Like a Fish: Chapter Two

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Be careful, he said. “Be careful” coming from Avery is like “slow down” coming from a turtle. This is a guy that lights incense before exams, consults his Tarot cards before sending an e-mail, and leaves milk with chili powder for the spirits that live in his garden. At least he preaches what he practices.

We crunched across the sand, which had the consistency of cold brown sugar. Glancing at Avery, I thought he had aged fifty years since that last tarot reading. Pale as a corpse, sunken cheeks, hunched shoulders. The fine mist left gray streaks in his light brown hair. And if the sea could burn, it burned in his eyes.

“Stop acting so happy,” I grumbled.

He choked on air. “You’re so…vulnerable, Chessie. I need to worry.”

“Vulnerable? Me? Senorita Kickass?”

I was rewarded with a smile. “Nice Spanish.”

We arrived at his car, a decrepit, rust-encrusted vehicle of unknown brand. When we got inside, I said, “Close your eyes.”

Without checking to see if he had obeyed, I slipped out of my wet bathing suit and into a sweatshirt and jeans. I trust Avery completely. Any other guy would need to gouge his eyes out before I changed clothes next to him. “Okay, ready.”

We crept at a snail’s pace through the waterlogged streets. Puddles reflected neon lights, rippling like liquid gems in the street. I sighed and kicked my legs up on the dashboard. A yellowing piece of paper fluttered into my lap. I stared at it for a moment before asking, “Is this you?”

“Would I have a picture of myself in my own car?” Avery asked. “I’m not that narcissistic.” He was quiet for a moment. “That’s Nicolas, my long-lost brother. He disappeared when I was six. We…we think he drowned.”

I mulled over this. “Is that why you’re so scared of the ocean?” I asked in a quiet voice.

“No comment.”

I grumbled and fell silent.

Five minutes later, we parked in front of The Sunrise Bakery. As soon as Avery opened his door, a monstrous, slobbery chocolate lab attacked him. The dog’s boulder-sized paws clamped on his shoulders and it began plastering Avery’s face with thick drool. I leaned against the car, amused.

A woman with blond curls jogged after us, removing her ear buds as she screamed, “No, Pogo! Bad dog! Sit!”

Pogo’s grand finale—a supernova of saliva—burst from his mouth. He dismounted Avery and trotted back to his owner, looking thoroughly pleased with himself. The woman grabbed his collar and looked up to apologize. We recognized each other immediately. “Chessie! Avery!” she said in alarm. “I’m so sorry.”

Our math teacher looked like she would break into tears. “It’s okay, Ms. Flocka. He’s not hurt.”

“Just soaked,” Avery interjected as he peeled ropes of slobber from his shoulder.

There was a moment of awkward silence (what do you say to a teacher outside of school?) until Ms. Flocka made an attempt at conversation. “Did you see the headline?” she asked, pointing to a stack of newspapers. “Pirate attacks. Pretty unbelievable, huh?”

“But of course they’re not dangerous,” I said. “I mean, pirates? Come on.”

Her bottom lip trembled. I wish I could fix her fragility with duct tape. “They’re very dangerous,” she whispered. “Girls are being raped all over the Oregon coast.”

I snorted. “Who would be stupid enough to get raped? Seriously, how hard is it to keep your pants buttoned?”

At their stony glares, I bit my tongue. My metaphorical foot was wedged so tightly in my mouth I could barely breathe.

“Be careful, Chessie,” Ms. Flocka said as she plugged her ear buds in and called Pogo after her.

“You’re the second person to tell me that today!” I cried as she jogged away.

“I told you so,” Avery muttered.