow grease. After more digging around in the shed, we unearthed
two sets of antique wooden water skis. All we had to do to them was replace the
rubber toe and heel bindings that were past worn out. The twins
found
some double-handled ski rope
(don’t ask, don’t tell). That’s when we knew we were in business.

Our setup may
not be fancy as the rest, but was just as functional. We self-taught ourselves
the sport of waterskiing. We spent most of the warm months on the lake as long
as we could scrape up the fuel money.

So anyway, last
night we were hanging out on our dock like we do most nights, wishing for some
entertainment. I had no gas in my car and no money to remedy that problem, so we
couldn’t even go cruising around. Bored. We were outright bored. And that’s
when Mave rolled up on his bike, lugging two huge sacks of fireworks. His uncle
had given them to him after a New Year’s Eve event as payment for helping with
the pyrotechnic show. He had been holding on to them for some reason. It’s a
wonder they hadn’t already starred in some catastrophe around here before now.

“I’ve got an
idea,” is all he said as he headed to the boat with the sacks. We sat glued in
our spots, not sure if we were up for a Mave idea. They normally ended poorly,
so we should have known better from the start. He looked back over his bony
shoulder and hollered, “Ain’t y’all coming?”

So like the
bunch of idiots we are, we followed behind him. After grabbing a canoe and
connecting it to our boat with the ski rope, we headed out to the middle of the
lake to put on a show. Dillon captained the boat with Mave by his side. The
rest of us were pulled behind in the canoe. Once we reached the middle, the two
boys set out to splitting the night sky with the flashy fireworks. That went
well for all of two seconds.

Then the
stupidity began. Kyle jumped over to help them out as they were loading an
ignited firework. With the rocking of the boat, the fireworks launcher fell
over and the next thing we knew, the entire boat was lit up like a giant
fireball. The boys jumped to the canoe while Max worked on freeing the rope
unsuccessfully. He couldn’t get the knot untied, so we were helplessly tethered
to the burning boat. Each one of them made it off the boat unharmed. Only
Dillon’s foot hit the throttle of the boat as he leapt out, causing the blazing
boat to take off like shot. A loud boom erupted during the runaway course and
the gasoline can took flight in a flash of fire. Before we could decide to
abandon the canoe ship, we had plowed into a dock on the other side of the
lake. The boat and a good portion of the dock went up in flames, and we were
dumped into the lake. Luckily none of us idiots were injured. Well, not too
bad. Stupid, I know. And that is what landed us here on the other side of the
lake, trying to clean up yet another one of our white-trash messes.

We use Leona’s
dad’s pickup truck to load as much debris as we can. We drive off load after
load until the sun is setting and we are completely wiped out. We have to come
back tomorrow and help rebuild the blame dock. After we return Mr. Dan’s truck,
we set out to the lake. I know we just spent the entire day there, but we are
drawn to our comforting side of the water. The boys strike out in a sprint as
they tear off their shirts, and each one does some daredevil backflip dive off
the end of the dock. Leona and I are too tired for any type of flare, so we
merely walk to the end and step off into the cool water as the night closes
around us, wearing our sweaty work clothes.

After swimming
for a while, I ease over to the ladder and while I hold on to it, try to free
some of the soot off my skin. Dillon swims up to me and holds onto the other
side of the ladder. “You alright?” he asks as he wipes my cheek.

I shrug my
shoulders slightly. They are becoming quite tender. “Might as well be.” I dip
my head back and let out a groan. “Our poor boat. I’m gonna miss it.”

“Me too. I’m
really sorry, Jewels.” He releases the ladder and treads the water in front of
me, waiting for me to soothe him and tell him
it’s
okay. Words that he needs to hear after the chewing out I’m sure he received
from Cora. He gets no slack from her, so he seems to always be seeking it out
from me and Aunt Evie. Of course, we both baby him. Someone has to, right?

“It was an
accident. Don’t worry about it.” I splash him in the face and he rewards me
with those dimples. “We just gotta find a new hobby.” I know that’s not a lot
of soothing, but that’s all I got tonight.

I go to brush
past him, but he grabs hold of me. “I’ll make it up to you one day, Jewels. I
promise.” I meet his remorseful eyes and nod my head in agreement to appease
him. I don’t have much confidence in that statement. I try to wiggle free, but
Dillon takes hold of me a bit rougher before dunking me under the water. A
water war takes off for the next hour. The others join in, and we finally laugh
the remaining remorse off for the night.

I’m beat, so I
head for the shore. I sit in the shallow water with the crowd as they all
grumble about our predicament of being boat-less. That’s really gonna make for
a long, unexciting summer, for sure. That boat was our only toy besides bikes
and skateboards.

Well, that’s
true, except for me. My weasel of an uncle hightailed it with one of the
resident skanks the year after Aunt Evie took us in. His behind was on such
fire that the foolish man left his 1976 Mustang II Cobra Hatchback. Aunt Evie
generously signed the title over to me on my sweet sixteenth birthday, and let
me tell you, this baby is
sweet
. The
exterior is shiny black with a mean silver racing stripe that starts on the
hood and sprints all the way to the back bumper. This baby is fast when it’s
standing still. The interior is, hello, black leather, and it’s all mine. It’s
great as long as I have some money to put into the gas tank, which normally I
don’t, so my baby sits under its car cover most of the time.

I eventually
leave the group on the shore and head down Sunshine Street. It’s the street
facing the lake, and I’m lucky enough to hold residence on it. I can sit on our
small porch and look over the lake and pretend I’m at a retreat, if I’m in the
mood to imagine. The view of the crystal-clear lake is gorgeous. If I have to
be stuck in a trailer park, at least I’m blessed enough to be stuck in this
beautiful one. All of the streets at Shimmer Lakes Trailer Park have too nice
of names. They sound like they should be from a children’s board game. Dillon
lives on Peachy Path, just behind us, and the twins are a street over on
Buttercup Circle. Too much sugar drips off those names for my likings. It’s a
trailer park
. Hello! There’s nothing
sweet about it. Aunt Evie swears the streets were named before her family
bought it, but I’m not so sure I believe her. She seems a bit attached to the
silly names. One of these days, I plan on renaming them all. The campground
section of the park is called Lulu Lane. This is the only name I like. It
speaks to me for some reason.

I pull open the
metal door and it lets out a groaning pop, and I quickly, yet quietly, yank it
shut behind me so the cold air doesn’t escape. The moist air inside is pretty
chilly from the window air conditioning unit. I walk over to it and find it set
on blizzard, aka high. So I bump it down a notch. It’s a must to have it full
blast during the humid day, but the nights are more kind, so we can turn it
down then. Aunt Evie must have been too tired to worry with it tonight. Her
door is closed so I know she is out for the count. I grab up some clean clothes
along with my shower supplies and head back out to the bathhouse. We have a
small bathroom, but the pipes make all kinds of racket and I hate to wake her.

I set out, on
foot, down the coquina road. The only sounds are that of my feet crunching over
the road and the gentle lapping of the water along the shore. The bathhouse is
just two streets over on Happy Hill, so I’m there in a flash. We pretty much
walk or ride bikes everywhere we need to go, so we all stay in pretty good
shape. Our mode of getting from point A to point B is how God intended anyway,
is what Aunt Evie tells us. She herself walks to the office and around the
place more times than not. She’s fit as a fiddle for a seventy-year-old woman,
so maybe she’s right.

I ease into the
abandoned bathhouse, and lock myself in my usual stall at the end. I set the
water on at nearly scalding in hopes of loosening my achy shoulders. As I’m
washing the grime of the day and lake off, I think ahead. I’m only weeks away
from graduation. The next chapter in my life will begin soon. I’m excited to
start a new chapter, yet I’m also not ready. I’m still battling with the whole
do I stay or do I go
decision. I’m
pretty sure I have to stay.

I finish rinsing
the conditioner out of my hair and shut the shower off. I’m toweling off when I
hear footsteps echoing through the shower room. I pay it no mind until I hear a
girl whisper out, “
Dillon
.” Ugh. That
boy is always up to no good. They enter the stall right next to me. Good grief!
The good angel and bad angel appear on my shoulder at this moment. I tell the
good angel to hush up as me and the bad angel cook up a plan. Being that he is
one of my best friends, it
is
my
responsibility to harass him in this moment. I mean, I have to!