The Islanders (13 page)

“You mean as in
romantic
interest?” Zoey said, loading her voice with disbelieving surprise. “Lucas?”

Jake made a wry, embarrassed grin. “Maybe I was just imagining things.”

“You were jealous?” Zoey said a little shrilly.

Jake shrugged. “I was kind of upset at the time.”

Zoey got up from the bed and crossed the room. He waited for her to come, offering no overt encouragement. She put her hand on his arm.

“Jake, you and I have been together forever. We're a couple. Today at lunch Nina said we're the couple everyone looks up to.”

“Ninny said that?” he asked skeptically.

“Well, something like that,” Zoey admitted, grinning.

Jake smiled back. “I can just imagine what she really said.” Then his face grew somber again. “It's just, look, I love you. You know that.”

“Yes, I do,” Zoey said softly.

“I have to be sure you're on my side.”

Zoey nodded. “Of course I am. Just don't go around getting into fights. You'll get in trouble.”

“Okay. Deal. No more fights.”

He slipped his arm around her waist and pulled her to him. She responded, entwining herself around him, opening her mouth to accept his kiss.

It felt wonderful. It felt as if the world that had been torn was now neatly sewed up. Life was back to normal, things once again as they ought to be.

 

Draft #24

. . . and with a roar, the white knight swung his gleaming broadsword, shattering the shield in Sir Luke's hand and knocking him to the ground.

“I yield!” Sir Luke cried, holding up his arm as if to ward off the final blow.

“Yield?” the white knight roared. “You are no gentleman, whatever your title. You have no honor, and thus I give you no mercy.” He raised the broadsword high over his head. “For all the suffering you have inflicted on the peasants, and for your base treason, I send you straight to hell!”

“No!” Raven cried, gathering her skirts and rushing to the fallen Sir Luke. She spread her arms, shielding the villain, though she well knew the terrible suffering he had inflicted on the people.

“What?” the white knight cried. “You would protect this knave?”

“Nay,” Raven cried just as fiercely, “it is you I protect. The king has ordered that this foul creature, though his sins are
manifest
manifold
many, should be taken alive.”

“Out of my way, woman. My vengeance will not be delayed.”

“Stay your hand, my lord,” Raven said. “If you strike, you will make yourself as base as this evildoer. You must obey the king!”

“I care not for reason!” The white knight raised his sword higher still. “Stand aside, Raven, and let him meet the devil, his master!”

Raven threw her arms tightly around the cringing shoulders of Sir Luke. “If you strike him, you will destroy me as well.”

The white knight's eyes blazed. But Raven knew his love was even greater than his rage. Slowly he lowered the sword till its point was in the dust. Then, with a quick, decisive thrust, the white knight sheathed his sword. “I thank you, fair maiden, for you have kept me from committing a grave error in my righteous rage.”

Sir Luke breathed a sigh of relief. “You saved my life,” he told Raven.

“Nay,” she said, “for your judgment still awaits at the hand of the king.”

“Nevertheless,” Sir Luke said. He raised her hand to his lips. Raven felt

“SEVERAL ANNOUNCEMENTS THIS MORNING,” CAME
the gravelly voice of the principal, Mr. Hardcastle. “Several announcements, if I may have everyone's attention, please.”

Zoey caught Aisha's attention and rolled her eyes at the P.A. Homeroom lasted fifteen minutes and came just before the first lunch. By this point in the day, everyone was hungry, and no one wanted to hear Mr. Hardcastle go on about rules, regulations, meetings, events, rallies, and the other stuff he went on and on and on about every day.

To make matters worse, the day before, Ms. Lambert, their homeroom teacher, had demonstrated the annoying habit of taking all the announcements seriously and actually asking them questions afterward to see if they had paid attention. Ms. Lambert was new, of course, this being her very first class. Sooner or later she'd learn to chill a little.

“. . . a matter has come up that requires some clarification,”
Mr. Hardcastle said. “It is against school policy to allow students to smoke cigarettes on campus. This policy applies whether or not the student actually
lights
the cigarette.”

Zoey and Aisha exchanged a look and laughed. Zoey scribbled a quick note on her pad, tore off the slip of paper, and when she was sure Ms. Lambert was looking away, started it on its way from hand to hand toward Aisha. The note said,

“. . . although as far as we know, an
unlit
cigarette does not pose a health hazard, we feel it is important to be consistent in enforcing . . .”

Aisha received the note, read it, and scribbled one back. It changed hands three times before reaching Zoey:

“. . . turning to student government, and the fact that so far we have no nominations—no
serious
nominations—for any of the offices . . .”

Zoey glanced at Jake, in the back of the room, looking like he might fall asleep and let his head crash onto the desk at any moment.

“. . . include student council president, student council vice president, head of the school spirit committee, which is responsible for . . .”

Aisha grimaced as she read the last part of Zoey's note. She scribbled a long note and sent it back.

“. . . and that concludes the morning announcements. Have a nice day.”

The sound of a chair scraping the floor startled Zoey, coming in the sudden silence. “Well,
I
have an announcement to make,” Ms. Lambert said, getting up from her desk and walking deliberately down the center aisle of the classroom. She stopped beside Bella Waterton and held out her hand. “I wish to announce that note passing is a no-no. A rather juvenile no-no for a class of seniors. Give it up, Ms. Waterton.”

Bella shrugged apologetically at Aisha and handed the folded note to the teacher.

Ms. Lambert unfolded the note and read it over. She carried it back to her desk.

She wouldn't read it out loud, would she?
Zoey wondered, aghast at the possibilities.

“My policy will be to read aloud any note I intercept in this class,” Ms. Lambert said. “Homeroom is not just a time for you to play around.” She held the note out at arm's length.
“Christopher is such a jerk to trap me into that. I'm going to kill him. I blew him off, even though it will probably piss Coach off. Although I will
—” Ms. Lambert blushed a little, suddenly appearing uncomfortable. But she took a breath and went on.
“
. . .
although I will say he has a cute little butt, running around in those shorts.”

Aisha was sinking slowly under her seat as the room erupted in hoots and catcalls. Anyway, Zoey figured, Ms. Lambert had gotten a lesson in why it was a bad idea to read notes aloud.

“Zoey, wait up,” Lucas said as the class poured out of last period and into the boisterous hallways.

Zoey pretended not to hear and kept walking, making a beeline for her locker. Then she felt a hand on her arm. She turned around, fixing an indignant look on her face.

“Look,” Lucas said, “I know you're trying to avoid me and
that's fine. I understand. I just stopped you to say that we don't have to pay any attention to what Mr. Bushnell said back there.”

“I wasn't planning to,” Zoey said. Mr. Bushnell taught French, and Lucas and she had the same class. The teacher had suggested that all the students form partnerships, with someone they saw regularly with whom they could converse in French. He'd suggested, for example, that since Zoey and Lucas were both island kids, they could speak to each other in French on the ferry rides to and from school.

This suggestion had caused Zoey to turn white. The idea that she would be gaily chattering away in
French
with Lucas while Jake sat a few feet away was a little hard to picture.

“Cool,” Lucas said. He released her arm and seemed to sink back within himself.

“It's not—” Zoey began.
No, shut up, Zoey
, she chided herself. So he looked like the loneliest human being on earth. That was not her problem. She had no interest in him.

After all, she had made a list.

“It's not that I'm trying to be a jerk,” Zoey said lamely.

“I know,” Lucas said.

“If it were up to me, sure, I'd be glad to . . . to talk French with you.”

He grinned.
“C'est la vie.”

Zoey smiled back, glancing nervously down the hall for any
sign of Jake. But of course he would be out on the field, getting in some practice for the football tryouts.

“Oui, c'est la vie, mais c'est
. . . um,
c'est une bêtise, tout le même.”
She made a face. “Did I say that right?”

“That's life, but it's dumb, just the same,” he translated. “I'm not sure. It sounded right to me. But then, it's been two years since my last French class.”

Zoey nodded. The reminder that he had been “away” for the last two years made her tense up. She really had to cut this off. Maybe she could go out to the field and watch Jake run. “I guess there's not a lot of French spoken at . . . at that place.”

“It's not all that common, no,” Lucas said.

An awkward silence descended.
I need to get out of here
, Zoey reminded herself.
Maybe Jake's not around, but Claire might be, or even Nina or Aisha.

“Was it really bad?” Zoey blurted. “The reform school?”

“YA. Youth Authority. Although we called it a few different things.” He shrugged and looked away. “It wasn't Devil's Island or anything. The food was pretty bad.”

Zoey smiled. “So, then, I guess cafeteria food must seem pretty okay?”

“Nothing could make the cafeteria food seem good,” he said. “Still, you end up missing a lot of stuff while you're in there. Like pizza. Like McDonald's. The funny thing is, I was
never all that crazy about McDonald's, but when you can't have a Big Mac and fries, they start to seem like the most important thing on earth. You lie in your rack at night thinking, Man, I'd give anything for a Big Mac and fries.”

“So did you run out first thing to Mickey D's?”

“Haven't been yet,” Lucas admitted. “I've been on the island until yesterday. And yesterday after school I had to go see my caseworker. You know, have her tell me to stay off drugs and so on.”

The hallway was emptying fast as kids piled out the doors, and the two of them, standing there talking, were becoming ever more conspicuous. All it would take would be Jake coming in for a drink of water or something and there would be a major blowup. Even if it seemed rude, she had to get away.

“Well, I'll see you in class,” Lucas said, turning away.

“Wait!” Zoey said. “Um, my parents' real car is in the lot down the street, and I have the keys, and we could maybe run out to the McDonald's by the mall and still get back in time for the ferry.” Her face was flushed, her head was spinning, and her mouth was saying things she didn't want it to say.

“Zoey, you don't have to—”

“I'm hungry, that's all,” Zoey said.

“I doubt anyone from school would be out there,” Lucas reasoned. “I guess if they were, they'd be
in
the mall. But there
is one other problem. I don't have any money.”

“My treat.” What was she thinking?

It took five minutes to arrive by back roads at the parking garage, and ten minutes to reach the restaurant. Lucas and Zoey decided by unspoken mutual agreement to eat in the car. As soon as they'd paid for a Big Mac, large fries, and a milk shake they drove out past the airport and away from town. There was still the chance that someone from school might show up in the restaurant itself. And the sight of Zoey Passmore sharing a milk shake with Lucas Cabral would instantly become
the
gossip the next day at school.

They listened to the radio and Lucas wolfed down the burger. He remarked from time to time on the sights—a new shopping center that hadn't been there the last time he'd driven this way, a new car model he had seen only on TV.

They joined the coast road, heading north through tall pines and flashes of rocky shoreline. Zoey found it strangely liberating. Off the island, away from school, she felt a delicious sensation of freedom. Sometimes it was a relief to be where nobody knew you, where your every action wouldn't become common knowledge within minutes.

“Pull in there.” Lucas pointed with a french fry down a small, single-lane road.

Zoey turned so sharply that it threw Lucas against her. He apologized, and they both laughed nervously as he retrieved several spilled fries from her lap.

“Where are we going?” Zoey asked. The narrow road forced her to slow down. Then, quite suddenly, it reached its end, a gravel patch beyond which was nothing but wide sky and the ocean.

“Come on,” he said, opening the door. “You'll like this.”

She followed him across the gravel to the edge of the bluff. A hundred feet below them, the churning sea worked its slow, endless destruction on the rocks, relentlessly grinding them into sand. Sea gulls flew by at eye level, soaring on the wind that rose from the cliff. Across the water was Chatham Island, a dark mass dotted here and there with barely visible points of color and light.

“I can't believe I've never been down this road,” Zoey said. “What a great view. The old island looks downright romantic from here.”

“My father has his lobster pots ranged just out there.” Lucas pointed down the coast. “The red markers with green stripes.”

Zoey could see the familiar wooden floats that marked the locations of lobster traps. Lobstermen carved out territories, sometimes handed down through a dozen generations. Mr. Cabral had acquired this area from a cousin of his, an old
Portuguese fisherman who had died twenty years earlier.

“Are you going to take over from your dad when he retires?” Zoey asked.

Lucas shook his head. “I think once he wanted me to, but I'd have to say it's pretty unlikely now. By mutual agreement.”

“It's hard work,” Zoey said.

“Yep.”

They fell into silence. Zoey listened to the sounds of the gulls, the crash of water, the grinding of rocks, the far-off whistle of the ferry. Later she'd have to come up with some story for why she'd missed the four o'clock. Later. Right now she was far from prying eyes and hours away from excuses.

“Sorry,” Lucas said. “Now I guess we're stuck till the six thirty.”

“I don't mind,” Zoey said. She smiled at him. “You have special sauce on your mouth.”

He reached to wipe it off but missed. Zoey reached up and wiped his face.

“Thanks,” he said softly.

“Uh-huh.” She found she was staring at his lips. She found she was remembering the list she'd made, and the way she'd had to put a question mark under his name on the subject of kissing.

She found that they were standing closer, without either of them having moved.

And she found her heart thudding, so loud it was drowning out the cries of the gulls, and the crash of the water, and the grinding of the rocks.

His hand on her arm. Hers on his shoulder. Her eyes closing. His arm around her waist. Her breasts crushed against his chest. The feel of sinewy muscles in his back. His thigh and hers.

His lips on hers, soft, gentle, terrible urgency restrained. Her lips on his, trembling, surprised, uncertain.

Her mouth opening. And his.

Her fingers now entangled in his hair, unable to stop, just making things worse.

And sudden desire for more, knowing he wanted her, the unsettling realization that she wanted him as well.

Then withdrawal, both exerting control, both smiling sheepishly, and kissing again, more tentatively.

Well, Zoey thought, at least she could fill in the blank spot on her list.