Who Is Evelyn Dae? Volume 1, Page 3

5:49 pm, September 21, 2010

  I twirl a strand of my hair around my index finger and study it. The silence stretches out and an exasperated sigh greets my ears. I shift the phone from one side of my face to the other and sigh back.

  “I don’t have an answer for you Stacy.”

  “I feel like you aren’t even trying,” she whines. I chuckle, reflecting on the roles we play in the friendship quartet: me, the watcher, Stacy, the beggar, Marge, the doer, Joan, the wildcard. “I can’t understand why you are so afraid to say hello to someone.”

  “Why do I have to do it? Turn this around on yourself. How would you feel if I was asking you to start a conversation with Celebrity?” I couldn’t bring myself to say his name. I couldn’t even think it. My cheeks burn pink as I remember the finished painting he presented in class today. Bold strokes on top of mysterious lines, masking an obscured face, but the eyes belong to me. They are the same sea foam green, and they sparkle. It’s just one more reason for me not to say anything to him, ever.

  “For your information, I have said hello. Several times in fact.” Her voice sounds pinched, and I picture her pacing, as she gets more and more agitated. “He’s not interested in talking with any of us Lyn.”

  “Then what makes you think I’ll have any more luck than you?”

  “Joanie’s caught him studying you…” I scoff in an attempt to stop her, but she pushes on. “No, listen! I’m being serious. He’s always on the same bench outside after school. Apparently, he’s buried in a sketchbook until you appear, and then he can’t take his eyes off of you. Aren’t you the least bit curious?”

  “Yes!” I scream inside, but squelch the thought before it can come out. “Curious about what?” I’m surprised at how even my voice sounds.

  “Lyn you are the master of ignoring the obvious. He’s interested in you! Don’t you think it’s time to drop the ‘rules’ thing and give dating a try?”

  “Nope,” I reply immediately. I must not give in. I must remember the reason for the rules.

  “Oh come on! You’re sixteen, totally available, and have a boy with an irresistible English accent who wants to talk to you. A very attractive boy I might add. What if you miss out on the perfect person because you’ve been saving yourself all this time? What if he is it?”

  “I don’t expect you to understand my thinking, but I thought you respected me. Did Marge put you up to this?” Silence. “I thought so.” My tone is icy, another surprise.

  “Lyn, I do respect you, but I’m worried about you too. All of us are. You’ve been on full retreat since the first day of school. Please don’t shut us out. Don’t shut me out.”

  I close my eyes and chant the rules in my head to keep myself from spilling the truth. Seconds tick by, but the only sound is our breathing back and forth over the phone. I shake my head and take a deep breath. I’m back in control.

  “I’ll talk when I’m ready, okay? Don’t push me.” I listen, and the gush of breath she releases tells me I’ve won this round. “See you tomorrow.”

  “Yeah. See ya,” she replies and the defeat in her tone makes me cringe.

  I’ve always had a love/hate relationship with water. It was dysfunctional really, and only became worse after my birthday. When I first found out the truth, all I wanted was someone to share it with. Not anymore. A few days of thinking put a stop to that, but I also knew it was only going to get harder to keep it a secret. I needed a plan.

  1:13 pm, July 22, 2008

  “Ew, don’t drip on me!” I exclaim, dropping my pen in the sand. I hastily wipe the salt water from my skin, scrutinizing the area for any reaction. My hands tremble as I stand, scooping up the half-finished doodle on the pad and snapping it closed.

  “It’s so hot today. How do you resist jumping in?” Joan asks. She is still dripping from head to toe from her two-minute excursion into the Pacific Ocean. I hand her the towel I had been sitting on.

  “It’s not that hot. Besides, I’m allergic to something in the water. You know that.”

  She frowns at me, scrunching up her nose at the same time. I bite my lip to keep from laughing. “Yeah, about that. I’m beginning to think you are making up this supposed reaction because you’re afraid of the water. Do you even own a bathing suit?”

  “Of course I do. I just choose not to wear it.”

  “You know I could teach you how to swim…”

  “Joanie, it has nothing to do with that, and your shivering self is not really selling the idea to me either,” I say, pointing to her goose-pimpled flesh. She smirks and hugs the towel more tightly around her slim frame. “I’m an admirer of the ocean, but I have no desire to touch it.”

  “An admirer? What a load of crap!” she snorts. I glare at her, and she straightens up. I’m serious, and suddenly she is too. “I pledge not to badger you about the swimming thing anymore, okay? Happy now?”

  “For now,” I say, pausing. If I’m going to do it, now would be the time. “I think I’ll make it official though.”

  “I just pledged to you. How much more ‘official’ do you need it to be?”

  “I’ve got this new idea…”

  “Oh boy. Look out!”

  “Would you let me finish?” Her mouth snaps shut. “I’m adopting some rules, and the first one is: I will forever admire the ocean, but I will not step into it, nor shall any of my family, friends, or acquaintances pressure me to do so.”

  “Whoa. Um, who are you and what did you do with the real Lyn?”

  I wince. “That bad?” She nods, her eyes big as saucers. “It sounded better in my head.”

  “Why do you need rules anyway? I think you set enough boundaries for yourself as it is. It wouldn’t hurt for you to take a chance now and then.”

  “That is exactly why I need them. Trust me.” She rolls her eyes and walks toward the wooden stairs that will take her back to civilization. I gaze at the water, and my heart soars. The crashing of the waves seems to call to me, beckoning me to come play. I force myself to look away and follow my friend.

  6:32 pm, September 2, 2008

  I stare at the food on my plate, wondering where to begin. Not only am I not hungry, but I haven’t seen my parents in nearly a month. They returned home yesterday from their research excursion and want to talk. I, however, don’t have anything to say.

  “So how was your first day of high school Lynie-Lou?” Dad asks. He has been prodding me for the past half hour, but I won’t take the bait.

  “You seriously need to stop calling me that!” I say, slouching further into my chair. My mostly uneaten dinner is suddenly so unappetizing I put my fork down, and push the plate away with a sigh. “And technically it wasn’t my first day. Orientation for incoming freshman was on Friday, remember? Oh that’s right. How could you remember? You weren’t here.”

  “Is that what’s bothering you? Most teenagers would be thrilled if their parents disappeared for a few weeks at a time.”

  “I’m not like most teenagers,” I say, my stomach in knots. I had been waiting for some confirmation since they returned, but nothing. It was like the argument we had before they left never happened. “How could you go away? How could you leave me for so long? I didn’t know if you would come back. I feel so alone.” I didn’t add that I also felt unwanted, but it hung in the air around us.

  “Everyone feels like that sometimes Lyn, and you know we would never permanently leave,” he says quietly. The tears in my eyes brim over. “Honey, it was poor timing, but your mother and I had been planning the trip for a while. We just hadn’t told you about it yet.”

  “Yeah, you’re good at omitting the most important details,” I snort in disbelief, as I meet his eyes for the first time. His expression is sincere and I wonder if maybe I knew all along. All the signs pointed to this, and maybe that was what had made the blow out possible. Would I have confronted them the same way if it meant living with
the aftermath every day? I look away, biting my lower lip.

  “Lyn, I’m sorry things went down the way they did, but you must know we love you. We’ve always loved you, and we always will. Just because you are not our biological daughter doesn’t mean…”

  Mom’s footsteps announce her entrance from the kitchen. “I hope the two of you saved room for dessert,” she says, but stops as she surveys the scene. “Oh.”

  “I’m done,” I announce after the awkward silence stretches on for the longest minute of my life. I need to be alone. I need to think. I rise so abruptly I knock my chair over. It clatters on the floor as I run from my parents to the sanctity of my bedroom upstairs.