What Remains of White Sands

Chapter Six

Nari, Tadi, Penny, and I huddled in the corner of the parking lot, hoping not to be noticed as we slurped up our milkshakes. Our mothers were inside Whole Foods, shopping, and we’d stolen yet another moment together before Nari’s departure.

We were talking about everything and nothing, but the beach trip kept popping up. We all wanted to go, but our parents were a different story.

Mr. and Mrs. Barneford wouldn’t give Tadi a straight answer. They seemed to like the idea in general, but they wouldn’t say yes or no until they found out whether it was an actual school trip or not—and it couldn’t be a school trip if they didn’t tell us whether or not Tadi could go. Penny’s parents had given her a flat-out no; swimming practice was more important. And Nari’s mom was on the fence about it; she wanted Nari to be able to go, but she wouldn’t be in our school next year, so what was the point?

And me? I hadn’t even dared to ask my parents yet.

This plan was going swimmingly.

So I tried not to think about it for now.

Nari noticed the strangers first. “Who are they?” she asked, pointing out the stately figures strutting down the sidewalk on the other side of the parking lot.

“I have no idea,” I said wonderingly; we never got strangers here, and yet there were two unknown people walking around Naturalleies as if they owned it.

We were not the only ones to notice. Though the rather small parking lot was sparsely populated at the moment, it was representative of our town, and every individual quickly became aware of the foreigners. The tall, dark-haired man and his petite brunette companion pretended not to notice us, but I could tell they could feel our eyes. The brunette woman walked slightly behind the man, for she was wearing a ridiculous pair of black heels that were at least five inches tall. She frowned and called something up to the man—he was at least eight inches taller than she was, even with her shoes—but with a sweep of his hand, he brushed her off. She looked offended and glanced away from him.

Her glance brought her eyes straight toward my friends and me. She stopped and her jaw dropped. The man noticed that she had paused and whirled around, presumably to yell at her—he didn’t strike me as a very nice person—but then followed her gaze. He looked surprised, then pleased.

They started toward us.

“Um, oh my god,” Tadi said breathlessly.

“What are they doing? Why are they coming toward us?” Penelope asked.

“Uh …” I said helpfully.

“Let’s go inside,” Nari said. We quickly agreed to this—it was better to be confronted by strange people in a more public environment—and we scurried toward the door.

Only to run into Shima.

“All right, Ide, let’s go,” she said.

My friends and I burst out into a jumbled chorus of, “No, no, we can’t! Go back inside!”

“Why would I go back inside? I’m finished shopping. In fact, Ide, take this bag—”

“Shima, dear … what a delightful surprise to see you here!” a voice with a slight Southern accent rang out behind me.

Shima, my friends, and I froze. Looking over my shoulder, I discovered that it was the petite woman who had spoken. The tall man—who turned out to be a boy—he appeared no more than sixteen or seventeen—stood behind her, brooding. He stared fixedly at the ground as my friends and I exchanged shocked glances.

“Oh my. Lilith … Eldric,” Shima said, emotionless.

The woman—Lilith, apparently—pushed between Tadi and me so that she could greet my mother in a way that was foreign to me: an air kiss on one cheek, then the other. Shima did not reciprocate, as I guessed she was supposed to. Lilith, whose name meant, “of the night,” pretended not to notice. She turned to me. Her pin-straight, dark brown hair fell almost to her waist. Her almond-shaped eyes, as brown as her hair, hovered above cheekbones that looked as if they’d been carved in stone. Her eyes, I reflected, were the same color as Temira’s; but Temira’s were warm and friendly, while Lilith’s were ice. Lilith’s flawless skin was the color of coffee with the smallest splash of milk, and she was clad in a dove gray business suit. Her whole appearance was professional and domineering, seeming to emit an age-old importance, though she was clearly no older than thirty. She seemed to judge every inch of me: my high-waisted dark denim shorts, my green spaghetti-strap crop top with the fringe, my high ponytail that didn’t stop little wisps of hair from congregating around the edges of my face. I suddenly became hyper-aware of every flaw I’d ever possessed, including the pimples that were currently sprinkled on my face.