QUEEN MARABELLA ISLAND(4)
1809 Words
CHAPTER FOUR
March 16, 2014.
“Clara!” Anastasia and Annabelle called out, their voices rising as they knocked insistently on her bedroom door.
Clara was still fast asleep, barely registering the noise. Her alarm clock blared, her phone buzzed with missed calls, but none of it pierced her slumber.
Mrs. Nyrah White answered the landline phone in the living room, her calm voice clashing with the chaos upstairs.
“Who is it?” Clara mumbled groggily, pulling the blanket over her head.
“Your sisters, who else?” came Annabelle’s muffled reply. “Mom says you need to take your bath and come eat breakfast.”
“Go away,” Clara muttered.
The door opened without warning. Her mother entered, her expression sharp.
“Clara, get up. It’s already 7:55” she said firmly.
Clara sat up slowly, rubbing her eyes. The weight in her mother’s voice forced her awake more than the hour on the clock.
“What’s wrong, Mom?” Clara asked, still half-asleep.
“You overslept. Again. Weren’t you supposed to escort your friends to their swimming practice this morning? Why haven’t you answered their calls?”
Clara glanced at her phone and saw several missed calls from Monica and Annalise.
“I didn’t hear it,” she muttered.
Her mother sighed. “Clara, when did sleeping become your priority? You’ve had nine hours already. Meanwhile, I barely get rest while keeping this house together. Your father and I work hard for you, and I’m tired of seeing you waste your mornings like this. You’re not in high school anymore. Is this the example you want to set for your younger sisters?”
Clara swallowed, guilt knotting in her chest. “I’m sorry, Mom. I’ll work on it.”
Her mother’s face softened. “Just remember you’re my princess. Don’t make me worry more than I already do.”
“Yes, Mom,” Clara whispered.
When her mother left, Clara stared at the ceiling. The guilt burned, but so did a heaviness she couldn’t explain, sleep always clung to her, stronger lately, and those restless dreams weren’t helping.
The clock read 8:00. She was already late.
She dragged herself to the bathroom, the cold splash of water jolting her awake. Why can’t I shake this? She wondered. Why do I feel so heavy all the time?
After a quick shower, she pulled on jeans and a hoodie, ran a brush through her hair, and checked her phone. A new message from Annalise lit the screen: Hey Clara! Where are you? Monica and I are running late.
She had promised her friends she would escort them to their early morning swim training, which had been scheduled earlier than usual out of respect for the festival. Most swimmers preferred to attend the Festival of Still Waters later, so practice was moved up. But lately, even simple plans felt overwhelming.
Downstairs, Anastasia and Annabelle were already dressed in their bright festival clothes, practically bouncing with excitement. Their father stood at the door with car keys in hand, ready to take them to the Festival of Still Waters, a solemn tradition celebrated every March 16th throughout Sunmere state, especially in stormcove city.
Clara glanced at her mother, who was setting down a plate of eggs and toast. “You’re not going?”
Her mother shook her head softly. “No, not this year. I don’t feel up to it.”
She set a plate of toast and scrambled eggs on the table. “Eat quickly, Clara. You don’t want to keep your friends waiting.”
Clara took a few bites, but her phone buzzed again. Another message. Her stomach twisted.
She stood quickly, bag slung over her shoulder. “Sorry, Mom. I have to go. My friends are waiting.”
Her mother’s eyes followed her, part worry, part resignation. “Just… be careful. And be back before dinner.”
Clara was already at the door, shoes half-tied, sunlight spilling in as she rushed out.
The streets of Stormcove were unusually quiet for a Sunday morning. Lanterns hung from lampposts, and small groups of people drifted toward the festival grounds. The city felt calm and reflective, a sharp contrast to Clara’s hurried footsteps as she ran all the way to Harts Park.
On a bench, Monica and Annalise sat waiting, backpacks at their feet and hair pulled back in matching ponytails. Clara skidded to a stop, breathless.
“Guys, I’m so sorry, please forgive me,” she panted.
Monica crossed her arms, concern flickering in her eyes. “Clara, what happened? We tried calling. We were worried.”
Annalise frowned, glancing at her watch. “We’re late. Training might be over before we even get there. What are we supposed to tell Coach Humphrey?”
Clara ran a hand through her hair, still catching her breath. “I overslept again. I don’t know what’s wrong with me lately. Even when I sleep, I wake up feeling drained. I just feel… off.”
Annalise gave a small sigh, her voice softer now. “You’re not the only one. I barely slept last night either. Dinner at my house was a disaster. Zayan was there.”
Monica blinked. “Wait…your cousin Zayan? It’s been forever since we last saw him!”
Clara groaned, the memory surfacing. “Oh no. Please don’t tell me he’s still the same?”
Annalise’s jaw tightened. “Worse. He wouldn’t stop running his mouth about Skye and me. I told him to quit, but he just kept going… so I snapped. I slapped him.”
Monica’s eyes widened. “You actually slapped him?”
Annalise smirked, unrepentant. “He deserved it. And trust me, it wasn’t nearly as bad as the stuff I wanted to say. Honestly, I was so happy when he left Vernisa High. I thought I’d finally gotten rid of him for good.”
Clara shook her head, a laugh escaping. “That boy has always been trouble. Remember when he tricked me into carrying his backpack for an entire field trip?”
Monica burst out laughing. “And he told the teacher you volunteered!”
Clara groaned at the memory, but she was smiling now. “Exactly. Some things never change.”
“Pretty face, rotten attitude,” Annalise muttered. Then she glanced at Clara with a teasing smirk. “Although… admit it, there was a time you thought he was cute.”
Clara made a face. “That was years ago, and only for a second. I was young and clearly blind.”
“Good,” Annalise said, her tone light again. “Because if anyone’s definition of ‘looks can be deceiving,’ it’s him. And the worst part?” Annalise huffed. “He just gained admission into the University of Antares. Which means I’m not done with him yet.”
Monica groaned dramatically. “Oh, great. Just what we need. Zayan roaming around campus, spreading chaos.”
Clara wrinkled her nose. “I don’t even remember what he looks like, but I’m sure I won’t like the reminder.”
Monica glanced toward the street. “We should get going. Even if we’re late, it’s better than not showing up at all.”
The three girls stood and started walking quickly toward the Antares Aquatic Center, weaving through festival-goers as they tried to make up for lost time.
The moment they reached the Aquatic Arena, Clara’s stomach dropped. Swimmers were already streaming out, towels slung over their shoulders, chatter filling the air. Training was done.
A few turned their heads, eyes narrowing at Clara, Monica, and Annalise as they hurried up the steps, whispers trailing in their wake.
Annalise’s pace quickened, her eyes darting to her watch for the tenth time. “We’re late,” she muttered, her jaw tight. “Coach is going to be so mad.”
Monica tugged at her ponytail, chewing her lip. “Maybe he won’t be too mad? I mean, one session can’t…”
“Don’t,” Annalise cut her off, her voice sharp. “You know how he is.”
Clara swallowed, guilt burning in her chest. She opened her mouth, closed it, then forced the words out. “I’ll handle it. This one’s on me.”
Before either friend could argue, a sharp voice cut through the air.
“Girls.”
They froze. Coach Humphrey was striding toward them, a towel slung over his shoulder, water still glistening on his arms. His jaw was tight, and his eyes, sharp, assessing, made Clara feel smaller with each step he took.
“Care to explain yourselves?”
Clara’s throat tightened, but she stepped forward. “Good morning, sir. It’s my fault. I overslept, and they waited for me. Please don’t hold it against them.”
For a moment, nothing. Just the faint drip of water from his towel onto the ground. His expression didn’t soften, but something flickered in his eyes, surprise, maybe.
“I see,” he said finally, his voice steady but firm. “You understand you cost your friends one of the most critical training sessions of the season?”
Clara’s throat tightened, but she nodded.
He shifted his gaze to Annalise and Monica. “And you two? You chose to wait.”
“Yes, sir,” Annalise said quickly, her voice clipped. Monica echoed her, though hers came out softer, guilt in every syllable.
Coach Humphrey exhaled, folding his arms across his chest. “We are two weeks away from the competition, and right now, you’re only halfway ready. Monica, your turns are too slow. You lose seconds on every lap. Annalise, your strokes are clean but lack power. And if you can’t fix that, the other teams will eat you alive.”
Monica’s jaw tightened. “But we’ve been practicing…”
“And it’s not enough,” he cut in, his tone sharp but not unkind. “You don’t get to settle for average. Not if you want to win.”
Silence hung heavy for a beat, broken only when Annalise straightened her shoulders, her eyes hard with determination. “We’ll fix it. We won’t let you down.”
He studied them for a long moment before a small, approving smile cracked through his stern expression. “I know you won’t. That’s why I’m giving you extra sessions. Starting now. We’ll repeat today’s training.”
The girls exchanged quick glances, a spark of relief and determination passing between them.
As the coach turned back toward the pool, he paused, his tone lighter. “Oh… and congratulations on your acceptance letters. You’ve earned this chance. Don’t waste it.”
“Thank you, sir,” they answered in unison, their voices firmer this time.
Coach Humphrey gave a short nod, the corners of his mouth twitching into the faintest smile. “Good. Now get in the water. We’ve got work to do.”
- Writer
