In the Wild Light

by Jeff Zentner

  From there you could make predictions and formulate hypotheses. The sort that help you survive life with an addict by bringing an underlying order to apparent chaos. Ones that’ll help you survive a place where people think you’re married to your best friend, a place where children of the world’s most powerful families will wonder why you never mention your parents.

  Vi sees me looking at her. “She’s really brilliant, yeah?”

  “She’s a genius,” I murmur.

  “She knows more about the history of Rio de Janeiro than I do.”

  “She learned it in the half hour she had between the time she found out y’all were roommates and the time you met.”

  “I should get her to help me with my homework.”

  “One time she helped me with my math homework, and she thought the kind of math I was supposed to do was dumb. So she basically invented her own new kind of math to do it. But I was supposed to show my work, so I got a shitty grade, because Delaney math wasn’t what I was supposed to be doing.”

  “She invented a new kind of math?”

  “I mean, that’s what it looked like to me, but I’m real bad at math.”

  “You must have been really good at other stuff to get in here,” Vi says.

  You bet. Canoeing. Caving. Making the right friends. “I guess.” It takes all my effort to keep my earlier promise.

  Delaney walks up and hands Vi and me our Cokes. While we crack open our cans and sip, she surveys the crowd once more. “Everyone here is going to be dead in a hundred years,” she says—not to us, to the air. “I wonder who the last person here to die will be.”

  Vi’s eyes widen. She looks to me. I give her a shrug that says, You’ll never completely understand Delaney, but at least you’ll never be bored. I want to ask Delaney what inferences and deductions she made, but she’ll tell me when she’s ready and not a minute sooner.

  We huddle in our tight circle, talking in meandering spirals. Delaney’s favorite Marvel character (Dr. Strange). That they put corn on pizza in Brazil (I don’t tell Vi that my mamaw is a pizza expert). Our class schedules (no overlap). Our sports. Vi makes me guess hers. I guess soccer, and I’m wrong (volleyball, also popular in Brazil).

  A pair of teachers force us to mingle awkwardly with a couple of other clumps of new students. We make stilted small talk and peel back away from each other.

  I don’t know why Vi stays by our side. She’s so effervescent and outgoing, she could easily be making many new friends. But she isn’t looking over our shoulders for a better opportunity.

  Delaney abruptly vanishes into herself. “I have stuff to do.” This isn’t a surprise. I knew she would need time to process her new information and surroundings.

  The exhaustion of the day and my desire to keep hanging out with Vi are arm-wrestling, and fatigue is winning. “I’m gonna head out too.” But there’s still one thing on my list before turning in. I need the smell of water. “I’m going to swing by the lake if either of y’all care to join me.”

  “I’ll go,” Vi says. “I haven’t walked around the lake yet.”

  The din of the party slowly dies behind us, replaced by the nocturne of crickets, as we exit the gymnasium. The moon is high and nearly full, bathing everything in light the color of candle smoke.

  It’s cooled down even more. I wish I’d brought a jacket. A familiar tart, haylike smell lingers in the air from all the landscaping to ready the school.

  Before Delaney peels off to head to her dorm, we make breakfast plans. Vi tells us that the spirit is willing, but the flesh weak when it comes to waking up on Saturday mornings, so she might join us, but we shouldn’t plan on her. We both hug Delaney and continue to the lake.

  A hush falls between us as we walk.

  I smell the lake before I see it, the aroma of mud and composting marsh grasses, carrying on its shoulders the unripe-watermelon-rind scent of water. It reminds me of my river. This is where you can find sanctuary when you need it. And you’ll need it.

  The lake is compact—a glorified pond. But it’s serene and picturesque and it reflects the moonlight like it should. Here and there a frog adds its voice to the cricket orchestra.

  A paved path, dotted with benches, rings the lake. We have it to ourselves except for a girl who passes us at a near sprint with a mutter of “On your left,” listening to music so loud we hear it through her headphones.

  Vi pulls out her phone, snaps a picture of the moon, and examines it. She sighs. “Never good.”

  “Nothing’ll break your heart like trying to take a picture of the moon. It’s like, ‘Here, look at this picture I took of a coin in a parking lot.’ ”

  Vi giggles, then laughs harder, starting to snort.

  “What?”

  She takes a second to gather herself. “I was remembering once when I was running on the beach, and the moon was up, and I thought, ‘I’ll keep running and get closer to the moon so I can get a better picture.’ ”

  We laugh and then subside into quiet. Vi pauses at one of the benches and sits.

  I join her. “What will you miss most from home?” I ask.

  “The ocean. I love it. I think I’m part mermaid.” Her voice is wistful.

  “I’ve never seen the ocean.”

  “No?” She sounds like I just told her I’ve never tried chocolate.

  “Nope.”

  “I’ll show you the ocean someday. I want to see your face when you see it for the first time.”

  “Deal.”

  “What will you miss most from your home?”

  “The river where I live. My papaw and I used to canoe together.”

  “We both miss our water.” Vi slowly points. “Look,” she whispers.

  A large orange-white fish—some sort of decorative carp, I’m guessing—has swum into the shallows, where it sits nearly motionless, lazily sculling to stay in place. It seems to luminesce in the silver moonlight. We both sit as still as we can.

  “Hello, Moon Fish,” Vi murmurs. “Did you come to say hello?”

  “I wonder if it’s laying eggs. It looks like it’s stirring up mud.”

  “I think this is a good—ah, I can’t think of the English word. Presságio in Portuguese.”

  “Like an omen or a sign?”

  “Omen! That. I think it means we’re going to have a good year here.”

  “Are you scared to be here?” I ask.

  “A little bit. Are you scared?”

  “Yes,” I say.

  “What scares you most?” Vi asks.

  I fidget. “I dunno. Letting down my grandparents. Letting down Delaney. Looking stupid. How about you?”

  “Same. Disappointing the people I love. Looking stupid.”

  * * *

  Curfew is at eleven on Friday and Saturday nights, with lights-out at midnight. I make it into my room at 10:50. Tripp enters at 10:57, dragging the sour whiff of alcohol behind him. All substance use is forbidden at Middleford, an expellable offense. But something tells me that gets ignored a lot, especially by the kids like Tripp who don’t need to concern themselves terribly with blowing an opportunity or ten. We grunt greetings to each other and take refuge behind our respective phone screens. We’re interrupted a few minutes later by Cameron and Raheel making their curfew check.

  I find Vi’s Instagram and follow her. I browse through her pictures. Her at the beach, aglow. With a group of classmates, wearing identical khaki pants and white blouses, at a pizza place. In line at the movie theater. Hugging a small fluffy white dog apparently named Pipoca, which I look up and which means “popcorn” in Portuguese. There are photos of her vacationing with what I take to be her family—skiing, standing together in Times Square(?), grinning at Disney World, posing with the Eiffel Tower in the background.

  Her father is handsome and fit and has thic
k gray hair and a CEO air about him. Her mother appears to be much younger than her father and has a former-beauty-queen vibe. Vi looks to have a brother who’s significantly older than her—fifteen years or so. I’m not sure which of the photos show her house. Or houses. Or luxury hotels.

  Your life sure is different from mine, Vi. Hope that’s okay with you.

  My phone illuminates with a text from Delaney. Sounds like you and Vi had fun.

  Me: Yeah, we had a big time.

  Delaney: She seems cool.

  Me: You never told me you thought I looked like River Phoenix.

  Delaney: You never asked.

  Me: I’m supposed to check in randomly and ask hey do I look like any actors????

  Delaney: Yes.

  Me: Do I look like any other actors?

  Delaney: Nope, just the one. There’s a bus going into New Canaan tomorrow. Wanna go?

  Me: Sure.

  Delaney: I’ll see if Vi wants to come.

  Me: Cool.

  Delaney: You have fun at the thing?

  Me: Yeah.

  Delaney: You glad you came?

  Me: Ask me when they start dropping homework on us.

  Delaney: You think we’re missing out on anything in Sawyer right now?

  Me: Some quality driving in circles. Shooting road signs with shotguns.

  Delaney: Hahaha.

  Lights-out comes. I lie awake in the dark, thinking about destiny. Thinking about where I’d be right now if I hadn’t sat next to Delaney Doyle at that Narateen meeting years ago.

  I awake on Saturday morning to find that Vi has followed me back on Instagram. A shadow of insecurity passes over me at the smallness of my life on display there. A lot of photos of Punkin, my river, me and Papaw and Mamaw, me and Delaney. None of ski trips or beach vacations or fancy hotels. But I figure I might as well get used to my life feeling tiny compared to the other kids here, and I head to the dining hall to meet Delaney for breakfast.

  “You sleep good?” I ask as Delaney approaches alone.

  “Best I have in years.”

  We walk into the dining hall. “Vi not coming?” I ask.

  “Don’t know. She was asleep when I left.”

  “She was up earlier, because she followed me back on Insta.”

  “Let me check again and see if I know now. Nope, still don’t know.”

  “Hey, can I take a video of you admitting you don’t know something?”

  Delaney smiles crookedly. “Eat shit. I say when I don’t know stuff.”

  “Never once.”

  “Didn’t say it happened much.”

  “Speaking of Vi, will you not mention to her about my whole family situation? I don’t want every new friend knowing that right off.”

  Delaney fills a bowl with Lucky Charms and milk and grabs a cherry Danish. “Secret’s safe with me. On that fun topic, after the thing last night, I tried to call my mama.”

  “No shit?” I select a couple of foil-wrapped breakfast burritos. Once I start rowing, I’ll probably have to eat healthier.

  “Didn’t get her. She must have been busy perfecting the semiconductor again.”

  “Do what?”

  “I’m joking.”

  We sit. “You gonna try again?”

  She shrugs. “She really doesn’t give one shit about me. Hard to get the energy to keep trying.” She raises her thumb to gnaw it.

  I reach across the table to stop her. “You know they probably have, like, counselors and stuff here, right?” I say.

  She sits on her hand. “So?”

  “So maybe they could help with you chewing on your thumbs.”

  “We’ll see. Once I settle in.”

  Vi doesn’t join us in the dining hall. But she does show up for the day trip to New Canaan. She’s wearing a canary sundress under a jean jacket and greets us with a wide, sunny smile.

  We load onto several vans to go into the city. Delaney, Vi, and I grab a row, and I sit next to Vi.

  “I wanted to wear my favorite necklace today, but it’s all rolled up,” Vi says.

  “Tangled?” I ask.

  “Yes, that one.”

  “You’re in luck,” I say. “I’m really good at untangling things.”

  “He is,” Delaney confirms.

  She reaches in her jacket pocket. “I have it here.” She pulls it out and hands it to me, a delicate and intricate network of silver chains. “It’s supposed to look like this.” She shows me a selfie in which she’s wearing it.

  I cradle the necklace in my palm. “First: I just hold it for a few seconds and breathe. I remind myself, ‘It got tangled on its own. It’ll get untangled on its own.’ ” I move my hand around gently, tipping it and tilting it slightly. “Then I see how it lies. I look for a good place to start. And…there,” I murmur, picking it up by a corner.

  Vi leans in close. She’s absolutely still, like I’m defusing a bomb, and I can hear her breathing.

  “The trick is, don’t pull and yank. That’ll get it more tangled. And you might break it. Just let it untangle itself with a little help. Let it come to you.” I suspend it and shake it gently, the twisted whorls falling slack. I see my opening and take it. A few moves, and I’m done. I raise the necklace delicately but triumphantly.

  “One of your best times,” Delaney says.

  Vi gasps in delight. “You need to start a business doing this.”

  “I ran my own business during the summers.”

  “Yeah?”

  “I mowed lawns.”

  “Mode?”

  “Cut people’s grass at their houses.”

  “Ah. My dad started his own business when he was our age, delivering groceries on his bike. Now he has…What is it when you have many stores?”

  “A chain?”

  “A chain of grocery stores in Brazil and Argentina, called Campos Verde. He opened his first stores in Florida and Texas last year. It’s called Green Fields here.”

  That would explain her lifestyle.

  “Speaking of chains.” She twists in her seat, gathers her abundant hair, and holds it off her neck. “Here. Put it on me.”

  “You want me to put it on you?”

  “Yes. More easy with help.”

  “Here, give it to me,” Delaney says. “You’ll screw it up, Cash.”

  “I mean, I won’t, but here.” I hand the necklace to Delaney.

  She carefully loops the necklace around Vi’s neck, avoiding an errant strand of copper-colored hair.

  “Yay! I wanted to wear this today.”

  They take us to Target. Delaney and I trail Vi as she makes a few last-minute school-supply purchases. We don’t buy anything.

  While Vi is checking out, Delaney turns to me, batting her eyelashes, and says in a breathy voice, “Put it on me.”

  * * *

  When we’re done at Target, they take us downtown, quaint with its brick sidewalks and upscale shops and restaurants. Some of the storefronts are already bedecked in autumn regalia.

  Delaney tells us New Canaan is one of the richest cities in the United States. “A lot of people live here and have fancy jobs in New York, I guess,” she says.

  We stroll aimlessly in the sun and talk and laugh. We sit outdoors at a coffee shop and nurse glasses of water while Vi sips a cappuccino with an ornate feather drawn on the surface in milk and muses on how tranquil and orderly (read: boring) New Canaan is compared with Rio de Janeiro. I remember learning in Bible study that Canaan was the name of a promised land.

  It definitely seems like this is a promised land for Delaney. I already see something changing in her. Her stretches of introspection seem more placid than they used to. She’s still been attacking her thumbs, but without her usual furious urgency. She’
s freer with laughter and jokes. Some of the edges of her usual prickliness have smoothed.

  Our pickup time is in the early evening, and the day passes too quickly. Before I left, Papaw told me that if I’m ever hanging out with a group, I should be the one to suggest getting ice cream, because it’ll always be a good time and it’ll be my doing. So before it’s time to leave, I do exactly that, and he’s right.

  * * *

  We get back and eat dinner together in the dining hall, then go our separate ways. I’m tired, but it’s amusement-park tired, not ditch-digging tired. I videochat with Papaw anyway. This time, I go to the lake, far from Tripp.

  “Now, your mamaw ain’t here to help work the doodad,” Papaw wheezes as he signs on, his image moving jerkily with their slow internet. He coughs long and loud. Just as I think he has it under control, he starts in again. It might be my imagination or the cheap tablet camera, but he’s already visibly thinner, and I’ve been gone for fewer than four days. It occurs to me that after we talk, I’ll go watch Midnite Matinee with the guys on my floor, but he’ll be alone until Mamaw gets home. Delaney told me that a high percentage of people die shortly after a longtime spouse or partner dies. Johnny Cash did. I hope it’s not the same deal here, with my leaving.

  I tell him about going to the mixer and meeting Vi. I tell him about Tripp. (I don’t mention his mocking Papaw’s accent.) I ask him if he’s improved at all, even though there’s no good answer that isn’t a lie. This isn’t a thing that improves. You don’t kick emphysema. You have good days and bad days, but eventually the bad days outnumber the good, until no days outnumber any others. It’s like how once I commented in front of Delaney that it was cold that day, so global warming must be improving. Big mistake. She explained the difference between weather on a given day—an isolated snapshot within some trending larger system—and climate, the larger system. Papaw has climate change with some days of good weather.