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“He’s kind of old.”

“Yeah,” Ev replied with a laugh. “He is, I guess, but he’ll always be around, like the ocean and the sand.”

“He’s just part of the scene?”

“Totally. And the scene never changes. That’s why I hate it here.”

“It seems cool enough,” Lindsay said. She was trying to be nice. She didn’t really know what to think about it.

“Yeah,” Ev said. “It’s cool if you like quicksand.”

“Quicksand?”

“You know, in those movies where people get stuck in it, and they struggle, and it sucks them down faster? That’s what Redlands is like. Mel and Tee are already up to their necks in it. They’ll both meet boys and get jobs at some grocery store or restaurant and have a bunch of kids. It’s like already written in stone. Char’s got a little time yet.”

Lindsay hadn’t expected this burst of philosophy. She didn’t think Ev was particularly deep, what with all her party girl talk and loud attitude.

“I’ve been planning to get out since I was a kid,” the platinum blonde continued. “I just knew I couldn’t stay here. So I got my GED and I worked at that crappy Dairy Queen on Harper’s and I bailed, because I knew I had to pull myself out. My girls aren’t like me, though. They think they can wait and something will happen or someone will come along and save them. The problem is, they think I’m the one who can save them now.”

“Don’t you want to help them?”

Ev stopped walking. The night breeze ruffled her straight hair, blew it across her face. She pushed it back with her hand. “I can’t,” she said. “They’re a part of this place, just like Doyle. They’re deep in the quicksand, and if I try to pull them out, they’ll drag me back in. My manager totally helped me see that.”

Now Lindsay understood. Ev was just quoting something an adult had told her. She hadn’t created the words, but she certainly believed in them. This left Lindsay shaken. Ev seemed harder to her now. Colder. How could she not want to help her friends?

“You could talk to them,” Lindsay offered. “Maybe they’d realize there was more out there.”

“All we did when we were little girls was talk about getting away from here. I did it, but they’re afraid to even try. The fact is, some people just can’t be saved.”

Lindsay didn’t want to believe that.

Lindsay lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. The party had been fun, she guessed. By the time she and Ev got back, most everyone was wasted. She didn’t know anyone and didn’t know what to expect from them, so she kept quiet, just sipping at her beer, never letting herself totally relax. Seeing Ev’s entourage after their chat totally depressed her. They seemed like blind prisoners—trapped but unable to see the bars around them. The fact is, some people just can’t be saved. The older guy, Doyle, followed her around, always smiling, always nodding his head like he was agreeing with things she hadn’t said. When he spoke, it was always some lame double entendre meant to sound charming or cool. At a little past midnight, Lindsay decided to bail.

Now she stared at the ceiling. Kate’s party would be in full swing. Lindsay would have known a lot of people. She could have relaxed, and Doyle would have been a thousand miles away, nodding at some other girl.

For the second night in a row, she heard the odd chanting, the chimes, and the drum. This was another oddity. If Mark’s guardians were so hung up on New Age crap, how could they be so strict? So mean?

She pictured them. Muscular. Severe. Nasty. Playing lousy music into the middle of the night just to torment Mark.

“I’m hating this,” Lindsay said to her ceiling.

The chanting grew quieter. The drums beat louder.

“Crap.”

Lindsay climbed out of bed. She went to the window and looked into the sandy alley below. A frame of light surrounded a black shade behind Mark’s window. The lines of light seemed to fade and brighten with shadowy movement. Maybe he was watching TV.

But she didn’t remember seeing a TV in his room.

She leaned away from the window. Knowing she’d never get to sleep, Lindsay dressed herself in shorts and a salmon-colored blouse, which she buttoned slowly. She slipped on a pair of flip-flops and left the room. Her ears were still alert, trying to pick up any revealing sound from the house next door.

In the kitchen she grabbed a diet cola from the refrigerator and walked to the porch.

Lindsay sat on the wooden bench, cradling the soda can in her lap. Dark water stretched to the horizon, where it met the sky. Both were black, but of different depth. The ocean was as dark as onyx. The sky was more of a plum black pierced by millions of tiny stars. She watched the ghostly white lines of foam crest and fall to the beach and listened to the rhythmic crash of the waves. She breathed in the salty air. Sipped from her drink.

To the north, Ev’s bonfire party was probably still going on, with everyone paired off. Maybe tomorrow night Lindsay would loosen up a bit more, have a better time.

She began to relax, letting the sound of the surf lull her. She thought about Mark, thought about what hanging out with him would be like. Not hanging out like they did that afternoon, with a windowsill separating them, but really hanging out. Going for coffee or lying on the beach. She wished Mark were with her now, sharing the bench and the cool night air.

But would she get the chance to spend any normal time with him? She was only staying at her uncle’s place for nine more days. What if Mark was grounded the whole time and they only got to chat with a wall between them? That would be a major shame. Even though it had a Romeo and Juliet flavor, that kind of romance was completely unfortunate.

She glanced at the house next door and was surprised to see movement on the porch. Her heart tripped rapidly. For a moment, she felt certain Mark was sneaking out.

Please, let it be him.

She squinted, trying to make sense of the shadow on the neighboring porch. Leaning close to the side railing, she was about to whisper Mark’s name, but paused. She was glad she did.

The shape was too broad and short to be Mark. It seemed to glide across the porch like a black ghost until it emerged into the moonlight.

Lindsay’s breath caught in her throat. Wearing the same slicker he’d worn the first time she saw him, Jack, the more muscular of Mark’s guardians, descended the stairs. His feet sank into the sand, and he paused, staring out at the ocean. The slicker flapped against him in the breeze coming off the water. Lindsay pulled away from the railing, pushed herself tight to the bench. She held her breath, frightened she might be discovered.

She didn’t want Jack to know she was there. He scared her. Both of Mark’s guardians did.

Finally the stubby man left his place by the stairs. He walked across the sand toward the surf. When he reached the tide’s edge, he removed the slicker, and Lindsay saw he wore a loose, boxy bathing suit. Black, of course. Across the man’s back were numerous dark lines: a tattoo. Lindsay couldn’t tell what the design was (or if it was several individual patterns), but it covered his entire back.

So much for being a respectable authority figure.

Jack dropped the slicker on the sand and ran into the surf. Water crashed against his shins. He dove forward, disappearing beneath a white curtain of froth.

“I hope you drown,” she mumbled. “Or sharks chew off your legs.”

For a moment, she thought her wish had been granted. She searched the ocean for any sign of the man, but he seemed to have vanished into the waves. Is he some kind of fish-man? A sea creature that can make itself look human?

That’s stupid. But where did he go?

The explanation was simple enough: It was too dark for her to see. Still, Jack’s disappearance creeped her out.