The Salt God's Daughter (34 page)

The bully drills. Those torturous things. There were instructions to walk away, as if away were a better place. To ignore a bully. Not to give a bully attention.

It gets better, they said, though it never did.

I walked away. It didn't help. My bullies followed me. My teachers, they could not help at all. Telling on the bullies made things worse. The bullies would come back angrier, or perhaps
satisfied they were in trouble. “Back when you were bullied,” my mother would say, always using the past tense. Fourth grade had worried her to the point of insomnia. She had called Irene's mother and other parents, trying to get at the root of things, trying to ferret out any festering insecurities as if they were lint from the dryer trap. People said their children were just curious about me, having heard the stories about my foot, their curiosity a ballooning thing that required answers. But now that I was older, all that was behind me. No more questions, my mother said. And she believed that because she'd said it, the universe would conspire. I couldn't tell her the truth: that the bullying had come back like El Niño, changing every few months, as if I had a sign or a smoke signal over my head that would suddenly flash and alert everyone to gang up on me again.

I tried to ignore Julio. As Mr. DeFusto talked about the distant smoke, I imagined the sea lions roaring, barking under our apartment window. I worried about my sisters, imagining them racing deep under the ocean, frightened by the strange smoke. The principal's voice rang out over the PA system, announcing early dismissal. Mr. DeFusto clapped two erasers together, a plume of white smoke rising up, and told us all to be safe out there. Everyone would have to leave at the same time today, preventing me from getting away. My fear was like a room full of twisted metal. At once, something hit my foot. I grabbed the yellow paper and unfolded it in my lap.

“Witch hunt today after school,” it said.

 

THE HALLWAYS FILLED with thunderous voices, shouts of excitement fed by testosterone, freedom, and the clatter of backpacks slung into lockers. Metal lockers slapped open and closed, high fives were given, plans to meet up were shouted through the corridors. I made it to my locker unharmed but breathless. My pulse raced. I didn't want anyone to look at me,
to see how nervous I was. All I wanted was to get away. Today, all I had to do was run as fast as I could. Race across the football field and then dash through the streets.

As I stood frozen in front of my locker, I felt my legs become light, quivering, and I imagined the sound of my boots crunching broken glass, pounding my fear like oyster shells into the parking lot of Wild Acres. I wondered if this would be the day I didn't make it home. I tried to steady myself by imagining I was already home and sinking into the gray carpet. It didn't work. I had to come up with something else, a better plan. Perhaps another door. Another route home. I hadn't scouted any new ones lately. I'd been entirely too busy worrying about my father and my sisters, about my mother and my aunt, and the rest of the people who were somehow always there but never there at the right time, like now, for instance. Today, I needed to be careful. I didn't know what they meant by “witch hunt,” but I knew it was not good. The air was unsafe. No one could get away unnoticed.

Suddenly, I could hear the taunts of my bullies, and then a body knocked into me. “Frog Witch,” someone whispered, laughing. When something hit the back of my head, my stomach clenched. I reached back and felt the saliva in my hair. My cheeks flushed, and my eyes watered up.

My hands shook too much to spin my locker combination: 25-right, 32-left, 15-right. Breathe. Focus on your sisters, I told myself. On the serenity of the ocean. On the fluidity of graceful arms carving through rippling water. Think of circles overlapping. Better. I could think. I tried again as the sweat slipped down my neck and made dark flowers under each arm.

I wouldn't show fear. They were only trying to get a piece of me. The boys, in their low-riding jeans, laughed into their shirts and high-fived each other. The girls, in their low-cut T-shirts, kept their heads tilted to one side, letting their hair fall forward, covering half their face, smiling coyly at each
other. What I'd noticed was that you could never predict or explain your bullies. Some would interpret your shyness as trying to appear tough. Some would think you were tough and would want to take you down a notch. Others would be afraid you'd reveal them. Regardless of all that provoked them, they seemed to share an elevated sense of importance. Everyone knew that bullies were cowards in disguise, that as soon as you faced them and stood up to them, they'd back down. That's what they'd said, at least. I'd tried everything. And I was still occasionally surprised that they continued. I was merely habit for them at this point—a predictable target.

Now Irene brushed by me, her arm around Julio's waist, her cold blue eyes tearing into me when she looked back, her frosted lipstick glimmering against her tanned skin. When I caught her eyes, she stopped for a moment, lips parted, hesitating. Julio glanced back. “Like my boyfriend, Frog Witch?”

That malformed strawberry. That girl with wings. The one you teased. The one you looked away from. The one who made you grateful for your perfection. That girl who was forced to hide. Who was different. Imperfect. Not you. The one who still believed, for no good reason, that she was a little unstoppable.

 

I TORE THROUGH the hallway, racing against the tide, an animal trapped by fluorescent lights. My black boots pounded the cold floor as a crowd of students clamored for the door. I had tried to call my mother and my aunt to come and pick me up, but neither was home. Now I slammed the door to the girls' bathroom and sat on the floor of a stall, refusing to cry, feeling the chill of the cold metal against my back. I drew my father's name with my finger across the gritty hexagons, waiting. I'd stay in here all night if I had to, wishing and praying for him to come. I sat on the lid of the toilet, stretching my legs out so that my bootheels gripped the door. I was too scared to walk home now by myself, knowing that there was no chance to get away.
My only shot was to wait until everyone had gone. Hopefully, they'd be too busy with their plans to worry about me. I saw my name and my cell phone number written in black marker on the wall. I kicked the door, my hands balling into fists. Ink came off on my fingers as I tried to scribble out my name. I wanted only to worry about other people, about put-pocketing, not about my own survival.

My forehead against the bathroom mirror, I imagined myself doing impossible things. Breathing underwater. Jumping off rooftops. Finding possibility where no one else saw it. I imagined the sunlight creeping in through the entrance of Maeshowe. It was all a matter of timing for those souls to escape, just as it would be for me.

Wait, I told myself. Just a little bit longer. Just a few more minutes, until I was sure everyone had gone.

That's when the bathroom door sprung open. The principal was staring at me, her white-blond wedge frizzled around her large tortoiseshell glasses. I could see Irene's face behind her in the hallway. “Irene, you were right. Thank you for letting me know. Naida, we need to evacuate. Do you have a ride home?”

I pushed through the heavy metal doors of the school and flew outside. The Wizard ignited my muscles. Sirens in the distance. Fire in my lungs. My jean skirt puckered as I ran, my black knee-high boots pulling at my calves. My yellow T-shirt became soaked under my armpits. My backpack slapped my back. I thought of my father, waiting for me in the ocean.

“Hey, Frog Witch! You're going to burn! Stop, Frog Witch!” I outran my bullies, sliding down a grassy mud hill behind a stranger's house.

When my bullies moved on to their next escapade, all jacked up on the excitement of a natural disaster, I cut around the corner and made my way toward my house through the back of Maiden's Cross Village. In the alley, I caught my breath, black soot drifting all around me. I wiped my face and noticed the
black streaks on my hands. I whipped around at the sudden noise behind me.

Julio leapt out from behind the Dumpster. “Caught you, Frog Witch!”

He pushed me down onto the asphalt, his sweaty blond hair thick as straw as he hovered. Pain shot through my neck as he pinned my shoulders with his knees. I tried to kick him. I screamed, but no sound came out, my voice trapped by quiet stones. With his right hand, he leaned down close to my face.

I spat at the wind, the scent of the sweat and fire thickened with sea air snaking across my face, soaking my clothing.

When he pulled up my skirt, he laughed at my day-of-the-week underwear. I was wearing Thursday. It was a Friday. That morning, I hadn't been able to find Friday.

He smirked. “Wrong day, Frog Witch.”

“Get off me,” I breathed. That just made him angrier.

His breath reeked of pot as he peered into my eyes. His red football jersey stunk of body odor. Number 29. He was number 29.

I had begun to conjure my father like my mother told me she used to do. I pictured smoke snaking across the water. I shook my head no, my fingers clawing at the ground.

Let me go before you do something you'll regret
, I imagined myself saying, something threatening and wise, something that warned him of the future. But my words became like birds above me.

“Let me go,” I said. “I won't tell anyone.” There it was. A cloud above him.

“Show me your frog foot.”

I tried to kick him, but he dug his knee into my thigh. Sweating, he pulled my boot off, then wrestled off my blue argyle sock. He grabbed my ankle, illuminating my bare foot against the orange sky. Julio's mouth twisted into a smile,
satisfied, as if he had gotten to the root of things or had discovered a hidden treasure. A foot. There it was.

“You are part frog,” he gasped, a twisted smile on his face. He would suffer for this. His name would be burned in the karmic dictionary under the word “asshole.” “Amazing. I actually didn't believe it. Damn right you are a freak.” I kneed him, and he started to cough. I rolled away and got up on my knees.

The salty breeze flooded the air, replacing the scent of ash and fire. Julio looked up, coughing uncontrollably. Papers spilled from his backpack and flitted in the wind. “What the hell? What did you do, Frog Witch?” Through my tears I saw him running down the alley, trying to catch the papers caught in the trees. “I'll get you. Freak!” he shouted. I kicked off my other boot and started to run. Julio chased me down the street as the orange sky followed. I ran around to the front of the Sands Restaurant and pounded on the windows.

Why was everybody gone?

I grabbed the metal rungs of the fire escape and scissored my legs, crawling up the metal grate, and Julio jumped up after me. I knew he was afraid of heights. I'd seen him refusing to climb the knotted rope swing in gym class, all his friends around, jeering at him. He'd looked so defeated that day, I'd actually felt sorry for him. I wouldn't feel sorry for him anymore.

When I looked down, he had talked himself into crawling up the ladder after me, looking at me like I was crazy. At the top, I stepped out onto the slick roof. When I jumped off, I always imagined it could be like landing on ice, only worse, perhaps like cement. Now I had no choice.

It would be the end. I would go bravely. Not like a coward. I would fight, making people proud of me.

I knew the pattern of the rocks, every crag and every cave. Lifting my chin, I held my face to the orange sky. I straightened my arms out at my sides, my palms turned up as if this would lift me. Sweat poured down the sides of my face. I heard Julio
call, “Crazy bitch.” But it didn't matter. Now there was nothing but flight. I could fall straight up into the sky and disappear into the stars, becoming one with them, all caught by the single thread of memory of our beginnings, which was wound through every cell. The waves below were streaked with yellow, reflections of the dirty air. I closed my eyes. There was only the sound of my heartbeat. I drew in my breath, my body wrapped up in the warm wind. No more Frog Witch. No more holding my breath. No more anything that remotely resembled a stalled life. A life spent waiting and trying to hide. My feet pushed off the gritty roof, my body arcing across the glowing water.

Flight.

The dark skin of the waves burned my fingertips.

 

IN THE BEGINNING, the Wizard made water, not light. The fish came first, then the animals, then came those flesh-covered machines known as human beings. In the beginning, human beings believed they were free. There was a plan for everything. Somebody always knew how to get from A to B. Why, then, should existing be so difficult? Perhaps we'd begin to devolve into animals. Dr. B. said it was because we could pull fistfuls of light in our hands, but that we shouldn't think of it like that—we should just be human.

Water.

I landed in a pearly sea. Splashing into a soft cushion of seaweed, I was far enough out from the rocks. The energy of the sea. Huge. Whalelike waves came in from the atmosphere, tripped up by a magnetic wire gone awry out there, from the silent astral avalanche. Swimming a great distance under the water, farther than I ever had before, I rose up out of it to take a breath. The sea appeared as if on fire, reflecting the sky. Ignited by the emotion of the hunt and the need for my father, I swam faster, letting the waves pull me farther out.

I felt grateful to the Wizard for my body, for once. I had left the old Naida behind. Good riddance, I thought. Goodbye to all the pain of my old Frog Witch self.

When I surfaced, at least fifty yards away, I saw all the hotel windows in stacked rows across the distance. I dipped down and spun around.

Something brushed my foot. I kicked it away. I wanted to keep swimming. The waves pulled me toward deeper waters. The enormous strength of the undertow caught my ankles, the wild horse that had almost drowned me years ago. Now it wanted to play. I began to kick at it, my legs like tiny sticks in its huge jaws. I struggled to right myself. But nothing could rein it in.