Waking Under Water

Waking Under Water

Christine H. Bailey

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Vinspire Publishing

www.vinspirepublishing.com

Copyright ©2015 Christine Bailey

Cover illustration copyright © 2015 Elaina Lee/For the Muse Designs

First Edition

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by an information storage and retrieval system-except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review to be printed in a magazine, newspaper, or on the Web-without permission in writing from the publisher. For information, please contact Vinspire Publishing, LLC, P.O. Box 1165, Ladson, SC 29456-1165.

All characters in this work are purely fictional and have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.

ISBN: 978-0-9964423-3-6

Published by Vinspire Publishing, LLC

To Sandy

For the brightness your life has brought to so many,

I thank you.

For the journey you’ve taken with such courage and grace, I applaud you.

For all of the moments we shared growing up,

I am blessed.

And for the dreams left untouched, I am hopeful for what tomorrow might bring.

I am forever moved by your imprint on this world.

With all my adoration—CB

Chapter One

Mid-October 10th Grade Year

Being submerged was, at first, thrillingly beautiful. The water lapped over my bare skin, sending a barrage of chill bumps across my arms, stomach, and down the nape of my neck. I drifted and dreamed about life as a mermaid—as someone or something guarded from the dirt and filth under the feet of mortals. For the first time in ages, I felt alive as I kicked my feet like fins against the current and prayed for a torrential downpour to carry me deeper into the stormy night.

From a distance, I heard a muffled voice calling me and pulling me back to reality. I opened my eyes under water, fighting the sting from the salt, or maybe it was the soap. My lungs grew tight, and my pulse drummed inside my ears as my dreams of mermaids and underwater castles started to drift away. Just a few more minutes—hold on. Count to five to ten to ninety-seven. Almost there…a few more beats. But it didn’t matter. The outside voice grew louder, nagging me to the shore. I lifted my head out of the water, just barely, and gasped for air.

The voice and the pounding against the bathroom door became clearer as my ears popped and drained.

Quit hogging the bathroom, the voice yelled.

I opened my mouth to say something, but no words came out—only fierce fights for breath. My breathing echoed in the tiny bathroom I shared with my two roommates, and I searched for words, any words to make her go away. Finally, I whispered, Leave me alone.

Come on already, my roommate whined, as if she had heard me over the loud whirring of the ventilating fan.

I pushed my toes against the foot of the tub and sat upright. Almost immediately, the drafty air settled over my bare shoulders, and I shivered as water fled down my back. I spotted a pinkish-white towel on the back of the door and stepped out onto the cold tile floor to grab it. The towel wasn’t mine, but I took it anyway and sobbed into the frayed terry cloth. The soured fabric bit back with its pungent odor.

Hello? Emmy yelled from the other side of the door. I stepped back as another round of pounding ensued from her tiny fist.

I wrapped the rank towel around my head and steadied myself on the edge of the sink. All right! Give me a second, I bit back. I scanned the small space for another towel and saw my other roommate’s blue robe hanging from a silver hook. I slipped it on and avoided the mirror—avoided looking at the girl with the purple circles under her eyes and sunken cheeks. I ran my fingers down my face to the visible bones in my chest.

Over the summer, I had lost nine pounds in one month, seven the next, and then it slowed to three pounds a month until I hit an unhealthy 102 pounds for a 5’10 young woman." Dr. Carnessi was not happy with me on my last visit to Cumberland Hills. He wanted to check me in again, but I begged Mom not to listen to him. I promised her I’d eat and stay on my meds. Part of the problem was my meds. They made me forget things, like food. It wasn’t an intentional starvation—the speculated anorexia—I just forgot to eat most of the time, or I slept through meals. Mom probably thought everything would just fix itself if she sent me away to boarding school. Boy, was she ever wrong.

Mia? Did you hear me? Emmy yelled.

I exhaled slowly and counted to three.

Seriously. Come on! she said.

I turned away from the mirror and flung open the door. Fine. Je-sus!

I hope you did talk to Jesus in there, she said.

What? It took me a second to register. Whatever.

She started to move past me and stopped. Hey, that’s not your robe. It’s Drea’s.

It’s not your business. I stormed off to my room and locked the door behind me. I had laundry to do anyway, so it wasn’t like Drea would even know. It bugged me how Emmy was up in everyone’s life all the time. No one ever asked her opinion, but she was always there handing out advice and condescending remarks with a sugar coating.

I sat down on my bed and unraveled the towel from my head, freeing strands of wet, wavy hair. In a few minutes, Emmy would be gone to play practice or study group, and I’d have the place to myself. Nights in my dorm were super-quiet with both Miss Social Butterfly and Drea usually gone. Drea, a volleyball player, was always with her teammates practicing, playing games, or studying. I figured she was with them now, cramming for our huge chemistry exam in Mr. Wafford’s class. Drea and I both had Wafford for AP chemistry, but during different periods.

I reached for my laptop and scrolled through some online movies to stream. I landed on a documentary about starving supermodels in Poland and clicked Watch Now. On my bedside table rested a small bag of candy, unopened, and I ripped the bag with my teeth. I chewed on a few gummy bears as Nadia spoke in broken English about missing her family back home. Twenty minutes into the film, Emmy called out from the other side of my locked door, I’m done if you need the bathroom.

I popped a yellow bear into my mouth and thought about going back. A few seconds later, I answered, Okay. I wiggled down into my bed and repositioned my laptop on my stomach. I stiffened at Emmy’s singsong reply of, Okay then.

Minutes later, I heard the front door slam shut and the lock click. Finally. I fought against the weight of my lids, but the warmth of my bed won me over. The last thing I remembered was watching Nadia stare out a plane window that was dotted with pellets of rain. The weather in the film matched the soft downfall against my own roof, creating the perfect surround-sound effect. Nadia hummed a sweet, childlike tune into the blue-gray sky, and then the screen went dark.

  

I’m not sure which unnerved me more: the loud crack of thunder that rattled the walls, or the knock at the door that came a few seconds later. I jumped out of bed, nearly sending my laptop crashing to the floor. I dove for it, catching its edge with one hand, and placed it on my desk.

The light from the screen filled the room just enough for me to scout out some clothes. I slipped Drea’s robe off and eased into a pair of stretchy jeans from the floor. Then I saw my oversize—and sadly faded—black T-shirt on my desk, sniffed it, and threw it on. A second wave of pounding from the door echoed back to me. Hold on, I yelled. Then I mumbled, Jeez, all the knocking.

I yanked open my door. The bright lights from the small living room nearly blinded me. In the beginning, I thought our dorm was so cool with its three closet-sized bedrooms, a kitchenette, a bathroom, and a tiny common area in the center of it all. Sometimes I even pretended I was living in a New York City walk-up, not a boarding school in Tennessee. Hold on, I repeated and raced toward the front door. I fumbled with the lock and spat a What? right at tall, dark, and handsome standing next to my quasi-friend Natalie.

What took you so long? she asked. She looped her arm through his and grinned at me. I texted you a thousand times.

Oh. Um, I stammered. I twisted my still-damp hair up into a bun, but it fell loose again.

Can we come in? She pointed to the grocery bag her date held, a six-pack of cheap beer visible through the white plastic. Natalie lifted her finger to her lips and shushed me.

Have you been drinking already? I asked her.

Maybe, she answered with her finger still pressed to her hot-red lips.

My roommates—

Emmy is in the study room downstairs and your other one is a mute, so we’re cool. She squeezed past me, pulling the guy behind her.

I stuck my head out the door and surveyed the hallway looking for witnesses to report me to the resident advisor. What time is it? I asked and shut the door. But whatever the time, open dorm hours never included boys in our rooms. Boys were only allowed in the downstairs common area. How did you get him up here?

Don’t worry so much. Natalie pulled her date down on the faux-leather sofa with her. Side stairwell. You’re in a perfect spot, you know—second floor and at the end of the hall. I hate being on the first floor beside our dorm parent.

Wait a second, I said.

What? Natalie turned around on the sofa and stared at me through her bluish-gray, crystalline eyes, waiting for me to answer.

I headed over to the couch and grabbed my cell phone, which was face down on the side table. She was right. She had texted a thousand times. I slipped my phone into my back pocket and sank down into the mismatched chair across from them, but not before stealing a furtive glance at Natalie’s new guy.

What? she repeated. Do you want us to leave?

Yeah, probably, I said. We’re going to get in trouble.

At least have a beer with us. I’m Dan by the way.

Mia.

Yeah, I know. He freed a beer from the holder and popped the top off. With his gaze fixed on me, he took a couple swigs and then said, Natalie told me.

Heat rushed to my face. Oh. I haven’t seen you on campus before.

That’s because I don’t go here.

You go to Station Creek High?

Nope. Graduated last year.

I glanced at Natalie, who quickly chimed in that we couldn’t wait to graduate high school, and that we both had a severe case of senioritis. I had the urge to yell, Liar! We’re sophomores, but I didn’t. Instead, I asked, How do you guys know each other?

Dan works at Meechum’s Steakhouse. That’s how we met, piped Natalie, cutting her eyes at me. She grabbed his beer, took a gulp, and handed it back to him. His large hand dwarfed the amber bottle.

Want one? he asked me.

No thanks, I said.

Mia is trying to be a good girl. Her mommy sent her away to boarding school as a last shot. If she messes up again, she gets sent to the crazy-house. Again.

What the hell, Natalie? Thanks for spilling my life to a complete stranger.

Don’t get so mad. Look, sorry or whatever. Let’s sneak out and party, okay? I have a friend Molly—she paused and winked at me—that I want you to meet. Live a little.

I’m not up for it. Like you said, I can’t mess up again. I watched as Dan drained his beer. Next, he opened two more and handed one to Natalie.

Oh, whatever. We won’t get caught. I’m going to my room to grab my cigarettes and purse. Mia, throw on something cute, and we’ll get out of here. Natalie downed a couple sips of her beer and set the bottle on the coffee table. She stood up and held out her hand to Dan. Come with?

Go ahead. I’ll hang here. He swept his hair behind his ear and smiled up at her.

Okay, she pouted to Dan. But I’ll be right back. And when I come back, Mia, you’d better be ready to go.

Don’t you dare leave him here, I said to Natalie with my steely glare. She rolled her eyes at me in return.

I mean it. You need to relax and have a good time. You’ve been so on edge lately. She turned around and before I could protest again, she was out the door.

I stood up and headed to my room—not to change but to figure out how to avoid going out with them. For some reason Dan unsettled me with his dark, penetrating eyes, sexy stubble, and aloof attitude. I could definitely see why Natalie gushed over him—he was super-cute in a bad-boy kind of way—but I was in no mood to party and socialize with anyone. And, getting kicked out was not an option.

Not even three steps to my room, I felt his hand on my shoulder. I turned around right into him—my nose against his chest. I didn’t like the way he was invading my space, so I stepped back, but he cornered me between the wall and bookshelf.

He placed his left palm on the wall beside my face and said, You’re so pretty. Then he swept my hair away from my eyes. He was a lot bigger than I first thought, and his breath was warm and soured with beer. I hadn’t seen it coming, or had I? Why did I turn around? It didn’t feel right. I pushed my palms against his chest, my powerless arms against his tight torso. What are you doing?

I saw the way you were looking at me.

Up close, he wasn’t as cute as I first thought. What are you talking about? I slipped under his arm and tried to escape to my room, but he grabbed me and pulled me into him.

Don’t be so serious, he said.

I turned my face from his heavy stare. Natalie’s my friend.

Oh, come on, he said.

Let go of me.

He leaned in and breathed in my ear. Relax, he said as the front door flew open. He quickly stepped back and away from me. I turned, anticipating Natalie’s fierce, betrayed eyes, but I didn’t care what she thought of me in that second; I wanted him far, far away from me. But it wasn’t Natalie, which would have been a thousand times better. Emmy stood in the doorway with our militant, überfanatic resident advisor. Both of them just stood there staring at us.

I looked away and quickly scanned the room, taking note of the coffee table decorated with beer bottles. I glanced back at Emmy and knew she had seen the same.

Dan stepped back over to the couch. I watched as he inched over to his backpack on the floor. It was unzipped, revealing a glimpse of a small baggie filled with stuff that would no doubt seal my fate. We locked eyes for a nanosecond and then, with his heel, he nudged the bag under the couch. I prayed they didn’t notice. I might survive boys and beer, but drugs? No way.

Then, on some weird impulse, I ran for the door, slipping past Emmy and the RA. I’m not sure why I bolted. It never ended the way criminals thought it would. Only the guilty ran, right? As a kid I loved watching those shows with the police chases—with idiot meth guys running or speeding away like they had the slightest chance of escape. So why did I run? No clue. I turned around, took one last look at Emmy and her I’m-so-disappointed-in-you expression, and fled to the stairs.

Wait! Come back, Emmy yelled.

Her shrill voice swept over me like a green, toxic gas, and her haloed image stuck in my head as I sped down the side stairs in my bare feet and out into the open courtyard. I kept running against the wind, with the rain pelting my face, but I had nowhere to go except away.

Chapter Two

Late August, Beginning of 10th Grade Year

The first time I met Emmy, I didn’t have the strength to smile back or make small talk with her. It wasn’t her fault, with her perfectly straight teeth, gummy smile, and glossy blond hair that edged her sharp jaw. It was all me—dark and brooding and hiding behind my knock-off designer sunglasses, a pair rivaling the rad ones I’d seen in the latest issue of Nylon magazine. But the other part of me, the part with Zoloft coursing through my veins, managed at least some politeness required of new student orientation. The girl seemed harmless, maybe even a potential friend, but I gave her mostly monosyllabic answers and ruined any chance of a connection right off the bat.

As soon as Mom and I pulled through the iron gates and onto the tree-lined road of the campus earlier that day, I downed a tiny pill, which was hard to swallow even if it was the size of a pea. My throat felt coarse and swollen, almost too thick to let it pass. But it did, and I wanted to say, Good girl, Mia. From the driver’s seat, my mom looked over at me, as if she had heard my thoughts, and patted my knee. I didn’t acknowledge her. Instead, I fixated on the stone-and-brick sign etched with letters spelling Galt Academy, est. 1923.

Welcome to Tennessee, Mom chirped.

I wanted to remind Mom that we had crossed the Kentucky border into Tennessee hours ago, but I gritted my teeth and nodded. I zeroed in on the clock tower hovering over the campus. The picture on the brochure had the tower glowing against a purplish night sky. Somehow, in the daylight, it seemed less mighty, even diminished, and it disappointed me to see it this way, kind of like when the lights come on after an amazing concert.

In Mom’s Prius, which was packed to the brim with my life’s belongings, we wound our way through rows of stately rust-colored brick buildings trimmed in white and edged with wide stone steps. We had visited a couple of other boarding schools, but this campus was totally different. This place sat on sprawling grounds, and I