A Necessary Secret

I was supposed to ride the bus, but I didn’t.

I guess Mom was going to kill me, but right now I could care less. I just ­had to know where that Cora girl went every day after school. She always walked towards the forest, slapping away branches to make a path, and then she would disappear behind the tall pine trees.

Nobody lived in the forest. It was way too dense to walk through, much less build a house. When I was little, people used to tell the story of Opal McMillians, an old witch that lived in a treehouse deep in the forest. If you came too close, she would send green vines after you, and then once you were trapped, she would eat you. After I got older, I realized it was just a story to keep kids from touching all the poison ivy, but part of me still believed there was something in there.

Cora had moved to the school in the middle of the year. Nobody knew where she was from because she never talked. Never. Not even to teachers. Cora was as silent as the trees in the forest.

Her hair was so blond, it was almost white. Her eyes were the bluest I had ever seen. She was as skinny as a pencil, and her hands were ice-cold. I knew because once in the lunch-line, her hand had brushed against mine. I cringed, trying not to pull away.

I had watched Cora disappear into the forest since she first came here. I had always wanted to follow her, but had been too scared.

Not of Opal McMillians, of course. Obviously.

But now I couldn’t sleep not knowing where Cora was going every day. I stood at the border of the forest and before I could even tell myself, July Baily, what in tarnation are you doing? I was in, remaking the trail Cora had made not ten minutes before.

Branches clawed at my face and hands. I winced as a twig scratched me above my eyebrow. I tripped over a million roots, and stepped over miles of poison ivy, my eyes fixed on the ground, following the soft footprints of Cora.

I trudged through the bushes for about five minutes before I came to a small clearing. The poison ivy covered the trunks of the trees, reaching up from the ground. I itched just looking at it.

But one tree to the left of me had no ivy. Walking closer, I realized there were steps leading up the rough bark.

Oh my gosh.

I looked up. High in the trees was a small wooden treehouse. A trapdoor was open in the floor.

Oh my gosh.

I froze in fear! Suddenly a head poked through the trapdoor, crazy white hair surrounding it like a halo.

Oh my gosh.

It smiled.

Opal McMillians! I was dead! I screamed and ran towards the center of the clearing, but realized I had no idea which way I had come from! I scrambled in one direction before –

“Wait! Don’t go! Here, I’m coming down!” Opal McMillians yelled from the treehouse. I knew I was a goner – she was coming down to eat me!

Bracing myself for my inevitable demise, Opal McMillian climbed out. She wore a white dress and… pink Vans? Okay, so she had some kind of fashion sense considering she was a witch…

She neared the bottom and turned around. I almost fainted until I realized that Cora was standing in front of me, smiling.

“Oh, hi. Sorry for scaring you.”

“You… you’re not Opal McMillians?” I stammered.

Cora laughed. “What? Who’s that?”

I suddenly felt incredibly stupid. “Oh, nothing,” I said quietly.

Cora scratched her arm. “You’re July, right? I was hoping you’d follow me,” she said. “I’ve noticed you watching me come here for a while now. Well, here it is! Welcome to my treehouse,” she giggled.

“You just found this?” I asked.

Cora nodded. As she climbed up the steps to the treehouse, I guessed she expected me to follow. When we got to the top, I looked around.

The treehouse was small. A table and chair sat in the corner, covered in papers and books. Cora’s backpack lay on the floor. It looked pretty empty, but what amazed me were the keys handing from the ceiling. There were all kinds, big and small. It felt almost fairytale-ish, with the light coming in through the windows. “What’s with all the keys?” I asked, wishing I could swallow back my question.

Cora didn’t seem to notice. “Oh, I collect them,” she answered.

“Why haven’t you told anyone about this?” I asked. “Why don’t you talk at all?”

Cora blushed. “I’m shy. Moving schools was hard. I guess I should talk more. It would be good for me. I just have trouble. Plus, no one ever talks to me,” she said. I felt a pang of regret. What a jerk I was! I never talked to her! “Also, my Mom would keep me from coming here if she knew I went through the forest. She thinks I go to the library every day.” Cora looked at me from the corner of her eye. “It’s a necessary secret,” she said mysteriously.

I laughed. “Well, maybe it can be our necessary secret,” I said.

Cora grinned. We sat in the treehouse together, talking and joking around. Cora was fun, not weird like I had previously thought. She actually made pretty cool kind of friend.

From then on, almost every day after school, Cora and I went to the treehouse. We even hung out sometimes at each other’s houses. Cora started to talk more at school, gaining her new friends, but she still stuck with me. She was different and unique. I liked her a lot.

She was no Opal McMillians, that’s for sure.

A Second Chance

fanpop.com

Galveston is nothing compared to Hawaii.

Hawaii had beautiful blue water and powdery sand. Hawaii had clear, sunny days, just right for seashell hunting along the tide poles. Hawaii had sunbathers and sand castles. Hawaii was perfect. Hawaii was where I wanted to stay.

And now, standing at the edge of the beach in Galveston, Texas, I knew that Hawaii was gone.

Galveston had gray, murky water, the color of dryer lint. I wondered how fish could possibly see in all that sludge, or more importantly, how I could see. I dropped my scuba mask, making a hard clunk on the ground beside me.

I shielded my eyes from the glaring sun, scowling at the pathetic waves rolling in and out over the brown sand. I thought back to how Hawaii had fine white sand as far as the eye could see, sand that was like snow; your foot sank deep into it. Galveston sand was brown, almost green-looking. It was as hard as concrete, and my heels hurt slightly as I walked farther, closer to the middle.

There had to at least be good shells here. I scanned the ground, looking for a spiral shell, perhaps an angel’s wing. But, after a moment of searching, I realized that all the shells were broken, thin as paper.

I felt tears come to my eyes. Hawaii was the only place I felt comfortable, and that’s saying a lot since I had been to practically every place in the world. My father is a marine biologist, so we had to constantly move along practically every coastline. I’d been to Japan, Florida, Maine, England, and a million other random places, including Hawaii. Out of every place, Hawaii had been my favorite. To me, Hawaii was home.

I turned from the beach and up the wooden bridge to our small beach house. I was angry now, fiery as a pepper. I ran up the steps and to the porch, where my sister Indie was sitting on the rocking chair, staring intently at the “ocean.”

“No Hawaii, isn’t it?” she asked calmly, not taking a break from her rhythmic rocking.

I squeezed my fists. “I hate it here. I hate everything.” I didn’t say any more, worried I’d cry right then and there.

“Owen, you know how it is, Daddy’s job and all…” Indie started.

“I know. ‘It’s only temporary,’ they say. Well, I’m sick of temporary. I’m sick of moving. I just want to stay in one place. I want friends, and school, and a normal life. I wish Dad had a normal job. I hate it here,” I said, my anger boiling over. “I wish we were back in Hawaii. I wish we didn’t move. I hate Galveston. I mean, what’s the point! Why would Daddy let us love something and then take it away in less than a week? Why? I hate him!”

Indie stopped rocking. She was quiet for a few minutes, which was probably a good thing because I would’ve screamed if she had said anymore. I stared at the beach, hoping that the ugly water and sand could see me right now and would see the burning hatred in my eyes.

“Owen,” Indie said quietly, breaking the silence. “Did you know that when we first moved to Hawaii, you hated it, too?”

I turned my head away from the ocean and towards her. “What? I love Hawaii.” I didn’t remember ever not liking it. I almost felt mad at her for thinking that.

“When we first moved there, almost two years ago, you hated it. You hated the beach, and every time we would go down there, you would stare at the water and scream, afraid the sharks were going to get you. You would stay in your room all day. Mom and Dad almost considered moving again. But then you started to like it, so we stayed.”

I unclenched my fists, feeling less angry. I hated Hawaii? Did I hate it as much as I hate Galveston?

“Really?” I asked.

Indie nodded and started rocking again. “So, Owen. If you once hated Hawaii so much, don’t you think you could give Galveston a chance?”

She slid her sunglasses on and continued staring at the ocean, as calm as before. I watched my sister for a moment, and then walked slowly back towards the beach. Maybe she was right. Maybe I did need to give Galveston a second chance. Sure, it might be harder than Hawaii, and sure, Hawaii was obviously better, but maybe I could like Galveston too.

I glanced at the sand that I had once stared at with such strong loathing and realized that it would be pretty good sand-castle material. The broken shells would make pretty cool decorations, too. I walked to the water’s edge and watched it rush over my toes. A small minnow darted past my ankles, and I smiled as it tickled the outside of my foot.

Without hesitation, I began to run farther into the waves, laughing. I was too excited to notice how cold it was, how I was soaked to the bone. I got to waist deep before finally stopping. The water was fun, despite its opacity. I have to admit, I was happy. I suddenly didn’t hate the water or the sand. The blazing sun didn’t bother me as much, and the seaweed wrapping around my arms wasn’t as gross looking. Indie was right about Galveston.

I gave it a second chance.


Eva's note:

If you haven't been to Galveston, the description above is pretty much spot-on. Galveston is pretty lame compared to Hawaii, and I haven't even been to Hawaii! I liked the idea of using this contrast in this story because I thought about how people in "pretty beaches" (sorry Galveston) thought about... well.

I was going to use this story in a contest, but ended up using other stories.

I hope you liked!