Hear No Sea: No Sea Trilogy book 2

Other Titles by Roslyn McFarland

Acknowledgements

About the Author

Don't like someone. Love someone. Don't stand up for yourself. Fight for yourself. Don't be strong. Be indestructible.

- Unknown

A DROP OF water slowly travels down my cheek, hanging from my chin in perfect suspension, undecided whether or not to drop. The toes of my forward foot grip the edge of the pedestal as I adjust my hi-def goggles, shaking my arms and hands from the wrist to relieve some of the building tension.

Swimmers, take your mark!

Air particles dance and whorl, time slowing as breath enters and exits my lungs, centering my focus on the clear blue liquid lane before me. Reaching my hands down, I grip the edge of the starting block, knees bent, muscles tense in anticipation. All is still, ready, as the droplet finally leaves my chin on its journey to…

Beeeeeeep!

The start signal echoes in the vast space of the domed Olympic size pool only to be immediately drowned out by the screaming cheers of family, teammates and fans of swim racing. Muscles explode into action as eight swimmers simultaneously launch themselves into arced dives.

I slide into the water, the silky liquid enveloping me in warmth and welcome. So what if I was born with two legs instead of a fin? The water is my home.

Thoughts of fins bring to mind other, more distracting thoughts. Those of tight muscles bound by soft skin, a strong tail wrapping around me to keep me safe and silver eyes I could happily drown in. The sudden pang lancing through my chest is familiar, undiminished by months of absence. It does, however, remind me to get my head in the game and concentrate on my butterfly stroke.

Reaching the end of the fifty-yard lane I make my two-hand touch, spinning into my backstroke in one fluid motion. The Individual Medley is my favorite event. You get to swim all four strokes in one race. As this is the two hundred I.M. in a fifty-meter pool, my backstroke finish includes a tight spin as I streamline into my breaststroke. Finding the rhythm in my flutter-free, frog-style stroke, I extend my senses to scope out the other seven racers—a little trick I learned I could do last summer. I feel I’m in the lead by a tiny margin, just how I like it. My ability to leave these other girls in my wake is still something I haven’t exactly shared with the masses.

Reaching both hands out to touch the wall and finish the stroke, my still extended senses catch a ripple of something not right. One of the other swimmers, the girl in lane seven, is faltering badly. By the time I complete my turn, she’s curled herself into a fetal position and sinking like a stone.

Without pausing to think, I adjust my streamline down, cutting under the swimmers in lanes four, five and six, who remain oblivious to the drama unfolding below them. The other swimmer is around ten feet deep now, curled in a ball, arms clutching her torso in obvious agony. Beginning to choke on the water she can’t breathe, she’s too locked up to get to the surface herself. I reach her in seconds.

Unable to loop my arm under her closed limb for a proper rescue hold, I instead grip her elbows with both hands, using only my legs to propel us to the surface. Attentive coaches and lifeguards reach in the water, yanking the poor girl from my arms and laying her curled form out on a stretcher. They try to coax her into straightening her legs as a gurgled scream rips from her throat. Quickly secured to the board, she’s whisked away to the waiting ambulance.

With a sigh of relief, I take my first breath of air in probably two minutes and glance at the lit up board to see the final results of my race posted. They already DQ’d me. I check my team’s section of the bleachers to see if anyone noticed.

Sure enough, a set of blue eyes shoot sparks as they glare at me from the front row. My recent winning streak played a key component in my team’s current national ranking, and while the loss of one race won’t do a lot of damage overall, it could lose us this meet.

Ah, flub-nuts, I mutter, sinking back into the safety of the water.

1

RIPPLES RADIATE OUTWARDS as the stone breaks the surface of the water, drifting down to settle within the stirred up sediment at the bottom of the puddle. No magical portal. No merman waiting. Only a wet, muddy hole in the ground.

I should have known, I think, as disappointment sucker-punches me, refreshing some of the cracks formed in my heart after saying goodbye to the only boy I’ve ever loved at the end of last summer. The hope and dream of seeing him again was the only thing that sustained me through my junior year of high school.

I even managed to rank decently in the state swimming finals, barring that one minor incident. Receiving my medals I thought only of his silver gaze, beaming at me proudly. Okay, yes, I could have won the whole darn thing, taken every one of my events, but let’s not go crazy here. Rising from mediocre obscurity to the level I did has brought me plenty attention as it is.

Thinking of that attention I frown, settling down on the damp ground next to the primary source of my current frustration. Moodily shredding bark chips and flicking one or two to float on the surface of my uncooperative puddle, I contemplate mega irritation number two. In a word: Belinda.

More specifically, Belinda Schneider, high school diva and fellow teammate back home. To say she’s been less than thrilled with my miraculous success would be like saying a starving tiger doesn’t mind having its fresh kill taken away. Or maybe I should think of her as a hyena. Braying laugh, snarling voice, multi-colored platinum hair (which I’m certain she pays way too much for). Yeah, that fits better.

The snarky witch tried every angle to get to me this past year; accidents, resulting in most of my things scattered down the school hall, group stalking with choice comments easily loud enough to hear, getting others to be nice to me or invite me to events with the sole purpose of standing me up, even getting hot guys to flirt with me with the intent of breaking my heart later. Ridiculous and juvenile ploys that may have worked on me a year ago. They all struck out, of course. I’m still firmly obsessed with reconnecting with my lost boyfriend, and my best friend enjoys a good laugh at the transparent attempts of mean-minded girls to maintain power. One memorable event involved someone slipping chocolate laxatives into my food before a meet, in hopes of an embarrassing situation or, even better for her, a missed meet altogether. Good thing my sense of smell is so good. I caught the off-odor immediately and switched it out for the good stuff.

Not so good to have such a wonderful sense of smell in this town, however. Whew! Prince George still stinks! Wrinkling my nose in distaste I chuck the remainder of the soggy sawdust into the offensive puddle and stand to go. Absently swiping at the back of my shorts as I walk away, I climb into my fully packed and loaded, hand-me-down Honda, vowing that I will be back.

I will find a way through. I will find my merman. My Pete.

LEE!

Getting out of my car, I barely register the off-the-charts-high-pitched squeal before a 110-pound brunette missile practically knocks me off my feet. Hugging my best friend back, and regaining my balance in the process, a wide grin spreads across my face. No Pete, but at least there’s still Kari Ann.

Having met at this very training camp last year, we automatically bonded. While I still have no idea what she sees in me, her feisty determination and take-charge attitude gave me the boost I needed to come out of my shell. Okay, that and a supremely hot merman telling me he loved me and kissing me senseless. I push the thought away before it threatens to pull me back into the deep end of the emotional wallowing pool.

Kari Ann and I kept in touch throughout the school year, via phone, text, emails and Skype. And thank God for that. Her bratty big sister provides her ample experience to advise me on how to handle Belinda’s attempts at humiliation. Invaluable info I used to frequently.

I so heart my BFF.

Kar! You’re here! I exclaim, pulling my bestie back in for another squeeze. Technology is great for spanning a three-thousand-mile gap in geographical locations, but nothing beats hugging my vibrant, ball-of-energy BFF.

Extracting herself, her crystal blue eyes sparkle up at me. Yep! Ted and I arrived yesterday. I knew her forever boyfriend had managed to arrange to take some summer courses at the university this year. Last year’s long distance thing had been torture for the both of them.

"I still can’t believe your parents are knowingly letting you both stay on campus. Un-chaperoned. I’m still trying to figure out how you bamboozled them."

Well you’re staying here too, Kar admonishes. My mother still refers to you as that nice responsible girl I met at camp. I think you’re supposed to be the good influence on her wild-child or something. She wickedly grins up at me.

Pshaw! Little does she know, right? You gave me a first-class ticket to the dark side ages ago. I laugh at my own joke. If anything, Kari Ann’s bright outlook on life barely casts a shadow. Anyway, my parents only let me stay in a dorm, sans boyfriend, with an iron-clad guarantee from the university that strict supervision from a college-age resident advisor will be provided.

Kari Ann guffaws, rolling her eyes.

Seriously. They made me sign a printed agreement and everything. I lament, hauling out the first of my bags from the less-than-precisely packed pile. Despite the fact that I’ll be seventeen by summer’s end, and enrolled in a college similar to this one (if not this one) by next year, my parents made sure I knew I wasn’t fully free to do whatever this summer. Just mostly.

Hey, let me help, Kar offers, extracting more stuff from my loaded vehicle.

Once our arms are full of comforters and suitcases, Kari Ann leads the way up some winding stairs and halfway down a commercially carpeted hall.

Pausing at a wholly unremarkable door she sing-songs, Here we are! Dumping her burdens on the ground in a heap (thank goodness I held the laptop), she gestures to the door next to mine. They seem alarmingly close together. That one’s mine, and Ted’s is upstairs, with a wink.

I knew where she’d be spending most of her time this summer.

Sigh.

Even being in the same town, finally, I knew I wouldn’t see much of my friend.

It’ll be okay, though. If I can find my way back to Goroannocee, I won’t be in my room much either.

The cafeteria is in another building. I can show you later. Ted and I tried it last night, and I can see many pizzas in our future. The showers and bathrooms are down the hall. No soap. Oh, and I met our Resident Assistant! His name’s Eric. Super cute and totally laid back, I don’t think he’ll be too…ah, strict, shall we say? On curfews at least. She winks a twinkling blue eye at me again.

Blushing, I know her not-so-subtle hint is meant for me. She knows my boyfriend is here, just not the details on how I may or may not be able to actually get to him.

Hiding my hot face, I turn to my door, fishing my set of keys out of my pocket, clumsily fiddling with them until I can find the right one. The lock grates open and the door swings wide, providing me my first view of my new home for the next ten weeks.

It looks like a jail cell. The furnished dorm room includes a bed, a desk and a closet. Not even any sheets. The long and narrow bed is more like a cot than any bed I’ve ever seen. I’m not sure my six-foot frame will fit. Across the two-foot aisle is a floor-to-ceiling closet and a cubby-like desk. Two narrow windows, with an eight-inch shelf running between, flank a large block of wall opposite the door, like someone reversed what should have been a large airy window and two sidebars. Anyone with claustrophobia would never survive this room. I take an experimental swipe at the door frame with two fingers and they come up dust-free.

At least it’s clean, Kari Ann remarks, reading my mind with her usual upbeat optimism.

And yet, somehow, I’m supremely relieved to be the one with the key to the door, I retort, stumbling in and discarding my burdens on the cot-bed. Carefully taking out my laptop, I place it on the desk. The fifteen-inch silver rectangle practically fills the surface. Where would a printer go? On the window ledge?

Kari Ann’s pixie laugh fills the room. Considering your wardrobe, I’m sure you can find room in the closet, if you so desperately felt the need to waste paper and brought a printer.

Ha. Ha. Just for that you get to help me haul up the refrigi-cube.

My academically experienced parents had thought to provide me with a small refrigerator. After hauling it up the stairs, accompanied by a few creative phrases and expressions, we barely manage to squish it into the space under the desk.

So much for legroom. Good thing I’m not here to study.

No kidding, right? Kari Ann leaps up to give me another quick hug, Well, all your stuff’s up, so I’ll see you at the pool tonight! And with a quick wave she vanishes out the door. Big surprise, her destination isn’t the room next door.

My lips quirk in a wry grin as I sigh, turning back to my cramped space to make my bed and put the rest of my meager supplies away. If I can’t make it through the portal and find Pete, this could be a very…long…summer.

Driving to the community center pool that evening feels weird. I should be riding my bike and negotiating with the lock to open, not jockeying for a parking spot and playing chicken with a disheveled looking mom in a mini van (crazy eyes, I let her take the space). My parents reveled in my vehicular freedom, buying my mother a new ride so I could bang up the old one with relative freedom, their chauffeur duties at an end. I’m still getting used to it.

Finally parking, I toss my keys into my swim-bag, swinging it up onto my shoulders before striding purposefully across the street and through the familiar entrance to my indoor haven. As the doors swing closed behind me, I greedily inhale the scent of unusually fresh and chemical-free pool water that permeates the building, masking the noxious fumes of the city without. The tension built by driving hundreds of miles solo is already easing its way out of me. There’s no place like home.

Changing in the decades-old cement and metal locker room, I feel confident—not a usual sensation for me. Back home, the facility I train at is relatively new, sleek, and overcrowded. I won’t miss Belinda and her gaggle of followers looking for new and unusual ways to torment me. Here, I’m at the head of the line. I can be myself, and luxuriate in the purity of the water on my own terms.

Last year’s Queen B Crystal, won’t be here, either. After her total humiliation of being ditched in a California mall by some guy she met online (or so everyone thinks happened), I heard she opted to head straight to college, unwilling to show her face in her home town. Good riddance.

I will miss the designated studlies from Minnesota, Levi and Bryan. With a firm grip on scholarships to a southern California university, they elected to get some fun in the sun before school starts.

Then there’s Daniel, distance swimmer and Kari Ann’s fellow long-distance relationship mourner. Still with his girlfriend (I know, amazing!), he, like Kari Ann, chose not to do without her this year. Unfortunately, in his case, this means staying home.

All of this intel has been provided by Kari Ann, of course. I am not the social networking goddess in this friendship.

Suit in place, I flip my extra-long, dirty-blonde hair over my shoulder before grabbing my (unnecessary) goggles. The locker door swings shut behind me with a bang as I step onto the cracked cement pool deck, taking in the familiar scene.

A bored lifeguard mechanically unrolls the ancient lane lines. Local ladies in garishly-colored swim caps wade their way out of the shallows after aqua aerobics (thankfully taught by an older local lady this time). The water is clear with hardly any chemical help, empty and waiting.

After helping secure the floating dividers, much to the staff guy’s surprise, I slip into the water.

Sweet lusciousness flows over my head, second only to the pure water of Goroannocee itself. Ah, I missed this. I float my feet up to the wall, gripping its textured surface with my toes before pushing off, my arms knifing clean through the smooth water as I allow my mind to drift.

What if the portal is closed forever? What if I’m unable to find Pete again? The thought, the one I wouldn’t let myself have over months of schoolwork, swim meets and tauntings, brings with it a severe a flash of pain. I make my flip turn, forcing my already cramping stomach muscles to bunch in a more productive way.

No. It can’t be true. It’s impossible. There must be a way…

Lee-ee!

Kari Ann’s voice breaks through my spiraling thoughts. Good thing. I was getting nowhere fast with them, anyway. Pausing at the end of my lane I muster a smile for my friend.

Unfailingly perky, yet sharply observant, she remarks, Haven’t connected with your guy yet, huh? Don’t worry. He has to be around here somewhere. There’s no way a guy who gave you a gift like your anklet would ever just up and disappear without ever talking to you again.

At her reminder, I feel the weight of Pete’s gift around my ankle. Uncut stones and beads interspersed with loops of pearls, it’s the most beautiful gift I’ve ever received—and the most important. Despite knowing Pete’s world uses them to brand humans as slaves, it was given out of love, and with the desire to keep me safe. I’ve never taken it off (in no small part because I don’t know how). It’s such a part of me now I never notice its weight anymore…unless reminded.

Yeah, I guess. It’s pointless to tell her about the logistical issues I’m having. She’s never understood how the guy couldn’t even call me these past nine months, and I can’t exactly explain, so she concocted some theory about him living in a remote area without cell towers. Technically true. I wonder if anyone else trying out for the team will be here tonight?

Her expression says my evasive maneuver doesn’t fool her in the slightest, but she indulges me anyway. I think so! There were a couple of people checking in at the front desk as I came in. Look about our age, but it’s hard to tell from someone’s backside. She cocks her head and smiles mischievously. Then again, one guy’s backside was entertaining to look at.

Kari Ann! I laugh, shocked yet amused by her blatant admission to ogling some strange guy’s butt.

Hey, Ted may be my soul mate, but my eyes still work just fine, she quips, her grin reflecting her total lack of remorse.

We were both still laughing as the aforementioned butt emerges from the locker room. Barely taller than me at around six one or two, he has Eurasian features, dark hair, and skin which probably tans easily. His tight, knee length trunks leave little to the imagination and confirm Kari Ann’s observation as he turns to survey the area. His brown eyes flicker around the room, initial expression of distaste smoothing over as he spots us watching him.

Strolling over with what could be either confidence or arrogance, he flashes a set of perfect white teeth, a smile capable of charming any girl who has not already given away her heart. Fortunately, both Kari Ann and I are immune to it.

"Hey there,