Deep Betrayal

2
EXILED
    T he memory of the mermaid dissolved as I woke up and my eyes adjusted to the light, making out the white wicker bed and the floral wallpaper. A matching duvet lay in a twisted jumble on the floor. A silver-filigreed clock read 8:32 p.m. None of this stuff was mine.
    Well, that wasn’t entirely true. The paper chain I’d made hung from the corner of the bedpost. Somehow, in my fitful sleep, I’d managed to get tangled in its length. I unwrapped the chain from around my neck and dropped its loose end to the floor. As of this morning, it had thirtylinks: one marking every day since my exile from Lake Superior and my parentally enforced separation from Calder White.
    Thirty links, thirty days since I’d heard from him. No calls. No texts. Where the heck is he?
    Counting had become something of an obsession with me lately. As in, fifty-two days since Dad had dragged me away from Minneapolis, from my school, from all my friends, to go live in a falling-down house on the shores of Lake Superior. Fifty days since I’d been rescued by what I naively believed to be a freshwater dolphin. Thirty-three days since my pathetic attempt at martyrdom had resulted in Tallulah’s death and revealed a family secret that I still could not fathom (and that sent me into a cold sweat every time I tried). And now thirty days, two hours, and seventeen minutes of exile.
    I flopped back on the bed and threw a pillow over my face, muttering into it. Damn you, Calder White .
    I’d make him eat this paper chain next time I saw him. When he’d swum away, he’d promised to come back for me. Wherever I was. So what was taking so long? How hard could it be to pick up a phone? Had he found a new girlfriend? Was he dead? In my darkest moments I thought, He better be dead . That would be the only acceptable explanation for his silence. But I didn’t really mean it, and I quickly traced the sign of the cross over my chest.
    The bedroom door knob rattled, and my best friend, Jules Badzin, swished in with a twirl, wearing a royal-blue graduation cap over her flat-ironed black hair. She carried another cap in her teeth and two gowns on hangers.
    I really should have been excited. The only good thing about being forced away from Lake Superior was getting to graduate with my class. Jules’s parents had been generous enough to let me crash at their house, but I had to fake every ounce of enthusiasm. And faking it was exhausting.
    “Oh!” Jules said. “Were you going to bed already? It’s not even nine yet.”
    “No, I’m good. I’m up.” I picked off the strands of hair that were stuck to my sweaty face.
    Jules hung my cap and gown from the top of the closet door. We’d been friends since kindergarten. I could tell her anything. Well, almost anything.
    She flipped her hair to one side and wriggled out of her jeans. “I’ve got to start buying pants a size bigger. I swear these are giving me a rash.”
    “Thanks for sharing,” I said. My phone vibrated on the bedside table. It was a text from an unknown number. It was the seventh time that day. The first time it happened, I thought, This is it! Calder probably got a new phone, right? That would make sense. Now that he had his freedom, he wouldn’t want his sister Maris to know how to reach him. But when I clicked on it, there was no message—only a link to a website, just some hacker sending me a virus. Now it was just plain annoying.
    “Figure-flattering,” Jules said, trying on her graduation gown. “We’re going to look like saggy blueberries. Remember that Willy Wonka girl after she goes through the juicer? I wonder what they’d look like belted?”
    “Stupid,” I said, sliding my phone open and closed, open and closed.
    “Geez, Lily, what’s got your undies in a bunch?” She laughed. Everyone was always laughing these days. Or maybe they always had been. Had I ever laughed so easily? Nothing seemed funny anymore. I gathered my strength and forced a smile.
    Jules rolled her eyes and muttered, “Nice try,” while she scrounged through my closet.
    “Sorry. Just tired,” I said. “Are you looking for something in particular?”
    Jules bypassed a paisley blouse, a chenille poncho, and a 1970s denim jumpsuit (my latest thrift-store purchase). She tossed a belt and a tuxedo cummerbund onto the bed and wrapped a skinny necktie around her waist.
    “You’ve been grumpy for weeks, Lil, and you always say it’s nothing. It’s something, all right. It’s that guy