Excerpt: Broken Borders

Chapter 1: Stranded in Paradise [Nicole Trinity Mathesson]

I’ve been abandoned for the summer in Las Palomas, voted ‘most beautiful beach town in America.’ Well, whoever counted votes never asked me. I’m standing on the deck of my aunt and uncle’s beach house. Morning sun flickers against palm trees so they look like wild green feathers on primitive, long-necked birds. The ocean stretches out deep, blue, salty abyss reaching all the way to China. Surfer bodies float just beyond the surf break, drifting, rising, falling with each swell. One catches a wave and nosedives, in a spectacular wipeout, his board spearing the sky till it reaches the end of the leash and rebounds.

Aunt Natalie wants me to help her plan some big surprise party for Uncle Spencer. Ugh. At least this will prolong the inevitable moment when the family will force me down to the sand, into the sea, where I will splash around, knee deep, terrified of unseen sharks, gnarly strands of kelp, sticky particles of tar, and the grasp of riptides, which pulled me out to sea the summer I was eight. That was seven lucky years ago. Seven years I didn’t think I’d ever live, back when the ocean trapped me. A lifeguard rescued me, after I swallowed gallons of water and had the worst muscle cramp in my leg, so bad, I thought that the ocean was turning my legs into a mermaid’s tail, or something else too weird to imagine. I barely remember because I try to blank on the bad stuff, and that was one of the worst. Not the worst thing that ever happened in my life, if I’m being really honest, but right up there.

The deck is shaking under my feet. Even the railing, which I’m gripping like I was the last passenger left on the Titanic. I guess it’s one of those famous California earthquakes. No. I hear it now, the long, moaning whistle of the train, the rumbling clickety clack of steel wheels on tracks, the rocking momentum as it streaks through Las Palomas, not even stopping at the station since it is a morning express and Las Palomas is too small of a town.

I arrived last night on the airplane from Seattle. My mother told me two days ago, “Just make the best of it, Nicole. This is a great opportunity for you to have a fun summer.” Easy for her to say. She doesn’t know what it’s like to be almost sixteen, and be dumped with relatives who stare at you like you dropped down from another planet. My dad didn’t say anything. He’s been gone two months, and now they’re saying six more months, and he promised to be home for my birthday but that’s dubious, and I don’t care if what he is doing is important, I think that he has his priorities screwed up.

“Time for breakfast,” Aunt Natalie calls. Her voice reminds me of daffodils, the way they’re so bright, and overly cheerful, blooming even on gray, foggy days.

I walk through the French doors to the breakfast room, and pour a glass of milk.

Aunt Natalie already has her makeup on, her hair styled in a knotted twist of brunette that is supposed to look casual-summer-beach, but actually took her about an hour to fix. She is slim, and graceful as a dancer, from working out at her club. When she isn’t running half-marathons or bashing a tennis ball. It is nearly impossible to believe that Natalie is my mother’s sister. My mom is truly casual, probably because her long hours at the hospital take priority over make up, hairstyle, or tennis dates. When Mom works out, she’s conditioning for the local search & rescue crew. Lifting heavy bags of gear, dangling on thin ropes over the sides of a cliff. Climbing up a canyon of sharp rocks during a torrential rainstorm. Administering emergency care to some lost soul who broke their leg or got an appendix attack in the middle of the national forest.

“I have some sunscreen for you, Nikki,” my aunt says. “And, some samples of make up. You’re old enough now to experiment with makeup, don’t you think?”

“Mom says that cosmetics are just a hype, trying to get girls to buy stuff they don’t need,” I reply.

Aunt Natalie raises her carefully-arched eyebrows and smiles her wide Julia-Roberts-Lookalike smile. “Ahh. Your mom. Annalissa is such a perfect earth mother, bless her. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind you experimenting a bit. Your eyes, they’re so—lovely. And large. You should emphasize your good features.”

Somehow these talks with my aunt always leave me feeling deficient. I mean, I admit that I’m probably a few pounds on the heavy side. Three new zits popped yesterday on the plane, just after I’d eaten a bag of potato chips. And my hair—when I get near the ocean, it turns to friz. Poodle friz. Red poodle friz. “Strawberry blonde” is what aunt Natalie says. She always emphasizes the blonde, as if it’s something to be glad about.

The word experiment rolls around inside my mind, echoing. Experiment. Yes, I do want to experiment this summer, Aunt Natalie. But not with makeup. I want to start dancing, for serious real. I want to read a book that my mom won’t allow. I want to be kissed by a boy. He must be someone I want, not just the accidental hook up from spin the bottle. I want to see how long I can last in this totally artificial, noise-filled, decadent, rich-people’s so-called paradise without going crazy. I know one thing for sure, I definitely am done experimenting with drugs. That’s what got me stuck here in the first place. Sort of, kind of.