The Misdirection of Fault Lines by Anna Gracia

Author:Anna Gracia [Gracia, Anna]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Holiday House
Published: 2024-04-02T00:00:00+00:00

23

ALICE

THE SIX OF US ARE SPRAWLED ACROSS THE SAND LIKE STARFISH, OUR faces pointed skyward. We’ll all be tossed out of Bastille if Mr. Duncan or any of the staff happen to catch us here, but I find I can’t muster the energy to be anxious about it right now. I’ve essentially been kicked out already, after all.

I have always wanted to see snow in person, and brushing my arms and legs across the sand to make an angel pattern is probably the closest I will ever get. My body sinks farther into the ground with each stroke and I imagine the tiny grains of sand working their way into the crevices of my body—clinging to the roots of my hair and hiding away in my pockets. I burrow my feet deeper into it, searching for the warmth that lurks beneath the cool surface.

Maybe the beach isn’t a stationary location, but a moving, feeling thing that’s alive, much like the ocean. Maybe it’s not so much the ocean that rises and falls, pushing and pulling the sand with its tide, but the beach itself controlling the ocean with its subtle influence. The beautiful ocean, with its glittery brilliance during the day and cool, stormy depths after sunset. The beautiful ocean, that everyone flocks to and admires, its natural radiance reflecting off their bodies like gold just from sheer proximity. No one admires the beach except the ocean, and maybe that’s where it draws its power.

Am I the beach? Could I be Violetta’s beach?

My thoughts are interrupted as a face appears above mine, a light shining straight onto me. I throw my arms over my eyes to protect them and I feel the person direct the light away from me.

I reopen my eyes to Noah asking me, “You feeling all right?”

“I was making snow angels.”

He raises his eyebrows, as if my answer is somehow strange. “We’ve all been calling you but you weren’t answering.”

I prop myself up on my elbows to confirm that the others are all indeed standing around, waiting for me. But for what?

Noah speaks to the others as if I’m not here, each person their own small dot of light in the dark. “Yeah, she’ll want ice cream.”

I don’t know what’s happening, but ice cream suddenly sounds delicious. I find myself wondering where we’ll find ice cream on the beach and whether there will be cones, my mouth already anticipating the tactile crunch of each type. Sugar, snappy. Cake, crispy. Waffle, always soggier than expected.

I hear the sound of my own voice, full of wonder, before my brain registers that I’m the one who’s asked. “How did you know I love ice cream?”

Noah grins, his brown eyes squinting at me in the fuzzy light. “Because you’re high as fuck.”

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