Second Star by Alyssa B. Sheinmel Read Free Book Online

they slept in when they were five. They didn’t have to share a room, but they preferred it. Two desks and one enormous shared bulletin board littered with pictures of their favorite surfers, of epic waves. I run my hands along their desks, my fingers leaving marks in the dust that’s settled over the past months. Open and close their drawers. Finally, my eyes land on the bulletin board, study the collage of photographs scattered across it.
    One picture stands out like a beacon: a set of waves, perfectly glassy and hollow. The picture must have been taken from the ocean, behind the break of the waves, because beyond the waves there is a sandy white beach in the shadow of enormous cliffs, with one rickety wooden staircase built into the rocks. I lean in to get a better look. The water is a familiar but unusual blue, the sand as white as sugar.
    I pull it down off the bulletin board, careful not to rip it. I flip it over, recognizing Michael’s chicken-scratch handwriting on the back: Perfect waves , it reads.
    There’s only one place I know where the water is that shade of blue, the sand that bright white, the waves that perfect. I know that staircase; I ran down it just hours ago. The wood may look rough and weathered, but it feels as smooth as glass. I didn’t get a single splinter, even as my hand slid over the steepest parts.
    Nana whines softly from her spot in the doorway and I turn, coming face-to-face with my father. He stands frozen in the hall behind the dog. I hold the picture behind my back.
    Dad takes several slow, methodical steps toward the open door of his sons’ room, like maybe he’s frightened to look inside.
    “Wendy,” he says, exhaling on the word. “What are you doing in there?” He peers through the door.
    “Nothing,” I say, shaking my head.
    My father steps away from the door, walking backward down the hallway. I take one more look around the room, fingering the picture behind my back.
    My father doesn’t look at me.
    “When I saw the door open, for a second I thought…”
    He doesn’t finish his sentence, but I can see the hope disappear from his face, like a wave receding from the sand.
    “I’m sorry, Dad. I won’t do it again.”
    He smiles weakly and turns away, heading to the kitchen. In a few minutes, I hear the sound of the percolator and smell coffee drifting through the house.
    Back in my room, I put the picture on my desk and stare at it for a few minutes. My brothers were in Kensington. Of course my brothers were there. Of course Kensie was the hidden cove I heard them talking about. They’d always had a knack for finding the best waves, were always sneaking off to new beaches in search of the next great ride. It drove my parents crazy; we’d wake up on a random weekday morning and the boys would already be gone, driving somewhere down the coast, cutting school to get to some beach we’d never heard of. When they first ran away, we thought maybe that was all they were doing, and once the waves died down, they’d be back home.
    Now, I think they must have run to Kensington, at least at first, to live by the beach with the perfect waves. There were so many kids there last night. Someone there must have met my brothers. Maybe someone there surfed with them. Maybe someone there knows where they are right now.
     
     
    When my brothers were younger, I used to create elaborate scavenger hunts for them, complete with treasure maps and coded clues that they had to decipher. Each clue led to another clue that led to another clue that led to a silly little treasure, like a cookie or, eventually, a cake of wax for their boards. Sometimes these hunts went on for days or weeks. One particularly tricky one that I made for their eleventh birthday lasted a month and ended with their birthday present, a gift certificate to their favorite surf shop.
    The photograph on the bulletin board is a clue.
    Maybe they left it for me. They must have known I would find it. It’s my turn to go on