Dinah lifted her shoulders. We’d bombarded Cinnamon with phone calls and texts from the road, but every call went straight to voice mail, and the one text she’d sent back was purposely evasive. Dear fellow countrymen: I am unable to text right now, as I am ... well, I can’t exactly say. Or rather, I *could*, but I choose not to. Pip pip, cheerio, and all that rot!
“I’m trying her again,” I announced, pulling out my iPhone. The call went straight to voice mail. Aargh!
I punched END CALL. Then, needing to somehow punish her, I went to the SETTINGS function. I would change her incoming ringtone, oh yes I would. I would take away her beloved evil laugh and replace it with ... hrmm.
What to do, what to do?
I scrolled through my options. Perhaps the cheerful chorus of “Walking on Sunshine”?
Heck, no.
Well, what about the melodic “Dolphin Splash”?
And no again. Sorry, Cinnamon. You may not pass go, and you may not swim with the dolphins.
“Jungle Monkey”? Maybe. It was the sound of a chimpanzee screaming its head off, if I remembered correctly. Still, it wasn’t obnoxious enough.
Aringtone called “Cleanup Johnny” caught my attention. “Cleanup Johnny”? What was this “Cleanup Johnny”? I gave it a tap to make it play, and a rough voice snarled, “All right, boys, clean up Johnny and send him home.”
It made me jump, and I’d known it was coming. Apparently it startled Mr. Devine even more, as he swerved violently to the right.
“What the ... ?!” he exclaimed, glancing over his shoulder.
“Sorry!” I punched at my phone to make it shut up. “Sorry, sorry, sorry!”
“Omigosh,” Dinah said, giggling. “If an alligator attacks us? Play that.”
“Ha ha.” The ringtone looped back to the beginning. ’All right, boys, clean up Johnny and—”
Dinah raised her voice. “And then bean him with it. The alligator, with your phone.”
“Never,” I said indignantly. I finally managed to shut up Mr. Crime Lord, but there was no OFF button for Dinah’s giggles.
A drop of sweat trickled down Mr. Devine’s face. “All right, girls, time to start looking for the MacKinnon-Karrer house,” he said in a strained tone.
“But I haven’t seen the ocean yet,” Dinah said. “Where’s the ocean?”
“I can smell it,” I said, inhaling the wonderful scent of salt, sun, and seaweed. “It’s got to be out there somewhere.”
“There’s a sign,” Mr. Devine said. He eased up on the gas. “Dinah, can you make out what it says?”
“LOGGERHEAD TURTLE NESTING AREA,” Dinah read. “EGGS, HATCHLINGS, ADULTS, AND CARCASSES—” She broke off. “Carcasses?!”
“—ARE PROTECTED BY FEDERAL AND STATE LAWS,” I finished. “Loggerhead turtles, Dinah! Loggerhead turtles!”
I squealed, which made Dinah squeal, which startled Mr. Devine anew. He stomped on the brake, and the car stopped, lurched forward, and then rocked back. Gripping the steering wheel, Mr. Devine pressed his upper body against his seat.
“Sorry, Daddy,” Dinah said. “But it’s so exciting, don’t you think?”
“I think I need a cold drink,” he muttered.
Dinah’s voice shot back up to screeching-chipmunk level. “Ooo! Ooo! That’s it I know it I know it! Look there’s the sign!”
I hyper-bounced along with her and added my chipmunk screech to the din. It was so fun to ride this wave of manic energy, so fun to be fourteen and at the beach, coming up on a sprawling, weathered house that was all angles and slopes and peeling wood. A deck wrapped around the front, its railing draped with swimsuits and towels. At the tip-top of the house was a small, square room with windows on every side, like the observation room of a lighthouse.
“Turn, Daddy!” Dinah ordered. “Turn!”
Mr. Devine hauled the steering wheel to the right, and gravel popped against the belly of the car. He pulled into the driveway and cut the engine ... and suddenly it seemed really quiet.
“Eeek,” Dinah whispered. She twisted around with big eyes. “Winnie ... we’re here!”
I gazed at the house and swallowed, because we were. We really were.
“What do you think we’re supposed to do?” I asked. “Do we just ... go up and knock?”
“I don’t think we have to,” Dinah said. She nodded at the ramp of the deck, where strolling toward us was a woman about my mom’s age, her blond hair streaked with gray. She wore a loose blue dress and no shoes. Also, no makeup.
“Girls, hi!” she said, approaching the station wagon. “Dinah and Winnie?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Dinah said.
“Hi,” I said. In another situation, I might have felt intimidated—capable-seeming women who didn’t wear makeup sometimes intimidated me—but her smile was so sunny that intimidation wasn’t possible. Plus, I loved her earrings. They were beautiful silver spirals interspersed with tiny shells.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” she said. “Come on, let’s get you inside. My name’s Virginia, by the way.”
She and Mr. Devine did the grown-up nice-to-meet-you thing as we climbed out of the car. My tank top stuck to the small of my back, and I pulled the fabric away and fanned myself with it. Dinah had it even worse. She was wearing thin cotton shorts, and they were wrinkled and slightly damp.
I grabbed my duffel bag from the back of the car, along with a baseball cap of Bo’s I’d accidentally-on-purpose borrowed from Sandra’s dresser. I slapped it on and tugged down the bill.
Virginia led us up the walkway and across the deck.
“No sand inside the house,” she said when we reached the front door. She gestured at a mat. “Wipe your feet here. If your shoes are sandy, leave them under the bench.”
“Okay,” I said, kicking off my flip-flops.
She pushed through a screen door, and we followed her into a large main room with built-in bookshelves. An L-shaped sofa made a comfy looking sitting area, and sprawled on the sofa was a comfy looking boy. A very comfy looking boy, who was reading a paperback and not wearing a shirt. I didn’t glance at Dinah, and she didn’t glance at me. But a message vibrated between us nonetheless. Hmmm, was the gist of it. In-n-nteresting.
“Girls, meet Alphonse,” Virginia said. “Alphonse, meet Winnie and Dinah, the last of our group.”
Alphonse put down his book and got to his feet. He was a black guy, medium dark skin, with dreads that grazed his bare shoulders. Caribbean, maybe? Jamaican? He was our age (ish) and extremely cute—as in, he-should-star-in-a-movie cute. As in, Dinah-was-no-longer-breathing cute.
He wasn’t as cute as Lars, of course, but that still left plenty of cuteness to be gobbled up and enjoyed. Not that I planned on doing any gobbling!
But. Yes.
Cute.
“Hey,” he said, holding out his hand. I gave it a firm shake and said “hey” back. Dinah, whose cheeks had grown pink, did a little wave with her elbow tight by her side.
“Alphonse is from Louisiana,” Virginia said. “He came last week. Tomorrow, he’ll show you how to patrol the beach for crawls.”
“What’s a crawl?” I asked. I put down my duffel bag, and Dinah copied me by plunking down her suitcase. She’d started to breathe again, which I knew only because her chest was rising and falling far too rapidly.
“Sea turtle tracks,” Alphonse said. He had an easy way of holding himself. He also had a completely smooth and hairless chest. “They look like small tractor trails.”
“Huh?” I said, jerking my gaze back to his face. Omigosh, had I been staring? Great, now I was blushing just like Dinah. I could feel it. She and I were the staring twins—I mean the blushing twins. Oh god. Both.
“The turtles come on shore to nest,” Virginia explained. “They push themselves up with their flippers, and their tracks look like tractor trails. One of the things you’ll do is keep a record of where you spot those tracks, which means getting out to the beach in time to beat the early morning walkers.”
“What are the early morning walkers?” I asked.
Alphonse shared a look with Virginia, who smiled. To me, Alphonse said, “People who take walks early in the morning.”
I blushed harder. “Oh. I thought maybe they were ... um....”
Ah, fudge. I giggled. I couldn’t help it. And actually, it made things better, because it helped my chest loosen up.
“People like to get out early if they’re searching for starfish,” Alphonse said. “Some just want to enjoy the sunrise.”
Dinah found her voice. “Um, does that mean we’ll be getting up before sunrise?”
Alphonse furrowed his brow.
“Dinah isn’t a morning person,” I said. “She has been known, I am sorry to report, to fall asleep while eating her strawberry Pop-Tart—after her dad has already steered her out of bed and into the kitchen.”
“So untrue!” Dinah protested. “Dad, tell them.”
“Sometimes in her waffles,” Mr. Devine said. “Makes an awful mess.”
“Dad!”
“Nice one, Mr. D,” I said. I held up my hand, and he slapped it, looking pleased.
“There are plenty of jobs to go around,” Virginia said. “We’ll find a good fit for everyone. For now, let me show you the house.”
“Virginia, before you go,” Alphonse said. “More plastic netting?”
“Right,” Virginia said. “I’ll call in the order after I get the girls settled. And when Erica gets back, find out how Myrtle’s doing.”
“Will do,” Alphonse said, saluting.
“Myrtle has a skull fracture,” Virginia told us.
“Oh no,” I said, wondering who Myrtle was.
“We think she was hit by a boat propeller. Her jaw took a blow, too. She might pull through, might not.”
I cringed, thinking that Virginia seemed awfully casual about Myrtle’s chances of recovery.
“She’s got size on her side, that’s one good thing,” Virginia went on. “Old girl’s as big as a kitchen table.”
I opened my mouth, then shut it, realizing in the nick of time that this was another early morning walker moment.
“Is Myrtle ... a turtle?” Dinah asked.
“What else would she be?” Virginia said, surprised. “She washed up two weeks ago on Myrtle Beach. She’s still carrying a full clutch of eggs, so we’re crossing our fingers she survives.”
Myrtle from Myrtle Beach, I thought. Got it.
“I’ve heard of Myrtle Beach,” I contributed. “That’s where college kids go for spring break, right?”
“Mmm,” Virginia said disapprovingly. “The beach is for everyone, but the creatures that inhabit the ocean were here first. All those hotels? All those bright lights? Why do you think the turtles no longer nest on its shores?”
I was fairly sure she wasn’t really asking, but I tried nonetheless to muddle it out. The hotel part was easy: If there were hotels everywhere, that meant less space for the turtles. But I didn’t know what bright lights had to do with anything.
“Well,” Virginia said, as if ridding herself of a bad taste. “Enough of that. Let’s give you the tour.”
She led us across the living room to a stairwell. “This is the blue staircase,” she said. She paused. “Because it’s blue.”
Sure enough, the wooden stairs were painted bright blue, with gaps of air between each one. One flight led up from the main level, another led down.
“Below are the crew’s quarters,” Virginia said, gesturing. I peered through the slatted steps and saw a room with a partly open door. “Alphonse sleeps down there, along with Milo and James. Nice guys. Milo can be pretty quiet, but nothing wrong with that.”
I nudged Dinah, who could also be “pretty quiet.” She gave me a shush look. But so many guys—it was exciting! Not for me, but for Dinah, who had yet to have her first kiss.
Dinah is going to kiss a boy at the beach, I decided right then and there. Or maybe it was a premonition? Either way, this was my prediction, which meant I could cross yet another item off my To-Do list. Dinah’s first kiss will happen with the sound of the waves in her ears and a salty breeze lifting her hair.
Hopefully I’d get to cross off the “... and have it come true” part before our time at the beach ended, too. Eeee!
Virginia climbed the flight of stairs and extended her hand toward a room on her left. “Master bedroom. Where I sleep. Also, the supply closet, if you need more toilet paper or lightbulbs or sunscreen.”
“And girls, always wear sunscreen,” Mr. Devine interjected.
“Yes, Dad,” Dinah said, sounding pained.
Virginia went up another flight of stairs and reached a landing, where she took a right. The staircase itself went higher, leading to an attic room with a closed door. Right as I was looking at it, it creaked open, and a sliver of face appeared. Someone’s eye locked with mine. The eye widened, and the door slammed shut.
Oka-a-a-ay, I thought. Creepy recluse in the attic. That’s ... atmospheric.
I grabbed Dinah’s forearm and whispered, “Dinah, there’s someone up there. In the attic.”
She shook me off. Virginia had opened the door to a different room, and Dinah stepped closer to hear.
“... the red room,” Virginia was saying. Past her shoulder, I saw two twin beds, each with a red bedspread.
Blood red, a voice inside me said. To which I replied silently and fiercely, Shut up, you’ve read too much Stephen King.
But somebody had peered out at me. I knew what I saw.
“Brooklyn and Erika share this room,” Virginia told us. “You’ll meet them at dinner.” She pulled the door shut, saying, “Oh, and do please keep the windows and doors closed during the heat of the day. This old house doesn’t have air-conditioning.”
No AC? In the summer? In South Carolina?!
Virginia looked at me, and I quickly fixed my expression, which I hadn’t intended to make.
“It’s part of its charm,” she said.
Past the red room was a bathroom, with a rolled-up tube of Colgate on the counter. After that, the hall opened into a den. The walls were lined with shelves, which held paperbacks, board games, and old VHS videotapes. Against the far wall sat a TV with rabbit ears antennae.
“There’s no reception,” Virginia said, following my gaze, “but the VCR works. Sometimes we have movie nights. Do you like movies, Winnie?”
I was about to answer when Dinah squealed.
“The ocean!” she exclaimed. “There it is! Winnie, look! ”
I turned to see her scrambling onto a long, cushioned window seat. She tucked her knees beneath her and her pressed her forehead to the glass, sighing rapturously. Outside, beyond a line of trees and another row of houses, stretched a shimmering expanse of blue.
The ocean.
I loved the ocean, and even the lack of AC and the possible presence of a crazy attic-dweller couldn’t take that away.
I joined Dinah on the window seat. Our shoulders touched, which was our bodies’ way of saying yes and hi and isn’t it wonderful? Sunlight danced on the water. My soul expanded and pressed outward against my ribs.
Even if the crazy attic-dweller does hack me to death with scissors in the night, I don’t care, I thought. At least I’ll die happy.
Well, except for the small fact that I’d be being attacked with scissors, which would put a damper on things.
“Let me show you the rest of the house,” Virginia said, “and then you two can get out there.”
Her voice pulled me back, and I slid off the window seat. I felt slightly embarrassed ... then decided that was dumb. How could anyone be faulted for loving the ocean?
Im-poe-see-bluh, my French teacher would say in her Frenchy accent.
Virginia led us through the den and gave us a peek at the blue room, which was identical to the red room, except that the bedspreads on the twin beds were blue.
“Ryan and Mark,” Virginia said. She closed the door. To Mr. Devine, she said, “Five b
oys, five girls. The house can sleep more—the sofa in the den is a pullout, and three people can sleep on the living room sofa if they’re willing to scrunch—but ten’s a good number.”
“Are you the only chaperone?” Mr. Devine asked as she led us to a second stairwell. This stairwell was green, so I wasn’t surprised when Virginia told us it was called the green staircase.
“Yes, it’s just me,” she told Dinah’s dad. “I don’t think of myself as a chaperone, though. I’m simply the project leader.”
Mr. Devine frowned.
“I have some ranger friends from Huntington Beach State Park who stop by every so often. And Jason—he’s a naturalist, works for the state—he likes to help mark the turtle nests.” The green staircase, like the blue staircase, led both up and down. Virginia took the up route and kept talking. “There’s plenty of adult supervision, don’t worry.”
“Um, yes,” Mr. Devine said as he gripped the railing and started carefully after her. “Very good.”
Dinah turned to me and rolled her eyes. Because I’m sooo in need of adult supervision, her expression said.
But I was thinking about something else. Five boys, five girls, Virginia had said. The five boys were Alphonse, James, Milo, Ryan, and Mark. The girls were me, Dinah, Erika, and Brooklyn—but together, we made four, not five. Who was the fifth?
“Um, Virginia?” I said. This stretch of stairs was supersteep, and Virginia’s body disappeared as she went up, swallowed by a small rectangular door in the ceiling.
“Yes?” she called.
“Who’s the fifth girl?” It’s not the creepy attic-dweller, is it?
“She’s in the rainbow room getting settled,” Virginia said, which didn’t answer my question. “You and Dinah will be rooming with her. It’s close quarters, but the view is terrific from up there.”
I stopped still. The view is terrific from “up there”? The only bedroom that could be described as “up there” was the attic room, which meant that ... holy crudballs. Creepy Attic Girl was our roommate!
“The view is terrific from here,” Dinah said from above. “Omigosh. Winnie, come see! ”
I climbed the last couple of stairs, emerging in a room made entirely of windows.