Part 16 (1/2)
”Somehow that doesn't improve my mood.”
”Not saying it should. But you can't blame her. There she was, living dumb and happy with your brother, nice enough guy, fun to look at and treats her good, mostly, and then along comes his baby sister and boom, she's like-Mom, with sixteen-year-old kids hanging around, and that guy she's so into doesn't hardly give her the time of day anymore. Of course she's p.i.s.sy about it.”
I stared at him. ”I'm seventeen. Not that it's any of your business. And how old do you think Jack is, anyway?”
”Oh, I'm not saying I don't have my opinions about your brother,” he said. ”I've got plenty of those. All I'm saying is that if Becka's not happy with the way things are, well, it's her house, and you've got to make do with that if you want to hang around. Which I guess you do.”
I gave him my iciest look and said, ”Exactly what opinions do you have about my brother?”
Michael shrugged. ”I never trust anybody with that much charm.” He pulled a pair of sungla.s.ses from above the sun visor and put them on. ”Come on. I didn't slog all the way out here to sit in the car.”
I followed him, carrying the rubber sandals that Becka had bought me. The sand was hot and the water, once we got there, was clear and inviting.
”I thought this was a lake,” I said. ”Why are there waves?”
”It's a pretty big f.u.c.king lake.” Michael took off his s.h.i.+rt and draped it over a rock. ”Are you wearing a suit under that?” He gestured toward my shorts and T-s.h.i.+rt.
”Don't have a suit.”
”Well, it's a hot day. You'll dry. Can you swim?”
”Sure.”
He pointed at the lake. There was a cl.u.s.ter of rocks jutting out of the water about fifty feet from sh.o.r.e. ”Let's go out there and come back.”
”Why?”
”Give us something to do.”
I stared at the rocks, gauging the distance and the calm water. ”Want to race?”
Michael was wading into the lake. The water was already above his knees. ”We're doing this to kill time,” he said over his shoulder to me. ”Why rush?”
Out in the water, which was warmer than I expected, he kept to his word, stroking slowly and lazily and sometimes turning over onto his back so that he could look at me.
”Watch out for the sharks,” he called to me at one point.
”Funny,” I called back.
But the truth was, as my arms and legs stretched in the warm, gla.s.sy water, my mood was lifting. I didn't look at Michael as I swam the last few strokes to the rock. The side was too slippery and steep to climb up, so he was treading water a few feet away, his wild hair slicked down against his skull.
”Better?” he said.
”What do you care?”
Michael took a mouthful of water and spit it out. ”Don't get p.i.s.sed off at me. I'm just the babysitter.” Then he dove underwater and headed back to sh.o.r.e. He stopped to wait for me in the shallows.
”No fair,” I said. ”You didn't give me a chance to rest.”
”Nope.” He flopped down on the hot sand.
I flopped next to him. ”So what did Becka say when she asked you to do this?”
”Exact words?” He put on Becka's accent: ”'Mikey, sweetie, Jack's weird little sister is visiting and I need to get her out of my hair for a day or so. You think you can take her out, show her a good time?'”
I stared at my sand-covered feet. ”She called me weird?”
”She might have called you a freak. I can't remember exactly. Don't bother trying to brush that off yet. Let it dry.”
”Why are you telling me this?”
”Well, the way you've been doing things clearly isn't working,” he said. ”And I know Becka pretty well. Better for you to know where you stand.”
I had nothing to say to that. I looked at his tattoos. A huge Chinese dragon, snarling and intricate, covered his left leg; the right had his name, Michael, written down the length of it in elaborate gothic script. One of his arms was completely covered with black and red ink, and the other had a bracelet of barbed wire drawn around his biceps. They were a little disturbing-I wasn't quite sure why-but beautiful.
”Did you do your tattoos yourself?” I asked him.
”Nope. The ones on my legs I had done in high school. The others a guy I work with does for me.”
”Why don't you do them yourself?”
”Zenon's a better artist than I am.”
”Does it hurt?”
”Get one and find out.”
”Pa.s.s.”
”I'll do it for you,” he offered. ”For free. It's not often I get to work on teenaged-girl flesh.”
I turned and stared at the waves, my cheeks burning. I was suddenly conscious of the way my wet clothes were clinging to my body. ”I think I'm going to go back in the water.”
I started to swim back out to the rocks, but I changed my mind when I was halfway there and turned around again. Michael was lying on the sandy beach, basking in the sun like a snake. He wasn't looking at me.
Jack and Becka were somewhere else, I thought. Jack is off with a woman and I'm off with a man. People who see one of us alone have no idea that the other one exists. The thought gave me a tiny, inexplicable thrill. As I swam back to the shallows, I thought, I could be any girl in the world. Michael could be my boyfriend or my brother or even a friend.
I stood up in the shallows for a moment, looking at him. His head was turned away; he couldn't see me. He wasn't handsome-his nose had a crooked place where it might have been broken and his eyes were too small. He was thin and wiry but not muscular. I found myself wondering whether he was attractive anyway.
Suddenly something sharp dug into my heel and I yelped. Michael raised his head. His impenetrable sungla.s.ses stared out at me.
”What happened?” he called.
”I stepped on something,” I called back. ”It's okay.”
My heel was throbbing. I picked up my wounded foot and held it in my hand, turning it so that I could see the sole. The skin of my heel was wrinkled, pale, and s.h.i.+ny with water. There was a small dark object, smaller than my smallest fingernail, buried under the skin. As I watched, blood welled up from the dark spot and ran down my ankle in thin streams.
Michael stood up and walked toward me.
”You're bleeding pretty good,” he said. ”You want me to carry you in?”