The Flyers

by Beth Turley

  I laughed and it felt like relief. But New York was a hundred miles away from Franklin City. How could I keep Summer close with all that space between us?

  “Can I pack you in a box and bring you with me?”

  She rolled her eyes and smiled a little.

  “Obviously.”

  Over her shoulder I saw someone coming down the street. She wore paisley print leggings and had her jet-black hair in a messy bun. Riah. I pictured the glimmer of tears in her eyes after she read “Caged Bird.” Summer noticed my focus had shifted and turned around. She checked her watch, the one that told her the time and her heart rate and how fast she was running, and grinned. The Truly Happy Dimple appeared.

  “You’re early,” she called out to Riah.

  “I couldn’t wait anymore.” Riah jogged the rest of the way over to us and her bun swayed. “Hey, Elena.”

  “Hi,” I said, but it came out like a croak. My cheeks flushed. I glanced at Summer. Her face was lit up like when a new issue of Spread Your Wings came. A crack split through my chest. What if she never looked at the magazine the same way again?

  “We’re going for a run,” Summer explained. She kicked her leg back, grabbed her ankle, and tugged into a stretch.

  “Do you want to come?” Riah asked.

  The heat in my face deepened.

  “Um… well… I don’t really…” I waited for Summer to finish my sentence. Her eyes flicked toward me, fast and aggravated, like this time she didn’t want to. I was being that friend again, the friend who stuck like gum to the bottom of a shoe.

  “Elena doesn’t run.”

  In that moment I wished I could trade my textbooks for a track, my studying for sneakers. Anything to keep Summer in stride with me.

  “We can go slow,” Riah suggested.

  I knew every look on Summer’s face the way I knew the parts of a cell. Wrinkled forehead, narrow eyes, lips rolled together. Her can we not? look.

  “It’s okay,” I said, staring at the ground. “My dad came home to have lunch with me.”

  “Fun!” Riah ran in place. She faced Summer. “Ready?”

  Summer nodded and they both turned around, toward the top of Daybury Street, then started to jog.

  “Talk to you later?” I called out before Summer got too far.

  “Sure,” she answered without turning her head back.

  I watched them until they disappeared, imagining they were off to take Summer’s favorite route. I always thought of it as our route, and when we took it together we would walk, not run. It wound through the woods and ended up on a street near the water, where there were big gray beach houses shaped like wrapped packages. We could get to the Franklin City Boat Launch by climbing over the stone wall, and we’d walk across the kelpy sand to sit on the dock. People would set up their boats and take off, names like Princess Tiffany II and Sea Crusher painted on the sides.

  “Let’s sail away some day. Just the two of us,” Summer said when we first found the route. We were sitting with our legs dangling over the blue-green water.

  “I’ve never heard a more perfect plan,” I’d answered. Because of course I’d go anywhere if it could be just us. It was better that way. I imagined our own boat, the Sum-lena, headed straight for where the sun met the water.

  I hoped with all my heart that she and Riah weren’t going there.

  The walk to my front door was different from when I rushed out. I could feel the sharp grass bite my feet. Summer was gone. And I had a letter in my hand that said I was supposed to be a Flyer.

  “Fill us in!” Mom said when I was back on the Bienvenidos mat. The cartoon mice were still dancing on the TV like the whole world hadn’t changed. Dad looked at me, pretending to nervously bite his nails.

  “In a minute.” I climbed the stairs and closed my bedroom door behind me. I left the Flyer letter on my comforter and went to the closet. The letter sat next to me when I returned, still and patient, while I opened my Lyric Libro.

  A teardrop splattered between the lines on the blank page. It seeped in and spread wide. I tried to stop the aching feeling in my chest. My dream had come true. But it had come true without Summer. The facts were opposites, protons and electrons, and my brain didn’t know how to make them coexist.

  When I was a therapist, I would be taught to understand how people could be happy and sad at once. I would help them decipher the things that hurt. Answer their hardest questions.

  I pulled the feather pen out of the paper bag and started to write.

  Please don’t run so far I can’t catch you,

  Off to places I don’t know how to get to.

  Don’t you know that if I could

  I’d keep you with me.

  FLYERS CHAT

  Whitney R.:

  Okay I need to get this chat started RIGHT NOW because I am TOO EXCITED!

  Harlow Y.:

  I was about five minutes from starting it myself, so I appreciate your gumption.

  Whitney R.:

  Gumption? GREAT word!

  Harlow Y.:

  My journalism teacher tells me I should vary my word choice.

  Cailin C.:

  That’s good advice cause otherwise we’d all be going around just saying cool and good and nice all the time.

  Whitney R.:

  Hey, I have NOTHING against the word “cool.”

  Harlow J.:

  My journalism teacher would probably tell me to use “invigorating.”

  Cailin C.:

  How invigorating is my new sweater?

  Whitney R.:

  How INVIGORATING is it that we’re going to be in a MAGAZINE?!?

  Harlow Y.:

  Where is our other invigorating Flyer, Elena?

  Cailin C.:

  Yeah, Elena, are you there?

  Whitney R:

  We want to MEET you!

  Harlow Y.:

  I think we might have scared her. Or as my journalism teacher would probably suggest, she’s “petrified.”

  Chapter Five

  The Stars

  Thursday was movie night in the Martinez house. Mom made two bowls of popcorn—one with just butter for Dad and Edgar and one covered in black pepper and parmesan for her and me. Dad said our combination was a crime against popcorn, which just made Mom and me dig our hands deeper into our special bowl and laugh.

  “What should we put on?” Mom asked. She walked in from the kitchen with the two plastic green bowls, then gave one to Dad.

  “Let’s let Elena pick. It’s a special night for her,” he suggested.

  I was on the couch, pulling at a loose thread on the blue corduroy cushion.

  “Why?” Edgar asked. He plopped butt-first onto the carpet, his plush clownfish in his hands.

  “Your sister is going to help make a magazine.” Mom smiled at me. “Tell us more about it, Lenny.”

  The thread snapped off in my hand. I let it fall to the rug. That afternoon I’d read the letter ten times, scoured every inch of the Spread Your Wings website for information about past Flyers’ experiences. Maybe I had pages from the magazine pasted all over my wall, but I had no idea what it meant to be part of it. I only knew the pictures of the Flyers on their trips to Central Park and the Museum of Ice Cream, the essays they’d write at the end. I didn’t know what it would feel like to be there. How the days would go. How I would get through it without Summer.

  “We visit places around the city. We help write some of the features. And if you like photography or fashion or production you get to help with that. It’s like magazine camp, I guess.”

  “What part of the magazine do you think you’ll be helping with?” Dad wrestled Edgar into his arms. “I can give you some fashion tips if you need them.” He tossed his head back like a model.

  Edgar laughed, but I couldn’t. My heart felt all locked up. Nowhere on the Spread Your Wings website did it explain what a secret songwriter with good grades and red cheeks could possibly bring to the pages of the magazine.
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  “Can we just watch the movie?” I asked, leaning my head back against the couch. My parents glanced at each other.

  “Sure. Pick one,” Mom said.

  “Fish!” Edgar screamed.

  “No, not again, Eddie,” Dad said.

  “It doesn’t matter to me. We can watch the fish movie,” I said.

  “No. We can’t. I’ve started seeing clownfish in my dreams.” Dad jokingly squeezed both sides of his head and clenched his teeth.

  “Fine. Let’s watch the dancing one. We all like that one,” I said. Dad undid his funny face and nodded slowly before scooting toward the movie cabinet under the TV, Edgar still in his lap.

  “Are you all right, Lenny? I would’ve expected you to be a little happier about all this,” Mom asked.

  “I am happy,” I replied, deadpan.

  “Sad,” Edgar chimed in. He tossed movie cases to the side while Dad searched, the plush clownfish in his mouth now.

  “Thanks, Eddie.” I rolled my eyes.

  “Does this have anything to do with you getting picked and not Summer?” Mom handed me the popcorn bowl. She always did that. When she asked me something hard, she’d pass over a piece of chocolate or the remote or her hand. Something for me to hold on to. But I pushed the bowl away this time.

  “No, I just don’t think I should go. I need to be here to babysit Edgar.”

  “It’s only for a week, hon. We’ll be fine.”

  I looked down. I moved my pinkie nail over my checkered pajama pants, writing invisible lyrics.

  “Lenny.” Dad was closer to the couch now. The Blu-ray case was open in his hand, and the disc flashed with rainbow colors from the lamplight. I didn’t answer. “It might be good for you to do this on your own. You don’t always need Summer there next to you.”

  “I said that’s not what this is about!”

  Edgar dropped his clownfish and it started to sing its song. All my feelings burst inside me like popcorn kernels. Deep lines formed in Dad’s forehead when he frowned. I’d never yelled at him before. I’d never yelled at anyone before. Not even when Edgar finger-painted on my math homework.

  “Okay. Let’s watch the movie. We’ll talk about this later,” Mom said.

  Ten minutes into the movie Edgar fell asleep on the rug. I sat on the couch with Mom, the bowl of popcorn between us. She kept glancing at me in the dark as if I wouldn’t see her. I curled my legs up to my chest and focused on breathing until the credits rolled.

  * * *

  Around midnight, I was wide-awake in bed when I heard the taps against my window. At first, I thought I’d imagined it. I squeezed my eyes shut and tried not to think about burglars breaking in. The sharp ping came again, louder this time.

  I unburied myself from the covers and crossed the carpet to my desk. Summer was at her window. The only light came from the lamp on the side table next to her. She kept her cross-country medals there. I slid my window open.

  “You’re up late,” I said.

  Summer hardly ever stayed up late, because she liked to wake up early. Even when we had sleepovers. One time, I woke up at her house and her side of the bed was empty. She stood at her window with her hands on the sill, staring.

  “What are you doing?” I asked.

  “Watching the sunrise.” She looked at me and her face was half shadow, half light. “Come watch too.”

  “But I’m so comfortable,” I whined, and tugged Summer’s sheet up to my chin. It smelled like her.

  “Sometimes you have to get uncomfortable or you’ll never experience things!” she whisper-shouted.

  I surrendered and climbed out of the bed. My eyes were still heavy with sleep, but I went to stand with her at the window. Outside was my house, and the tips of the spiky pine trees surrounding our yards. Above it all the sky turned pink and blue. A few stars still hung up there, softly glowing.

  “It would’ve been sad to miss this,” I said.

  “Told you so.”

  I tried a few times after that to wake up for the sunrise. But sometimes I overslept. Or I was too busy getting ready for school to notice it. Or I was just so warm in my bed I couldn’t make it to the window.

  “I can’t sleep,” Summer said. “I feel too terrible.”

  “About what?” My mind replayed the sound of Summer’s sharp voice in the driveway, the image of her and Riah running away. But in this moment I wanted to super-stretch my arms out to Summer’s window and make her feel better.

  “How I was acting earlier. I was jealous and being the worst friend. You never would have been like that if I got in and you didn’t.”

  “I wish it had happened that way,” I said. My voice cracked.

  “I don’t. I really am so, so happy for you, Elena. And I know you’re scared, but you’re going to be amazing.”

  Sometimes you have to get uncomfortable or you’ll never experience things.

  I looked up at the sky. The stars sparkled like guiding lights. Maybe if I kept my head up and my eyes on them, I would end up right where I was supposed to be. I felt patched up, like there was gauze wrapped around all the wounds from earlier. I wouldn’t have to do this big thing with Summer mad at me. Because we were still friends, no matter what had happened this year.

  “I’ll text you the whole time,” I said.

  Summer’s laugh filled up the darkness.

  “I know.”

  Chapter Six

  The Send Button

  The laptop on my bed chimed and went dark for the fifth time. I sighed, wiggling my finger on the track pad until it lit up again. A message from the Spread Your Wings site waited on the screen, where it had been for the past hour, blinking and bright purple and asking if I was ready to submit. I’d clicked the button that said I was accepting my Flyer position. The permission slips and emergency contact information sheets were signed by my parents and uploaded. All I had to do was press send. My hand hovered above the computer, and each time it lowered down, I pulled back like the keyboard might burn me.

  Diagnosis: that moment right before you do something big when you convince yourself you can’t.

  I got up and walked to the window. The zebra-print pencil box on my desk had stones inside. I took one out and drew my arm back, ready to toss it across the yard to Summer’s window. She would tell me to press the button. Her words would be fast and firm, and it would be exactly what I needed to settle my nerves. On the first day of sixth grade, Summer and I got off the bus and stood together in front of Franklin City Middle School. She reached out to grab my wrist, and her fingers grazed the pulse point.

  “Elena, your heart is racing!” she said.

  The door on the bus squealed when it closed.

  “Yeah, I’m freaking out.” In my head the windows on the building turned to monster eyes, the doors a mouth full of sharp teeth.

  “It’s going to be great,” Summer said, and let go of my wrist. “Don’t worry.”

  Her assurance had made me feel better then, smoothed my heartbeat out. But now it made me feel kind of nauseous. I dropped the stone back into the pencil box. Across the yard Summer’s white lace curtains were closed. She couldn’t take care of everything this time. She wasn’t going to be a Flyer. I was.

  The laptop chimed again. I went to sit on the bed and brought the screen back to life. The message reappeared. Are you ready to submit?

  I dropped my hand to the trackpad, paused for one more second.

  Treatment: just do it.

  Chapter Seven

  The Train Station

  I had been to Grand Central Station twice before, one time on a class field trip to the Met and the other with my family, Summer, and her parents during the holidays. The train station feels like two different worlds. One minute you’re in a dim tunnel, surrounded on all sides by other passengers getting off the train. The walls and ceiling are cement, and the tracks look broken, and sometimes a rat crawls out from underneath the platform. But then you keep walking and the space opens up to a lobby that
looks more like a museum than a train station. Marble staircases spiral up on each side. Painted constellations cover the ceiling. A Taurus bull charges with its horns down across the teal-blue sky, and the Cancer crab crawls into the corner. I feel like I have a personal connection with the station because Mom reads our horoscope online every morning. We’re both Cancers.

  “Cancer, July twelfth. You will find an opportunity to be adventurous today. Although not second nature to you, you should seize the opportunity. You may surprise yourself,” she read from her phone after we parked outside the train station in Franklin City.

  “You’re making that up,” I said. I wrung the handle of the duffel bag at my feet.

  “Prove it.” She smiled at me and snuck the phone back into the pocket of her purple scrubs.

  I looked up at the starry Cancer crab now. I followed the direction of its claws off to the side of the main terminal, near a staircase, to call Mom and let her know I’d gotten here safe. And even though the train station felt enormous, and it was loud, and I didn’t have the seventh-grade class or my family or Summer here, the excitement gripped me. I was going to be a Flyer. I almost burst out singing.

  Against all odds I’m standing here.

  All this joy leaves no room for fear.

  A sound cut through the commotion around me. Loud, shallow, crackling breaths. I looked away from my phone. A girl my age sat on the stairs next to a purple duffel bag. She had brown tortoiseshell glasses and big, fluffy curls and a hand pressed over her heart. Her shoulders rose and fell too fast, her brown skin shining with sweat.

  “Are you okay?” I asked her.

  The girl kept breathing and squeezed her eyes shut.

  “Panic. Attack,” she wheezed.

  I looked around for an adult nearby but no one else was paying attention. Passengers rushed up and down the stairs fast, nearly kicking her duffel bag. I looked closer at the embroidery on the bag and saw the familiar cursive writing: Spread Your Wings. The same duffel bag Summer and I bought with our Edgar-babysitting money. The same duffel bag slung over my shoulder right now.