Reunion by Meg Cabot Page B

had been back down on the beach. The rhythmic pulse of the sea below us was loud, much louder than the engines of the cars going by on Highway 1.
    There were, I noticed, no gulls. No birds of any kind.
    That should, of course, have been my first clue. But as usual, I missed it.
    Instead, all I could concentrate on was how sheer the drop was. Hundreds of feet, straight down, into waves churning against giant boulders knocked down from the cliffsides during various earthquakes. Not exactly the kind of cliff you’d catch anyone—not even Elvis back in his Acapulco prime—diving off.
    Strangely, at the bottom of the place where Josh’s car had gone off of the road was a small, sandy beach. Not the kind you’d go to sunbathe, but a nice picnic area, if you were willing to risk your neck climbing down to get there.
    Michael must have noticed my gaze, since he said, “Yeah, that’s where they landed. Not in the water. Well, at least, not right away. Then high tide came in, and—”
    I shuddered and looked away.
    â€œIs there some way,” I wondered aloud, “to get down there?”
    â€œSure,” he said, and pointed at an open section of the guardrail. “Over there. It’s a trail. Hikers are the only ones who use it, mostly. But sometimes tourists try it. The beach down there is amazing. You never saw such huge waves. Only it’s too dangerous to surf. Too many riptides.”
    I looked at him curiously in the purpling twilight. “You’ve been down there?” I asked. The surprise in my voice must have been evident.
    â€œSure,” he said with a smile. “I’ve lived here all my life. There aren’t a whole lot of beaches I haven’t been to.”
    I nodded, and pulled at a strand of hair that had found its way into my mouth thanks to the wind. “So, what,” I asked him, “happened, exactly, that night?”
    He squinted at the road. It was dark enough now that the cars traveling on it had switched on their lights. Occasionally, the glow of one swept his face as he spoke. Again, it was difficult to see his eyes behind the reflection of the light against the lenses of his glasses.
    â€œI was coming home,” he said, “from a workshop at Esalen—”
    â€œEsalen?”
    â€œYeah. The Esalen Institute. You’ve never heard of it?” He shook his head. “My God, I thought it was known worldwide.” My expression must have been pretty blank, since he said, “Well, anyway, I was at a lecture there. ‘Colonization of Other Worlds, and What It Means for Extraterrestrials Here on Earth.’ ”
    I tried not to burst out laughing. I was, after all, a girl who could see and speak to ghosts. Who was I to say there wasn’t life on other planets?
    â€œAnyway, I was driving home—it was pretty late, I guess—and they came barreling around that corner, didn’t honk, nothing.”
    I nodded. “So what did you do?”
    â€œWell, I swerved to avoid them, of course, and ended up going into that cliff there. You can’t see it because it’s dark out now, but my front bumper took out a big chunk of the side of the hill. And they…well, they swerved the other way, and it was foggy, and the road might have been a little slick, and they were going really fast, and…”
    He finished, tonelessly, with another shrug. “And they went over.”
    I shuddered again. I couldn’t help it. I had met these kids, remember. They hadn’t exactly been at their best—in fact, they’d been trying to kill me—but still, I couldn’t help feeling sorry for them. Itwas a long, long way down.
    â€œSo what did you do?” I asked.
    â€œMe?” He seemed strangely surprised by the question. “Well, I hit my head, you know, so I blacked out. I didn’t come around until someone pulled over and checked on me. That’s when I asked what happened to