An older boy, Rory Kelleher, started picking on Rennick. Calling him names. Looking back, I think that Rory kid was trying to impress these two blond girls in bikini tops and cutoff jeans.
The whole thing went on through the evening, with Rennick moving along the shore, digging with a stick, Mia-Joy and I playing kick the can with some friends, and the older group of kids and Rory doing nothing, like only fourteen-year-olds can. And this Rory kid kept yelling over to Rennick once in a while. Calling him a nerd and a dork.
It wasn’t anything too horrible, but even at nine I knew what a moron that Rory kid was. I remembered clearly that I was building a hill of sand for the tin can to sit on, and I was going over the circle of sharps in my head as I did it. And I saw Rory filling up a water balloon from a canteen. He called over to the nerdy boy, to Rennick, “Hey, kid! Come show me what you found down there digging!”
Rennick looked up all eager, glasses cocked at a ridiculous angle. The girls around Rory giggled with delight, and I just couldn’t stomach it. I stood up and shouted real loud, “Rory Kelleher, would you just shut up, you fat bully? Go bust that water balloon on your own head!”
I got busy playing kick the can then, but I could feel Rory’s stare on me, the whispers of those older girls. I also heard a few snickers from some of my playmates. But what really made me smile was the sound of the little boy’s laugh. Just one yelp, one guffaw, right from the belly, had gotten out too quickly for him to edit.
The timbre of that laugh. It hadn’t grown to G-sharp yet, but in my memory I could hear the hint of it.
That had been Rennick.
And it had been Rennick who had stood rapt, twenty, maybe thirty feet away, still and at attention when I played the violin around the campfire that night. I had been impressed with that. Because so many people didn’t care, so many of the kids ran around, screaming, playing, ignoring me. And that was fine. But that kid—Rennick— he listened intently. And when I chose my second song to play, I picked
When it was dark and the teenagers had found better things to do down the beach at their own fire, my mom began making s’mores for us, and she told me to politely go offer that left-out kid one of them. That’s what she said, I remembered that: “that left-out kid.”
“He seems like he wants to join you guys,” Mom had told me. “Invite him to play with you.”
So I did. He waved over his brother, an older, tough-looking kid with the shaggiest dishwater-blond hair. They both had dirt on their faces, and I had no idea where their parents were, but these kids were more than happy to join us in a game of flashlight tag. I remembered that Rennick came walking up, and he didn’t look at me but said, “It’s so true when you play your violin.”
I always remembered that, till this day. I knew what he meant.
But what happened after that game of tag was what he probably remembered most. Rennick brought out some sparklers. My dad’s friend Mr. Parker lit a few with his cigarette lighter, and the rest of us kids lit our sparklers off each other’s. Well, Rennick’s brother’s hair caught a spark. The wind had been just right. I was spinning in circles with my sparkler, my feet squishing against the now-cool sand, and I was watching my sparkler leave a trail of rainbow lights. And then from the corner of my eye, I saw his hair just light up, a big poof of a flame, yellow and orange and bright and fast.
His hands went to his head, but it was like he didn’t quite know what was happening. I acted fast. I dropped my sparkler, ran the few feet to him, and tackled him onto the sand, rolled his head in it.
When I was sure the flames were out, I got up. By now, he was crying, shaking, his long hair singed on the right side. Our parents had formed a circle, someone called 911. The rest of the memory was a blur.
I shook my head, brought myself back to reality. I saw the grown-up Rennick doodling in the dirt. He had written his brother’s name in it, Cale. I remembered it now. I had thought it seemed like such a funny name back then. I didn’t think I had even learned Rennick’s name that night, but he had thanked me over and over, his father too.
“Your dad was an Army guy,” I said, remembering his stern manner, a close-cropped crew cut.
Rennick stopped drawing, looking at me very seriously. “You saved Cale.”
“I can’t believe that was you,” I said, but even as I said it, I could see the familiar hints of that boy in this young man: the way he held his brow, kind of led with his eyes—the curiosity there, a sort of indifference toward the periphery.
“How is your brother? Your dad? Where are they?”
“Dad is in the Air Force. Cale joined the Army right after school. Last year.”
“He graduated from Penton?”
He gave me a funny look then, incredulous. “Cale didn’t get kicked out of Penton either,” he said.
I gave him a hard look. “So why are there all these rumors about you?” I said, knowing I was walking the line.
“Well, rumors are not truth.” His voice was tinged with hurt.
And now I was backpedaling. “Rennick, I—”
“People talk. Don’t believe everything you hear, Corrine. I’m just different. People like to … I don’t know.”
“No, tell me.” I knew I was on shaky ground here. But I had to ask. I had to know. I had been through too much bullshit to just talk around everything forever and ever.
Rennick rubbed at his chin, and he looked up at me through his lashes. He laughed, not a funny laugh, but an I-can’t-believe-I’m-going-to-tell-her-this laugh. “You know,” he said, giving me a smile, “you aren’t the only one who knows how to keep people at arm’s length. I have a little practice in the self-preservation mode myself.”
“So tell me why.” I was pressing, I knew it. But what else could I do?
“Let’s turn the tables, Corrine Harlowe. Why should I trust you with my secrets?”
“You sought me out. This is on you.”
“True enough,” he said, smiling. “But what if I like this dangerous, handsome-rebel approach? Why should I get rid of that so soon?” He arched his eyebrow and my stomach flip-flopped.
“It seems to work for you at school. But (a), you aren’t a stranger because we met on that beach. And (b), no one said anything about handsome.” I raised my eyebrow right back.
The laugh. Golden. Ringing through the trees. “You are a tough one.” He considered for a moment. “I didn’t really know my mom. She died when I was a baby.” He looked at me like he didn’t know if he was going to go on.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“I was stillborn. Born dead. She saved me, though, with the touch.”
“You’re kidding. Whoa.” It was all I could say. I marveled at this nugget of information. One little sentence. But so much history. He must’ve been able to see it on my face, the gravity of his revelation.
“I know,” he said, nodding.
The wind blew through the trees around us, and I tried to think about what it would be like to be him, to know so much but really so little about this thing around us. To be surrounded by it, defined by it.
I cleared my throat. “So how does it relate to school? Not that it isn’t noteworthy or—”
“Let’s just say that Cale never forgave me for her death.”
“Why? But that doesn’t make sense.”
“Neither does blaming yourself for Lucy Rawlings’s death. Or Sophie’s.” He wasn’t joking with me now. There was no harshness or sarcasm. Just a tender, soft note in his voice.
“It’s not the same. It’s not that simple.”
“I know. It never is.”
Off in the distance, I heard a three-note whistle, and Rennick got up from the ground, dusting off the seat of his jeans. “It’s Dodge’s whistle. They must be gone now.”
He held out his hand to help me up, which I took, but when my hand touched his, my scalp tingled, itched. Again my skin tightened, the air around us charged, and I quickly drew my hand away, got up from the ground on my own.
I followed him silently. I wanted to ask more questions, but I felt it there, heating up and coming to life behind my sternum. So I hung back, walked behind him, tried to digest all that I had learned. I did know Rennick Lane, my heart did know him.
We walked slowly back toward his house, silent. If the walk out into the woods had been filled with a sense
