But that’s what I wanted.
The wild, full-bodied thunk when my body pierces the water’s surface disrupts my thought cycle.I push deeper into the darkness, the pressure surrounding me like a cold blanket until it relaxes my thoughts and calms the unwanted energy surging inside of me.My boots are heavy with water, dragging me lower, but I kick up strongly—I’m an expert swimmer.I made sure,after.The muffled sounds of yelling swirl over my head—the captain won’t be happy.But what does it matter?In a few days, we’ll be at port, and they’ll be rid of me, as they want.
As they all want.
CHAPTER3
Venus
I keepmy exact arrival home a mystery, leaving room for diversions and excuses to get lost along the way.But tired and resigned, I don’t divert.I make all of my necessary flights and arrange a ride from the airport.
The driver drops me off in the small parking lot that borders our property.We live on a public nature preserve dedicated to carnivorous plants.We have a private driveway—a dirt lane that curves through the tall pines—but it’s easier for strangers to navigate the paved lot.With no cars occupying any of the ten spaces, I assume Blake’s Carnivorous Garden is blissfully vacant until I spot two bikes lying carelessly on their sides at the mouth of the footpath.
I heft my overstuffed backpack and roll my suitcase behind me on the pebbled path that cuts through the pine grove, gazing at the informative placards that mark the journey.No need to read them—I have them memorized.
The Venus flytrap can only be found within a 100-mile radius of Wilmington, North Carolina.
Venus flytraps can go without eating for 1-2 months.They eat bugs and even frogs!
When digestion is complete, 5 to 12 days later, the trap reopens, and the insect’s exoskeleton falls out.
Venus flytrap leaves eat 3 or fewer insects in their lives before turning black, dying, and being replaced by a new leaf.
The trigger hairs of a Venus flytrap are sensitive enough to tell the difference between signals from living prey and non-prey, like raindrops or fallen leaves.
Please do not touch the plants.
Once, Henry and I covered the signs with drawings of oversized flytraps with exaggerated fangs, biting off limbs of park guests and spitting out the bones, with a final sign that read:Enter at your own risk.
Dad wasn’t pleased, though he said the artwork was quite commendable.
The distant sound of children playing pulls my attention to the property that borders ours.Over the moss banks lining the path, through the chained link fence, and across a patchy, sandy lawn lies the elementary school that Henry, Ivy, and I attended.The side closest to us is the cafeteria, a brown brick box with small, awkward windows that barely opened and never caught a breeze.
If inside those walls again, I’d likely find the same round, red seats that Henry and I occupied for most of second grade—the year we became friends.I still remember him plopping down in front of me with his carefully packed Batman lunch box in one hand and his inhaler in the other.
“What are you doing?”I asked.
He pushed up his glasses with his nail-bitten fingertip.“Eating lunch.”
“Why are you eating lunchhere?”I clarified.I’d known Henry as a classmate, but we hadn’t interacted willingly until a few days prior, when I assisted him with directions, and later, with a bully named Ruby Mack.I enjoyed our brief encounter and fighting an injustice, of course, but I didn’t expect more to come of it.I didn’t have friends.
My question confused him until another classmate threw a banana peel over his head and onto my turkey and cheese sandwich, yelling, “Bomb’s away!Watch out for banana bombs, lice head!”
Laughter ensued.I rolled my eyes.
“What’s lice?”Henry asked.
Rolling the peel into a paper towel to take home for compost, I explained, “Phthiraptera—a parasitic insect that lives in hair follicles and causes severe itching and discomfort.”
“You talk funny.”
“I’m aware,” I said.“They’re itchy bugs that live in hair.”
“So, lice aren’t nice?”he asked with a grin as he tried to punch his straw through his juice box.
“They’re creatures trying to survive this world, like the rest of us.”I reached for his juice box to assist.“I don’t have them, if you’re wondering.”
He handed it over with a shrug and a smile.“Maybe he does since he knows about ‘em.”
