Winter White (2 page)

The guy rolled his eyes. “Hannah, you’re overreacting.”

“You heard what the taxi driver said,” she said in hushed tones. “I know you like to ‘keep it real,’ but I’m not hanging out all night on some dodgy boardwalk when our hotel has a private beach.”

Harborside Pier may have been as popular as it ever was, but it was dogged that summer with stories about teen gangs and how shady the area had become. One of the pier shops had been broken into and robbed, and a knife fight earlier this summer between locals and gang members had turned ugly. No one Izzie knew had been involved. Her friends hung out under the boardwalk at night, but they weren’t thieves or hoodlums. There just weren’t a lot of places for them to hang. Izzie knew she didn’t live in Beverly Hills, but she also knew Harborside wasn’t unsafe if you knew how to navigate it. She wished she had the nerve to tell the customer that.

“Kylie, you should help them first,” Izzie said instead. “They were waiting.”

Kylie rolled her eyes and pulled at her stained white Scoops tee. “Whatever.” Like most of Izzie’s friends, Kylie didn’t mask her feelings, even if they stung. “What do you want?”

Brayden glanced at his diver’s watch. “I’ve got to check in at home. Order for me?” he asked Izzie, then winked. “She’ll give you extra toppings.” He pulled his phone out of his orange backpack and walked outside as Izzie scanned the day’s ice-cream flavor chart.

When Kylie was done serving Miss Uptight her kid-size fat-free vanilla cone, she planted herself in front of Izzie and grinned slyly. “So?” she said meaningfully.

“So what?” Izzie repeated slowly.

“So have you told Mr. Hot Surfer Dude that you want to be the topping on his soft-serve cone yet?” Kylie asked.

Izzie felt her face flush. What if Brayden had heard Kylie say that? She turned around slowly and to her relief saw Brayden’s butt leaning against the glass window as he talked on the phone outside. “Kylie, geez!” Izzie said, her color returning to normal. “I told you a million times. We’re just friends.”

Kylie gave her a knowing look. “You don’t act like just friends.”

Izzie looked down at the ice cream under the glass counter and stared at the Cookies-and-Cream tub. If she looked at Kylie, her face might give something away. “Well, we are, so would you lay off? Besides, I don’t have time for a boyfriend.”

“That’s true,” Kylie said, walking away to wash the ice-cream scoopers in the small sink. “I don’t even know how you have time to sleep between work, swim practice, taking care of Grams, food shopping…”

Izzie shrugged and pushed her still-damp hair behind her ears. “It’s no big deal.”

“It’s a huge deal,” Kylie disagreed, and then smiled slowly. “Which is why I think you need a little fun.” She looked at Brayden’s butt and sighed. “And Mr. Hot Surfer Dude definitely looks like fun.”

“
Kylie
,” Izzie said, starting to feel both annoyed and uncomfortable. “Drop it.”

Kylie rolled her eyes again. “Fine. You should snap that boy up, though. If you don’t, believe me, someone else will.”

The bell hanging from the door jingled, and Brayden walked back in, his flip-flops making a scuffing sound against the sandy floor. “Did you decide what you want yet?”

“Oh, she knows what she wants,” Kylie said, staring at Izzie intently. “She just hasn’t figured out how to order it.”

“A scoop of Oreo, a scoop of Marshmallow Supreme, and one of Butter Toffee,” Izzie said quickly, “with gummy bears.” Brayden looked amused. “I’m a growing girl.”

“No complaints here,” he said. “I like a girl who eats.”

Izzie tried to think of the appropriate comeback, but before she could, she felt her cell phone vibrate in her pocket. She didn’t recognize the number, but she picked up anyway. “Hello?” She instantly regretted her decision. “No. I’m at the beach.” Pause. “Nope. I have to stop at the community center first. I forgot my swim meet registration forms.” Her smile slowly faded, and the room began to spin around her. “Yeah, I can be there at six thirty. Bye.” She snapped the phone shut, her eyes blinking rapidly, and grabbed the counter to steady herself. This couldn’t be happening. “I’m going to have to take you up on that free ice cream offer tomorrow,” she said quietly, not looking at Brayden.

“Everything okay?” he asked, his brow wrinkling with worry.

“Did Grams lock herself out of the house again?” Kylie asked as she finished Izzie’s order and slid it toward her.

Izzie pushed it back. “No, I just have to get home.” She avoided their stares.

“Let me drive you,” Brayden suggested.

Great. For the first time, Brayden was offering her a ride, and she had to say no. “I’ve got to go to the center first,” Izzie explained, looking up at him. He had to be at least six foot two. “Besides, I’m only a few blocks from there. You stay and hang out. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Brayden grinned. “Okay, because you, my friend, seriously need some more surf lessons.”

Izzie forced herself to groan playfully. “Don’t I know it? See you, Kylie,” she managed with a smile even though she felt like the floor was going to fall out from under her.

Leaving Scoops, Izzie unlocked her dirt bike from the rack and raced down the boardwalk bike path, feeling the wind whip her hair around her face as if she were at the top of the Ferris wheel. Then she slowed down her pedaling and reminded herself of the truth: She wasn’t on the Ferris wheel. She would soon be on her way home, where her social worker, Barbara Sanchez, was waiting.

The questions ran through Izzie’s head almost too fast for her to keep up. Was Barbara there to push foster care again? Barbara and Grams had been discussing the idea ever since Grams’s health started going downhill last year, but Izzie was still vehemently against it. When Grams remembered things (which felt like ages ago now), she had said another option was to find a distant relative to take care of Izzie, but Izzie hated that idea, too. She had lived with her grandmother ever since her mom brought her home from the hospital as a baby. Izzie had never met her dad. Her mom hadn’t even told anyone who the guy was. So it was Grams who became Izzie’s legal guardian when her mom died in a car crash a few years ago. Now that Grams was sick, it was Izzie’s turn to return the favor. Grams was the only family she had left, and she wasn’t going to let the state of North Carolina take that away from her.

Izzie pressed hard on her dirt bike brakes, the tires squeaking loudly to a halt in front of Chicken, Ribs and More. She let the familiar smell of barbecue sauce and crisp sweet-potato fries wash over her as the reasons behind Barbara’s house call began to overwhelm her. Izzie’s thoughts were darker than she would have liked, and she shut her eyes to block out the scenarios. Without thinking, her feet went back onto the bike pedals, and within minutes she was in front of the Harborside Community Center.

HCC wasn’t much to look at. Weeds poked up around the cracked, aging stucco, and the windows had a permanent film from years of neglect. As rundown and forgotten as it looked from the outside, though, once Izzie walked through the glass doors, the building had a different story to tell. The community center was bustling, loud, and as cheerful as the cinder-block walls that had been painted in vibrant yellow-and-blue beach scenes. Hanging from corkboard strips were bright flyers and banners screaming things in large print like upcoming samba lessons, teen bake sales, Xbox Kinect tournaments, and directions to the next swim meet. Summer camp was winding down for the day just as some of the adult evening classes were starting, and the halls were a mix of young and old voices. Izzie knew most of them and said hello or waved as she walked down the hallway toward the pool.

Mimi Grayson wrapped her tiny wet arms around Izzie’s waist as Izzie passed her. “Are you done saving lives, Izzie?” Mimi wanted to know.

Izzie patted the top of her curly hair. “For today.” She gave her a mock stern look. “What about you? Have you been practicing your lifeguard training today, too?”

Mimi nodded. “Just like you showed me at swim class this morning.” She mimicked a frog, showing Izzie her breast-stroke. It seemed to be the easiest stroke for Mimi to master, so they’d concentrated on that one first.

“Perfect,” Izzie said with a smile, and then began swinging her arms in a circular motion forward. “Tomorrow we’ll work on this one, okay?”

“I can’t do that one.” Mimi’s face scrunched up in frustration. “My arms don’t go fast enough.”

“What do I always tell you?” Izzie asked, and then the two of them said it together: “No guts, no glory.” She nudged Mimi with her elbow, and the girl smiled. “I’ll see you at nine am.”

“Thanks!” Mimi pulled her falling towel around her tighter as she ran down the hall.

“No running in flip-flops!” Izzie called after her with a smile, then turned and paused as she always did outside the pool doorway and looked at the glass case of swim team trophies and pictures. Her fingers grazed the glass in front of the swim team picture from 1988. Her mom’s young face smiled back at her. She was taller and skinnier than Izzie was at the same age, but Coach Bing said they had the same spark and determination.

“I can’t do it,” Izzie remembered saying to her mom like it was yesterday. She was five. They were in the center’s pool, and she was clinging to her mom’s torso like it was a life preserver. “I won’t be able to breathe!”

“Isabelle, relax,” her mother said calmly. She set Izzie on the side of the pool. “No one can breathe underwater unless they have an oxygen tank or a snorkel tube. Well”—she scratched her chin—“except for the fish and the baby belugas.”

Belugas were Izzie’s favorite sea creature. She and her mom loved the Raffi song about the little whale. It was Izzie’s goal in life to swim with one, and that would never happen if she never learned how to swim.

“But you go underwater,” Izzie reminded her. “And you do, like, a zillion laps!”

Her mom nodded. “Yep, but I still can’t breathe underwater.”

“How do you do it?” Izzie folded her wet arms across her chest to keep from shivering. The water was warm, but the air felt cold. She watched other kids happily jumping in around her. They looked like they were having so much fun.

Her mother looked at her seriously. “I do what I’ve been telling you to do, Isabelle. I breathe out.” She demonstrated. “I take deep breaths. We start by blowing bubbles, remember?”

Something inside Izzie clicked. In her hysteria of having her face underwater, she always seemed to forget that bubbles part.

Her mom rubbed her back. “No guts, no glory, kiddo. Want to give it another shot?”

Izzie noticed the swim team sign-up sheet for older girls on the far wall. She had always wanted to be on the team, like her mom had been. There was only one way that was going to happen. She slipped out of her mom’s grasp and back into the pool. “No guts, no glory,” she repeated, and then submerged herself fully, bubbles escaping from her nose.

“Izzie! You missed me that much already?” Coach Bing pulled Izzie back from her memories. She saw he had on his usual attire: swim shorts and a Harborside Community Center tee. Coach always said you know you have a good job when you get to wear shorts and swimwear to work every day. He opened the heavy pool doors and let Izzie enter first. “Are you doing another workout? You were already here this morning!” Kids’ voices bounced off the cavernous ceiling as Izzie followed Coach into the pool area, which smelled overwhelmingly of chlorine. She watched the senior citizens glide slowly by in the lap lanes, stopping every once in a while to give an annoyed glare to the kids splashing alongside them.

“I forgot to get my permission slip for the next meet,” Izzie spoke loudly to be heard over the kids. “I wanted Grams to sign it tonight.”
Liar!
a little voice in her head yelled. Grams hadn’t been able to hold a pen for months. Izzie had become a pro at forging her signature on everything from permission slips and report cards to Grams’s Social Security checks (how else would they buy groceries?).

Coach Bing looked at her kindly. “Izzie, I know you sign them yourself.”

So she hadn’t been fooling him at all. How many other people knew about her forgeries?

He patted her shoulder. “It’s fine. I signed it. Your social worker said it was okay. You can still go to meets.”

Izzie nodded, trying not to show her embarrassment. “Thanks, Coach.”

“No problem,” he said, and they both felt water pelt their legs. “Hey! Let’s keep the water
in
the pool, not
out
,” Coach turned around and barked to the increasingly rowdy kids in the pool. They stopped splashing immediately. Coach Bing’s bark was much worse than his bite. He turned back to Izzie. “So how is Grams doing, anyway?”

“Great,” Izzie lied again. It was easier this way. Otherwise she got those pitying, worried glances, and worried glances led to calls to Barbara Sanchez. Izzie knew everyone meant well—Harborside Community Center and her neighbors had been looking out for her for years. They knew her family, they knew her mom, and one thing they’d never do is let Izzie feel alone.

Coach Bing didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t say otherwise. “I was going to give you this tomorrow,” he said, and led the way to his office. She stood in the doorway and watched as he opened a small refrigerator and took out an aluminum tray. “Tara made lasagna for you and Grams. Oh, and Ricky from Harbor’s Finest said to tell you he’s delivering spaghetti, meatballs, and pizza on Friday.”

“Thanks,” Izzie said gratefully, and grinned. “Although, you know if you keep carb-loading me and Grams like this, I’ll sink to the bottom of the pool at the next meet.”

He chuckled. “I’m not worried. You move and swim too much to ever become an anchor.” There was a knock at the door, and they both looked up.

An older woman, dripping wet, glared at them. “Could you get those children to stop swinging from the ropes of the lap lane?” The coach and Izzie looked at each other.

“I’ll let you go,” Izzie said, suppressing a grin.