Blink

Then: Disappearing Act

"I'm going back," I said.

"What?" snapped James, irritated. "We bothered to get you out of there, and now you're just going to leave?" He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Although, we were expecting too much, I guess. This is kind of crazy."

The girl stopped walking and spun on a toe to face me, her expression vaguely sympathetic. "It's all right. I get it. We're being totally ridiculous, anyways." She gave a short laugh, accompanied by a shrug. "What is this? A teen fiction novel?"

I gazed out back to the hill, where the tour group had descended and was no longer visible. "I don't want to go back," I said, wording my thoughts carefully. "I just need my Mom to know I wasn't, say… Kidnapped or something." A light flickered on in brain, an idea making it's way to the forefront of my mind. "Wait," I said, slowly. "Do either of you have a paper and pen? I'll leave her a note. At least this way she'll mostly be hella pissed instead of worried. Probably."

James casted his eyes down, and turned his jean's pockets out. Several scraps of lint floated to the ground like grey snowflakes, as did a messy crumple of post-it notes. I bent down, and plucked them from the grass. The girl handed me a purple gel pen spangled with yellow feathers that fluttered in the ocean breeze. I uncapped it and began to write, the neon square of paper balanced precariously on my knee. 

Mom,

I'm not coming on the tour. I'm not dead. I haven't been kidnapped. I promise I won't kill myself. I also promise I'll be at the south beach in time to walk back to shore, cross my heart and hope to die (not really). Don't kill me when I see you later, please?

Melle

"So," said the girl skeptically. "How is she going to get this?"

"Easy," I smiled, full to the brim of false confidence. "I'm going to run up, slip it in her purse, then run away."

James snorted, with a roll of his eyes. "And she's not going to notice?"

I knelt down, and tucked my wayward laces back into their bows. "She's not, because you'll be here, praying on your knees for me." 

Then I ran.

~~~~~~~~~~~

"She didn't?" James said disbelievingly. 

"Nope," I smirked, even though he couldn't see my face. "Told you she had more important things to think about than me. I'm also probably the stealthiest person you'll ever meet."

This was a complete lie. Given my hatred of all forms of silence, I had developed purposeful clumsiness as a method of incorporating sound into any awkward situation. I was as inconspicuous as an elephant wearing roller skates.

We were jogging down the side of the artificial-looking green hill, heading in the direction of what the girl (who had introduced herself as Celia) called "an ideal day planning, parent-escaping hideout". The sun sparkled on the ocean, light dancing, blinding me. We neared the wooden shack the stood alone on the beach, and I panted heavily, struggling to match Celia's inhumanly fast pace. I staggered into the shade the shed provided, while James extracted an old-fashioned key from his shoe, hopping around on one leg.

"How do I know you guys aren't psycho child rapists? This could be my stupidest idea ever," I asked, through gasping breaths, leaning onto the rough exterior of the shed.

Celia and James grinned cattily in unison. "You don't," said Celia. "Which leads me to question your sanity, which leads me to conclude we will make excellent friends."

"That's not much of an answer, sissy," said James. "We moved here two years ago. Our dad's German, and a friend of his his offered him as a position as the island tour guide. He was an ecologist. We speak English because we were born and raised in England, which will probably explain the accents."

He yanked the key from the door, and swung it open with a creak. Waltzing inside, Celia spread her arms grandly. "Welcome to our humble abode!"

I hadn't forgotten about what James had said. "How does telling me your life story prove you aren't rapists?"

"It doesn't!" Celia and James cried. Together. Again.

"Okay," I said taking in my surroundings. "Enough with the creepy synchronized moments. This isn't natural. You have got to be twins."

James collapsed into a patchy couch, which squeaked as it took his weight. "You would be correct! And this is our special twinsy hideout. Like it? Being forced to move across the continent has it's perks when you can guilt your Dad into building you something like this."

I glanced around, absorbing what I could in the semi-darkness. There was a small rectangular window, and it provided the only illumination for the entire room, which was filled with a sprawl of damaged furniture. I could see a television set and shelf of dog-eared books on the far wall, and a dilapidated chandelier hung from a wooden beam on the ceiling. It was beautiful in a rustic sort of way, but seemed like a place of quiet, relaxation. A shiver traveled up my spine.

"It's awesome," I said truthfully, shaking my uneasiness. "But you said this is a "day planning" area." I made air quotes with my fingers. "What exactly did I ditch my Mom for?"

As I gingerly lowered myself into an purple, over-stuffed armchair, Celia began to explain. "Well, we've had a plan in place for a while. We have some activities, some sights to see…"

James interrupted her, with an airy wave of his hand. "In short, the James and Celia extravaganza is ten bazillion times better than anything else you will ever experience."

I laughed. "You've given me high expectations. Don't you dare disappoint, my crazy kidnappers."

"Never have, never will," James said cockily, leaning back. Celia snorted. 

A./N. It's short. It's sweet. Hooray for me! I love James and Celia, they're only getting crazier from here. Dedicated to mrsritz4eva because she (you are a she right?) /he/it sent me a message and now we've both found something we like to read, I think.