2

Ocean Bay

At some point, Rio must have fallen asleep because the next thing he knew the car had ground to a halt. “We’re here,” his grandmother said. “Welcome to Ocean Bay.”

Dusk had stolen in, and he had to blink a few times to make sure he was seeing properly. The small coastal town of Ocean Bay was about an hour north of LA. Not that he could spot the town right now. His grandmother lived on the outskirts, and the moon shone down on a huge, rambling beach house made of wood. It was a higgledy-piggledy-shaped building three stories high and painted top to toe in a soft pastel green. In its presence, Rio felt his insides soften. As if the house had magic healing properties and could smooth away even the most jagged of edges.

He rubbed his eyes. The flat he shared with his mother was so small, it could probably squeeze itself into this house half a dozen times over.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Fran murmured, a note of pride in her voice.

But if he thought the house was special, when Rio stepped out of the car the noise was something else entirely. A magnificent, almighty roar. The kind of noise only something extraordinarily powerful could make.

It was the roar of the ocean.

And Rio, who didn’t even like loud noises, discovered to his surprise that this noise was different. He could feel the force of it coursing through his body and had a sudden intense desire to suck the feeling right down into his belly and dislodge the tight band of pain trapped in his chest.

“Plenty of time for you to explore the beach.” Fran beckoned to him from the front step. “Come inside for now.”

He reluctantly followed her through the wide hallway and into the kitchen, where unlike back home, there were no photos, school drawings, or shopping lists tacked untidily to the wall. There weren’t even any dirty mugs or discarded plates or half-eaten ginger cookies. Instead, the room was full of cool steel appliances that gleamed so brightly he could see his reflection in them—a thin, pale-faced boy with a guarded expression and a thatch of unruly light brown hair that never looked neat, no matter how much he brushed it. The only sign of color was his favorite yellow T-shirt—the one his mom had bought him for his last birthday.

After a few moments, Fran placed a steaming plate of food in front of him. “Vegetable chili. I made it earlier from my own secret recipe. Eat up now.”

“Th-th-thank you,” Rio replied, hating the way his voice wobbled whenever he felt nervous. The only things he knew about his grandmother were that she was once a school principal, she’d lived in Ocean Bay all her life, and that she spoke with an American accent.

As he ate, she chattered away from the other side of the kitchen. “I thought tomorrow I could give you a tour of Ocean Bay,” she said. “Maybe we can go shopping or, or . . . perhaps I could show you the marina or even take you to the lighthouse! Up there you can see for miles and miles. It’s quite the sight. Or, if you’re feeling tired, we could just take a walk along the beach together?”