Swimming Sideways (Cantos Chronicles Book 1) Read online

  The crowd dissipates without the spectacle to keep it frenzied. "Nate,” I say moving to the car. I bump into Seth shaken by what I have just witnessed. “Matt. Let’s go.”

  “That was lame.” Matt's gait matches mine.

  “Be quiet,” I snap at him angry at his callousness. Then again, why would I expect more from Matt? This is the one way in which the twins aren’t identical.

  “Wonder who Gandhi was,” he says ignoring me.

  “Who? Daniels?” Seth asks. He's walking just behind us.

  “The Freak,” Matt chuckles.

  I want to hit him.

  “Why was the crowd chanting that? He was called that in class,” I say.

  "The Freak Challenge started our freshman year," Seth says. "It's really stupid, but someone challenges Daniels constantly to see if they can get him to fight back. I don’t understand why they give him a hard time,” he pauses. “Maybe it’s because of his past or something.”

  “What do you mean?” Nate asks.

  “Cantos is a very small town, so someone sneezes, everyone else knows about it, or at least it seems like that. He moved here in the fifth grade and was adopted. During our freshman year, someone decided that it would be a good idea to dog him because of a rumor about his real parents.” Seth pauses a moment and then adds, “So the toughest kid in the school challenged him. Gabe got slain. Never threw a punch.”

  “That’s tragic,” I say fumbling with my car keys, my hands trembling. I’m thinking about small town mentality. What would happen if my secret ever came to light? I’m afraid to think about it.

  “Yeah.” He says this like he’s left his body and then returns to say, “That one day started the Freak Challenge. All the tough guys and punks wanting to get in their fun made a game of it; they wanted to be the first one to get him to throw a punch. But he never has.”

  I open the car door and turn around to look at Seth. “You’d think they would get tired of it, you know? If he never fights back, why keep at it?”

  “People are stupid,” he says.

  I take Seth’s phone from his hand and thumb in my information into the contacts. “I’m sure you’re not, Seth Peters.” After handing it back and getting into the car, Seth closes the door and I unroll the window. “I’m glad we’ve reconnected,” I say. “Call me okay?”

  6

  GABE

  "Abby?" My mom pushes the door open and peaks inside.

  “I’m here,” I say and regret the disinterest of my tone. It isn’t what I want, but for some reason she and my father take the brunt of my discontent. It’s like an involuntary reaction when it comes to them as if all of the bitterness and anger I’ve stored up oozes out from my lockbox and eats acid into the relationship I have with them. I glance at her and then back down at the math in front of me.

  She either ignores it or doesn’t notice. “Just checking in. How was school?” she asks.

  I know she’s hopeful. Cantos High, after all, is her alma mater and she’s got a lot riding on this move. This was her idea. The last-ditch effort of holding our family together. The irony is that while I’m angry we left Hawaii, the decision to leave is the only thing that afforded me a second chance. “Fine,” I answer her and think that I’m not sure Dad has been enthusiastic about this move either, as distant and invisible as always. Maybe ultimatums are an ineffective means of motivation.

  “Working on your homework?"

  It’s an obvious question with an obvious answer. I look at her again. She’s standing just inside the door, the debris of my clothing littering the floor around her. Normally, she’d be all over me for the mess, but hasn’t said a word. Instead, she looks insecure, her hands trying to find a place to rest. She settles on her pockets. I say, “Well… It won’t do itself." As much as I want to be the good daughter, and have spent so much time being Good Abby at school, Bad Abby seems to have decided that home is her only outlet. Finding the place with common ground for everyone doesn’t seem to exist. I just feel such anger. Anger at Poppa for dying; anger at my dad for being gone; anger at myself for being gullible and stupid; anger at my mom for moving us; anger at people who are mean. There’s so much Pele’s fire in my body I think I might melt into a pool of lava, drift and then cool into stone.

  The look on her face no longer soft and vulnerable, but instead stern with edges that hint that she’s hurt, she says, "I forgot the light bulbs at the store today and I can’t get a hold of your dad. I need you to go get some for me at the hardware store."

  “Okay,” I say closing my math book. Secretly, I’m glad for any reason to avoid math. Driving Brutus is a great distraction.

  “And pick up your brother from practice,” she calls after me.

  D&M Hardware is a two-story brick structure on Main Street. My dad had been at least once a day since we’d moved and was able to drag me with him once by asking me to drive Brutus. I find the light bulb isle easily enough, but instead of grabbing one and going to get Matt which means going home, I stand there prolonging the inevitable. I rerun my mom’s appearance through my mind over again while I stare unseeing at the various light bulbs. Insecure and unsure? My mother has always been the reassurance of gravity in our family. She is the earth, calm, cool, and committed to consistency. Insecurity isn’t how I would describe her. What was with that, I wonder.

  I pull a pack from the shelf but don’t read it.

  It isn’t as if mom and I had a major battle, but the tension all of us are carting around comes out in skirmishes. I’m upset with myself for being cold, but being at home is a picture with a broken frame. The picture is there, but damaged somehow. Originally, the move had been sold as an opportunity to spend more time as a family. So far, it hadn’t panned out that way.

  Before the move, Dad was working day and night. We never saw him. Granted, driving to and from town to Waianae zapped at least three hours minimum from his day, but it was more than that. When he was with us, he was physically there, but mentally checked out. The more he worked, the worse it became. I heard my parents fighting in the darkness of night when they thought we were sleeping. I heard mom’s accusations about someone else, dad’s anger at her for the words that she threw at him. The thing was, I wasn’t convinced she was wrong. “Your Daddy is lost,” Poppa had said one day before shortly before he’d died. “He needs to reorient his pikos.”

  “Can I help you?”

  The words crash into my wandering thoughts pulling me back to the present and my task.

  “I'm looking for,” I glance up, “a light-” the words drop off my tongue into a chasm. Gabe. I clear my throat and my face reddens. “I'm not sure which one to choose." I lie easily because one, I don't care what kind of light bulb I get, and two, I’m sure I look really stupid. I take the opportunity to study his face before looking away the bridge of his nose marred and the inside corners of his eyes still discolored. He hadn’t been to school since the fight.

  “I guess it depends.”

  “I haven’t seen you in art,” I say changing the subject.

  What are you doing? Good Abby asks. Stop!

  He doesn't smile, but his eyes soften at the edges. He nods. "Yeah. Kind of ran into a fist."

  “Yeah. I saw that.”

  He looks away and grabs a pack of bulbs.

  “I’m sorry,” I say hoping he doesn’t think I was there chanting.

  “You didn’t throw the punch.”

  “Yeah. I just, you know. The crowd.”

  He didn’t respond, dismissing it. I think maybe I’ve made him uncomfortable.

  “I didn’t know you worked here?” I change the subject and cringe. So lame!

  “My parents, Dale and Martha, own it.”

  “Oh. That’s cool.”

  Silence follows, awkward and all-consuming. I've heard at least three different stories about why he's called Freak, and none of them match. One went so far to say he is a mass murderer who gunned a bunch of classmates and teachers at his former school. I believe
none of them. I’ve been on the other side of rumors.

  “What sort of fixture do you need the light bulb for?” He asks.

  I shrug. “I don’t know. Lamps, I guess. Something universal. My mom’s all environmental and stuff.”

  “May I?" He asks and steps closer. He leans in to look at the boxes I'm holding.

  I try not to think about how close we are. I think instead about the light bulbs and how I’m supposed to buy some, but I catch the cleanliness of his scent and think about home. Homesickness wraps around me even if I don’t want it to, an adornment of longing, and I shiver. I hope he doesn’t notice.

  “This one is good. Does your mom prefer a certain brand?" He steps away.

  “I don’t think so. Maybe I should call her." I don’t want the semi-conversation to end.

  “Abby? Hey Gabe!” A voice makes me jump.

  I turn to see my father walking up the aisle, and relax realizing it isn't someone from school. "Hi Dad. You know Gabe?"

  "Spend enough time in here since the move; I should buy stock." He holds out his hand to Gabe.

  "Hello, Mr. K." Gabe takes my father’s outstretched hand.

  “Damn. What the hell happened? You run into a wall?”

  I wish the floor would open up and swallow me.

  Gabe chuckles. “Good one."

  He doesn’t have to answer because my father has already turned to me. “I told your mom I would get the bulbs this morning.”

  “She must have forgot.”

  “Well,” Gabe backs away. “You’ve got this covered.”

  “Thanks for the help,” Dad says which I parrot.

  I notice my father staring at the spot where Gabe has disappeared around the corner before looking back at me. “You know Gabe from school, huh?" He packs away the containers of light bulbs under his arm.

  I grunt in affirmation.

  “Hmm. I have to go next door to the automotive store for a part for your car. Want to wait with me?”

  “I've got to get Matt,” I say not sure what to say to him. I love my dad, but our relationship has been a lot like walking on hot coals lately. It seems like he’s eager to try hard, but then slips away from my grasp disappearing into his own ocean, or worse is when he overcompensates by being dictatorial and argumentative. These qualities are confusing because they aren’t like him. My dad is fun and funny, or was. He used to surf with me and Poppa, but stopped. I miss my dad.

  As I push through the glass door at the front of the store, I glance back toward the register. I don’t see Gabe. It’s someone else, but what surprises me is the disappointment that I feel when that is the case. I push it down and ignore it while Good Abby panics: This is bad. Very bad.

  7

  OUT TO SEA

  Establishing a routine is relatively easy, I've discovered. School, home, homework, back to school. The only thing that breaks it up is my fledgling friendship with Hannah, my reconnecting friendship with Seth, and a weird rendezvous in the light bulb isle at D&M Hardware. Each morning, when I get to school, Hannah waits at my locker. This is step one of the routine. Maybe it means that I’m desperate, but I’m glad, and that feeling isn’t a testament to what I think about Hannah who seems to be an angel. Bad Abby waits because according to Bad Abby: how could anyone be that nice?

  Next step in our morning, after I get things from my locker for my first class, we go into the student quad. It’s a large room, centrally located and packed with students. Clearly our routine isn’t unique. The large room with high ceilings, shiny, concrete floors, giant windows and skylights, the side walls framed with a variety of vending machines, and outfitted with tables and benches, make it an ideal place for the social scene.

  We sit at one of the tables near the gym entrance; the view affords us the ability to take in most of the scene including the thoroughfare of students moving to their classes. Sometimes we sit with some of Hannah’s other friends, but most times we’re on our own. Hannah’s friends are a smart crew and use the pre-school hours to study or check in with teachers. Good Abby thinks, Hannah and her friends are the perfect insulation. Well-liked, smart, and on the fringes of being popular. Bad Abby wonders if we’ll be found out and ousted? She figures: Things that are too good to be true usually are. Bad Abby is just preparing her heart for when the rug gets pulled out from under her. When. Not if.

  We’d been talking about something that had happened in history the day before when Hannah says, “I heard something else that might be interesting to you since your name was a part of it.”

  Oh shit, I think. “Really? That’s weird. I didn’t think anyone knew who I was.”

  She laughs. “That’s hilarious. A new student from Hawaii starts mid-year who looks like a goddess and she doesn’t think anyone will notice her.”

  I blush. “Stop,” I say though secretly it feels amazing to hear a compliment after the year I’ve had. “Okay. I’ll bite. What did you hear?”

  “Your name in the same sentence as Seth Peters,” She pauses a moment and then rushes headlong into the next comment, “I mean, Abby, Seth is only like the most popular boy in the junior class, or maybe at this school aside from a couple of seniors.”

  “Why? Cause he’s an F-Boy?”

  She laughs. “Well, there’s that, but he’s just really well liked. Athletic, good student, good looking, generally nice.” Someone who uses her hands to speak, Hannah holds up her index finger and raises her eyebrows for emphasis. “People just like him." Both of her hands go out to her sides, as though offering praise.

  “So what was the nugget? Let me guess: Seth is playing ‘the new girl,’ so she better watch her heart?" I use air quotes for emphasis like Hannah often does.

  Hannah’s smile fades and she looks at me a bit closer. Note to self: Hannah is more perceptive than I’ve given her credit for. “No, actually. The conversation was about how you two had been seen together a lot lately … in the hallway, after school.”

  “Well, I guess that would be accurate.”

  “Really?”

  “True story,” I start, “Seth and I used to hang out every summer when we were kids. My grandma was his next-door neighbor until she moved to Arizona, and we stopped coming to Oregon to visit.” Good Abby panics that there is gossip at all.

  “Wow. That’s awesome.” Hannah says and then adds, “A lot of girls like him.”

  The way she says it raises a red flag. “Do you like him, Hannah? I mean, just tell me. I wouldn’t want to do anything to hurt this friendship,” I say.

  Her eyes bloom and her cheeks brighten. She opens her mouth to say something, closes it and then laughs, covering her mouth with her hand when she does it. “No! God no! I like someone else.” She shakes her head and then composes herself, “Seth wouldn’t look at me twice, anyway. But you should know that Sara really likes Seth. And, if the rumor mill is true, they fooled around at the end of summer." She stops and glances around before leaning and adding, “I just want you to be careful. Sara can be, well, mean.”

  Shark girl.

  “Rumors,” I say but don’t add that I understand the byproduct of rumors better than anyone. “If it makes you feel better, Seth and I are just friends. Getting to know each other again after so many years. And you,” I say, “don’t give yourself enough credit.”

  Hannah smiles, her cheeks flaring a becoming shade of pink and she changes the subject. “Just be careful of Sara, okay. I don’t think she’ll care if your friends or not, you know?”

  It was my turn to nod and swallow the nervousness. While I’d been thinking about reconnecting with Seth like old friends, the rumors were burgeoning into something beyond that. But what if I was misreading things? I realize that I need to be very careful, a lot more careful. If I’m showing up on radars already, I need to be well insulated. Maybe this current school of friends isn't enough. I might need an ocean full or some very powerful allies in this sea. And I would have to play very nice - no enemies. No enemies means no one would care, right?r />
  I glance around as Hannah talks to someone asking about homework for a class they share. I see Gabe move through the quad, white wires from the ear buds in his ears, head lowered as he makes his way from one hallway to another. The black sweatshirt he wears stretches over his torso. Someone throws a wadded-up piece of paper at him which misses the target by a mile, and another person says something rude about his mother. My cheeks heat thinking about myself not too long ago walking in his shoes.

  “Hannah?" I ask when she finishes her other conversation. “What’s with him?" I nod at Gabe who's almost across the room to the hallway where he’ll disappear. "The one everyone calls Freak."

  “Who?" She follows my gaze. “Oh. Gabe." Her voice loses that characteristic amicable intonation and slides toward melancholy.

  “That bad?”

  “Not bad. Just sad,” she says. “He actually fought?”

  "No. I've never seen him fight." He disappears into the hallway and I look away. "I just wondered why."

  “What I do know: He’s been in Cantos since fifth grade when he was sent to live with the Daniels as their foster kid. He’s kind of shy, I guess, always quiet, but nice. He and Seth were best friends in elementary school and middle school. The Daniels’ adopted him but then in the 9th grade the Freak Challenge started and he changed.”

  “Wait. He and Seth were best friends?”

  Hannah nodded. “Like inseparable." She gathers her things for first period. “There's a bunch of rumors about his life before. I heard once that he killed a bunch of people, but I don’t I believe it. Wouldn't you get locked up in juvy or something like that?”