Brynna blinked at the screen, feeling her stomach churn. She swallowed, this moment, this life of hers dropping into slow motion as the world went on at a whirring pace around her. Someone was watching her. Someone was haunting her.
Before Erica’s death—just every once in a while—there had been a niggling jealousy that stabbed at the back of her mind. When Erica swished by Brynna in the pool, overtaking her at the last second to win. When Erica mastered a stroke the first time out while Brynna struggled to perfect it. How everyone happily revered and assumed Erica’s first place status and Brynna’s second.
She would always cheers to Erica, sipping her drink while Erica beamed and people complimented her. At first, it was just the fun of the celebration, the party—a little slug of beer to raise or something fruity and red to mask the alcohol taste. Brynna would have a few sips and set the cup aside when the sting of jealousy subsided. But week after week, the sting started to last, and the booze helped to soothe it. But still, she would stop drinking, determined to beat Erica the next time. She knew she could. She knew she deserved it.
Not jealous, Brynna thought. Competitive. Competitive, not murderous.
The last thought rang hollow in her mind. She had a vague memory of something she learned in sophomore biology about how the brain could trigger things—thoughts, desires—and the body could act on them. Afterward, the actions would be expunged from the person’s memory. Lacunar amnesia, Brynna recalled. Selective memory loss.
Suddenly, her mind’s eye was flooded with memories: the sick slap of flesh hitting water. The underwater sound of thrashing. The way Erica’s hair felt—slippery and fine—as it slid through Brynna’s fisted hand. The pale, waxy look of Erica’s skin as her body floated downward into the depths of the Pacific Ocean, so calm, so peaceful, her slightly parted lips, and eyes, wide open, staring at Brynna with the moonlight reflected in them.
How would I know what Erica’s hair felt like? How would I know what she looked like? I have this image of her—Brynna closed her eyes, trying to stamp the ghastly image out—where did it come from?
Heat surged up the back of Brynna’s neck, and she was racing through the room, clawing her way to the bathroom. She doubled over and vomited, tears and sweat commingling and dripping from her chin as she heaved.
The images in her head came from her dreams, because once Erica hit the water, Brynna couldn’t see her anymore. Could she? She fell against the wall, her back sliding until she landed on her butt with a hard thump. She could feel the cold tile shoot a chill up her spine as she thought about the dreams where Erica was floating down below her. Was it a dream or a deeply hidden memory suddenly shaking loose? Brynna pushed up to her knees and vomited again.
At some point, Brynna’s mother rushed through the bedroom door and fawned over her, coaxing her into her pajamas and tucking her into bed. Her mother was still in her paint-covered smock, and when she leaned down to rest her palm on Brynna’s forehead, Brynna breathed in the heady, earthy scent of the paints and the bitter bite of turpentine, the smells that always comforted her as a child.
“I told you sitting around in that wet bathing suit was going to get you sick.” Her mother leaned over her, pressing a cool, damp washcloth to Brynna’s forehead. “I thought you’ve been looking a little pale lately, a little off.”
Brynna nodded and looked away.
“Soup?”
She looked up into her mother’s eyes, her forehead creased with worry. Brynna never realized how much older her mother looked than she had just fourteen months ago, how now when her hair was wound in the messy topknot, there were streaks of gray between the auburn. Her eyes were lined and tired-looking, and although part of Brynna wanted to curl up in her mother’s arms and tell her everything—everything—she couldn’t. Her mother looked so fragile.
“You don’t have to wait on me, Mom. I’m really okay. I just…ate the cafeteria food today.” She offered a small smile. “Not going to make that mistake again. I think I just want to go to sleep.”
Her mother’s eyebrows went up. “It’s barely nine o’clock. You must be sick.”
She blew her a kiss, clicked off the overhead light, and shut the door with a soft click. Brynna stared at the ceiling for exactly five minutes before sleep hit her like a solid wall. She slept fitfully, dreaming of Ella screaming at her, her teeth jagged and blood-stained as she snapped her jaws at Brynna. Shards of black water crashed into her subconscious, and Ella’s screams were snatched away by the pounding sound of waves crashing on sand. Erica was there and then she wasn’t, and Brynna reached out to her, their fingertips brushing then separated by miles of water. Erica would come back again and the whole thing would repeat. Each time it was comforting and then terrifying, and dream Brynna screamed until her throat was raw, and then she began to sink. She felt the water lapping over her, and this time, she welcomed it. She closed her eyes and gave in to the soft lull of the ocean, to the caress of the waves. The undulating surf was like soft hands pressing her down, and as the water invaded her nose, dripped down her throat, and poured into her lungs, Brynna felt herself letting go. She didn’t struggle to breathe, and the twilight behind her eyelids grew darker and darker as the water took her over. She couldn’t hear the waves anymore. She couldn’t hear Ella’s screams. She could only feel the blissful tug of the water…
Then all at once, a hand wrapped around her arm and yanked her up until the sunlight blinded her and her wet body shivered in the chilled air. Brynna yawned then blinked.
“What?”
Her alarm clock was blaring and her sheets were rolled in a matted mess at the end of her bed.
“Holy crap.”
She raked a hand through her hair, the unsettling remnants of the dream still hanging on her periphery. She sighed and glanced around the room, her room, with all of her things lined up and set just as she had left them—but something felt off. Kicking her bare feet over the bed, Brynna stepped onto the plush carpet and immediately sat back down.
Her feet were wet.
Fire zinged through her body, but Brynna worked to shake it off. She glanced over her shoulder at herself in the mirror and started, her heart seizing in her chest.
Her biology book lay open on her desk. Perched on top of the splayed-open pages was a pair of glasses. From where she sat, Brynna could see them glitter, could see the sunlight bounce off the tiny pool of water they sat in. She made a beeline for them, snatching them up.
They were Erica’s.
Though nondescript to the casual observer, Brynna would know them anywhere. Erica had painted the inside of the plain black frames with the hottest, pinkest nail polish she could find. She used to say they represented the “diva inside.”
Brynna started to tremble. The eyeglasses were wet, the saltwater smell unmistakable. A fleck of kelp wrapped around one edge of the frame. She turned, glasses in hand, but stopped cold when she saw the footprints on the carpet: Dainty. Barefoot. Wet.
Her heart slammed against her rib cage, and she started to cry, her eyes watering acidic tears over her cheeks.
“Erica?”
She remembered the dream and stared incredulously at her arm, waiting to see a burn or bruise from where Erica’s hand had grabbed when she yanked Brynna from the water—but there was nothing there.
“Erica is dead,” Brynna started. “Erica is dead.” She rocked and chanted the sentence to herself like a mantra—or a prayer.
•••
Trepidation shot through Brynna when she set foot on campus the next morning. She wasn’t sure if Teddy told anyone about what happened—if he said that he had found Brynna nearly drowned or that he found the “new girl” wrestling with an imaginary ghost from her past. Everything about her felt vulnerable, like walking through a crowded room with a tender sunburn, and Brynna didn’t want to see anyone so she skirted the main halls and walked the perimeter of the building. That was where she was when she saw the janitor outside of the poolroom’s double door. He had a pair of long-handled pipe cutters in his hands and was working at something shoved through the door handles. Brynna paused, watching.
The janitor stopped mid-cut and took her in with disapproving eyes. “Help you?”
Brynna scratched her cheek. “What—what are you doing?”
The janitor made the cut, and Brynna watched a chain slide out from the door handles and land in a snakelike coil in the dirt. “Isn’t it obvious? Some idiot chained the poolroom doors together.”
Bat’s wings punctured Brynna’s stomach. “When?”
“Last night. Did almost all the doors. I don’t know what’s wrong with you guys.”
Brynna was too shocked to be indignant, to point out that the entire school didn’t chain the doors together. She licked her bottom lip and tried to steel herself, gripping the edges of her books so tightly her knuckles went white.
“Which doors, exactly?”
The janitor stopped then and looked Brynna full in the face, his eyebrows turned down in two black slashes. “Every one but the one interior door in the senior hall. Locker room doors, outside door.” He leaned over and snatched the broken chain off the ground, giving off a huge cloud of dust. “Do me a favor, huh? Tell your friends these little pranks are really a pain in my ass.” He stalked off, and Brynna stepped back, stunned.
If only she could believe that last night was just a “little prank.”
She started down the hallway, glancing down at her vibrating phone. It was another text from Teddy, and a wave of guilt shot over Brynna as she slid the phone to the off position. Brynna had been avoiding Teddy’s texts and calls since last night. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to talk to him; it was that she had no idea what to say. She had mumbled on and on about a dead girl trying to drown her when there was no one else in the pool. Teddy was sweet and had tried to be understanding, but how long would he go on understanding Brynna if she kept acting so crazy?
“There you are.”
Brynna turned and sucked in a breath, face to face and nearly a hairsbreadth away from Teddy. His eyes were an intense blue and his hands were on her shoulders—firm but careful. Brynna’s heart started to thud.
“Uh, hey, Teddy.” She managed a small smile.
His hands dropped to his sides, and her shoulders were cold where his hands had been.
“So you have been avoiding me.”
“No, no.” She pressed her palm flat against his chest, feeling the beat of his heart in her hand. She wanted to throw her arms around him and live by that steady, constant rhythm. “I mean…yes. I kind of thought it would be best.”
“For who?”
Brynna was taken aback by the slight edge in his voice. “Well, for you. I mean, I—clearly—am nuts or something—”
“Or something.” A smile kicked up the edges of his lips.
“I’m sorry, I just didn’t think you’d want to be labeled as the guy with the crazy girlfriend.”
The second she said the word “girlfriend,” heat flashed over Brynna’s cheeks and all the way up to her hair.
“So you’re my girlfriend now?”
Her heart was lodged securely in her throat, and Brynna thought that if she was going to die anyway, now would be the perfect time.
“I—I didn’t mean—I just meant girl, who’s a friend…”
Teddy held up a hand stop-sign style. “Nope. Stop there. I like girlfriend.”
Now Brynna’s heart sped up for a different reason, and she felt the grin spread across her face, pushing up her earlobes.
“I like you,” Teddy said.
“I like you too.”
He slung an arm around her. “So we’re in agreement.”
“Yeah, but about last night—”
Teddy pressed his index finger to his pursed lips. “Shh. Your less-than-stellar swimming abilities can be our little secret.”
Brynna fell into step with Teddy. Their hands hung by their sides but close enough so that their fingers brushed. The feeling of Teddy so close trumped all the negative feelings Brynna was having, and she reveled in the few minutes of between-class happiness.
Teddy yanked open the door for her. “After you.”
She smiled, warmth climbing up the back of her neck. When Brynna stepped into the room, her eyes cut across the chalkboard. She found her seat, pulling her Mr. Fallbrook-mandated “journal” out of her bag.
Fallbrook’s AP English class was required to “loosen up” with a daily writing prompt. He would write a statement or a topic on the board, and before anything happened—before papers got turned in or excuses were given for papers not being turned in—students had to write at least a full two pages in their black-speckled comp books on the topic. He checked them once a week and actually read what they wrote, so giant handwriting or a series of “I feel very, very, very, very strongly about this topic” wouldn’t fly.
Brynna actually liked the routine, and the prompts gave her a way to throw all her thoughts and energy into something other than what was going on in her head. Today, however, was an exception.
In Fallbrook’s blocky writing was the daily writing prompt: Write about a time you were really scared.
Brynna opened her notebook, her pen sliding through palms that were already clammy.
How about now? She wanted to write.
I was really afraid that night when I came out of the water.
She felt the water breaking over her face, the choppy waves at her shoulders, sinking into the loose-weave fabric of her summer T-shirt. She could taste the salt water on her lips.
Her lungs were burning, pulling. It didn’t seem that far out when they walked the pier, but swimming back to shore was another thing entirely. Brynna stopped kicking and started to tread, her legs working as she spun in a circle, searching the slick top of the black water for Erica.
“Erica…” she sang.
But there was no Erica.
“Come on.” Brynna slapped at the water, cold droplets landing on her eyelashes and lips. “Fine, be that way.” She turned and started to swim toward shore again, certain that Erica, the stronger swimmer of the two, was already padding through the wet sand at the water’s edge, cursing Brynna’s name.
Brynna pounded through the water, feeling the slight tug of the surf pulling her backward. But she cupped her hands and stroked until her shoulders ached and her knees banked against wet sand close to shore then stood up, letting the weight of the water drip off her as she reached the pillowy dry sand. Her heart was thundering, and she was breathing hard but smiling, tasting the salt on her lips.
“Whew!” She threw her hands up in a victory V and danced around the beach, wriggling her butt and shaking her head. “That was awesome!”
Michael, Ella, and Jay were jogging toward her, hooting and whistling. “Nice job!” Ella crowed.
“Weren’t you supposed to be naked?” Michael said, that sly grin not skipping a beat. He hiccupped softly, a burst of sugar-sweet, alcohol-scented breath commingling with the salty beach breeze.
“I took my top off. You must have blinked and missed it. Your loss.” Brynna stopped dancing and wrung the water out of her hair. “Okay, where’s the big cry baby? Is she hiding because she doesn’t want to admit that that was totally unreal?”
Michael tossed Brynna a towel and jutted his chin toward the water. “She’s still out there.”
Brynna pulled the towel around her and turned to look. “Really? I thought for sure she’d beat me in.”
“Well…there you go. She’s faster in the lanes and you’re faster in open water. ’Cuz you’re like a shark!” Michael snapped his jaws before planting a smacking kiss on her cheek.
Ella scratched her head, squinting. “I don’t even see her.”
“Erica’s like a snake in the water. You don’t even see her coming and then bam! There she is.”
“Okay,” Jay said, “then where is she?”
Brynna walked down the beach, letting the water crash over her ankles. “Erica?” She cupped her hands around her mouth. “Erica!”
The only answer was the sound of the waves smacking the wet sand.
Brynna turned and glared at her friends. “You guys are so stupid. Where is she? She came in way before me, didn’t she? Is she trying to make me think she’s dead? Trying to prove some kind of Erica-point?”
Ella’s face was wan. “No, really, Bryn. She didn’t come in.”
“You’re lying.”
Now Michael shook his head, and the action shook something loose in Brynna. “Really?”
“Seriously. Didn’t you see her when you guys came up the first time?”
Brynna’s chest started to tighten. Sweat beaded along her hairline and upper lip, even as she shivered in the night air. “I—I think so.”
“How could you think so? That was five minutes ago,” Jay said.
Brynna looked at her trio of friends and the hard, worried looks on their faces. “I know but I—I mean, I’m sure I did.” She spun back to the surf. “Erica!”
Jay was stripping off his shirt and Michael kicked off his flip-flops. The sound of their bare feet slapping the sand reverberated through Brynna’s head. She took one look at Ella, chewing on her bottom lip, and dropped her towel, cutting ahead of the boys and diving into the foam-covered waves.
Brynna plunged under the water, feeling the sting of the salt water as she opened her eyes. The water at Harding Beach was murky even in sunlight, and at night, she was met with a wall of blackness. Her feet hit the sandy bottom, and Brynna launched herself, head and shoulders breaking water. “Erica?”
Her voice joined the chorus of Michael and Jay’s. Brynna spun in time to see Ella running up the beach, her figure becoming smaller as she broke the wall of swaying kids on Jay’s back patio.
Brynna dipped back under the water, groping blindly, her fingers sifting through sand, her arms being slapped by kelp as she swam. Underwater, she started to cry.
Erica is playing a trick, she told herself. Erica is trying to teach me a lesson.
It seemed like hours passed, and every muscle in Brynna’s body was screaming in exhaustion, rallying against the pain of pushing against another crashing wave, another swell of surf.
Then she felt the hand on her shoulder.
“Erica!”
Brynna opened her mouth and grinned, feeling the cold water slide through her teeth. The hand tightened on Brynna’s shoulder, pulling her back toward shore. Brynna pushed off and broke the surface, gulping in a deep breath of salt-tinged air in time to see Michael in front of her, dragging her behind him.
Brynna looked around for Erica and felt her heart swell with relief when she stepped onto shore and spotted Jay swimming in.
A thousand feet seemed to pound the beach, and Brynna spun back to the beach house, seeing half the party vaulting toward her, led by Ella. Her cheeks were red and her lips drawn.
“Come in!” someone called. “Get out of the water and come in!”
“What’s going on?” Brynna asked. “Where’s Erica?”
“You can’t swim there at night,” the same voice said. “There’s a goddamn riptide. Get out of the water!”
Brynna blinked. “A riptide?”
Jay trudged out of the water, eyes darting across the sand and slicing through the group of kids. “Where’s Erica?” he said.
“I couldn’t find her, man,” Michael answered.
Heat raced up the back of Brynna’s neck, and her stomach started to churn.
“Brynna?” Ella asked.
Bile itched at the back of Brynna’s throat, and the world dropped into slow motion. The waves took their time swelling and curling; their crash was gentle and calm as fingers of frothy water crawled toward her feet before being sucked out again by the tide.
Somehow, Brynna knew someone was talking to her. She could vaguely hear the sound of her name, could vaguely feel people touching her, but she felt like everything was encased in cotton. Cotton stuffing her ears and muffling sound, cotton keeping her a thousand miles from the arms that reached for her.
“No.” She was finally able to push the word over her teeth. “No!” The towel that someone had slipped over her shoulders flopped into the sand, and Brynna was pushing forward, pushing through the crowd. “I have to get Erica. Erica!”
She barely felt the water as her feet plunged into it, as it slapped against her calves. “Erica!” she was calling, straining to be heard over the surf. “Erica!”
She was waist-deep before Michael grabbed her, bear-hugging her around the waist and yanking her backward. But Brynna fought back, clawing for the water, trying to dive out of his arms.
“My best friend is out there! Let me go! You have to let me go!”
She dug her toes into the wet sand, praying for some traction, but Michael just hauled her backward as if she weighed nothing.
“Erica!”
Terror like an icy hand gripped at Brynna’s heart, and she struggled to breathe, her eyes darting across the undulating water. Every swell was Erica breaking through; every crash was Erica kicking her legs.
“She’s out there,” Brynna whispered, the tears burning over her chapped cheeks. “I have to find her.”
Somehow, the paramedics made it down the beach with flashing lights and wailing sirens that Brynna didn’t hear. A medic asked her some questions; she jostled out of the blood pressure cuff he tried to slap on her.
“No,” she mumbled.
This isn’t happening.
Fear like a lead weight settled in her gut. Her skin felt too tight. Erica was here. She was here.
Brynna turned out toward the water again, breaking away and darting for the crashing black waves, but someone was gripping her, the pain of their hands at the crook of her elbow surging up to her shoulder.
“Brynna—don’t.” It was Michael, his eyes a flat black.
Brynna looked over him and saw two police officers stepping out of a squad car parked on the sand. They looked so out of place with their drawn faces and pristine black uniforms, pant cuffs clouded with sand, but Brynna beelined for them anyway.
“Have you found Erica?”
The younger of the two officers, with a buzz cut and thick, black slashes for eyebrows, scratched his head. “Ma’am?”
The other officer pushed in front of the first and looked down at his phone. “Are you Brynna Chase?”
Hot tears clouded Brynna’s vision. “Yes, but it’s Erica. Erica is the one who’s missing. She’s—” Brynna turned toward the water, something breaking inside of her.
Erica was gone.
Past the breakers, the ocean was glass-topped and flat. The red and blue flashing police lights reflected off the water, a terrifying stained glass window, the image searing itself into Brynna’s mind forever.