Sam had caught up to him by now. “You’re such an idiot.” Her shoes were still on.
“Oh, have some fun.” He rolled his jeans and let the water run to his calves.
“Alright, that’s enough.” Sam rushed toward him as the waves receded, backing away when they came back stronger. “Seriously, Benji. It’s not like humans can swim.”
“And how do you know that?”
“Invisibility, swimming, telepathy. You know, things called superpowers.” She crossed her arms. “We don’t live in a fairy tale. If the current takes you, there’s no coming back.”
“And what do you think is out there?” He pointed to the horizon. “What’s past that weird line in the sky?”
“I used to wonder that too.” Sam took another step away. “Listen, my dad says a lot of stupid stuff, but there’s one thing he’s right about.”
Benji turned around to face her, feet still submersed.
“Whatever’s past that bridge is dangerous. Any idiot could figure that out. How come everyone who left never came back? Your dad left to answer that question, promising to return in ten days. And still, poof! Ten years later, and he’s still gone.”
He heard the story of Scott’s experiment a million times, but something about Sam telling him now caused a bundle of despair to burrow its way into his stomach.
“I won’t let you leave.” Her hair jumped in the wind like embers from a flame. “Wishville sucks, but it’s all we have.”
“Sure.” Benji nodded, but he felt nothing. “I guess.” He stepped out of the water, sand accumulating on his feet as an unreliable sock.
Sam’s frown lightened as they walked away from the shore. When they reached their original spot, they sat and balanced their sodas on the sand.
“Plus,” she said, “how do you plan on leaving town when your mom hardly lets you leave the house?”
“Oh, shut up.” He put his socks and shoes back on, not even bothering to get rid of the sand on his feet. He wanted to remember the feeling.
“She doesn’t know you came here, does she?”
“Nope, and she won’t know, because you aren’t gonna tell her.” He swiped her soda from the sand and held it in front of him.
“What, you think I’m a snitch?” She reached for the can, but he pulled it away. “Seriously, Benji, I’m the one who bought it.”
He laughed and returned it to her with a fading grin. Today was another awful spring festival to add to the list of memories. Another day in Wishville. Another day the same. Benji was surrounded by everyone he knew. He was sitting next to a girl who claimed to understand him. Yet for some strange reason, he had never felt less understood.
CHAPTER 4
score
James counted from one to ten in his head. When he reached ten, he counted from ten to one and back again. He repeated this endless cycle until his breathing steadied, and his nerves no longer fought him.
The classroom was the same as always. Scattered notes across the chalkboard, crumpled papers scattering the floor like confetti. Mr. Trenton leaned comfortably in his chair while the class enjoyed a five-minute beak. But although everything was normal, James could no longer focus on the book he was reading. The words scattered across his vision like an unsolved jigsaw puzzle.
He started again. One, two, three . . .
Most of the class didn’t know it yet, but today they’d be receiving their exam scores. At the beginning of each year, before tossing away the complementary school calendar, James would find their score announcement day and mark it on his agenda. He had seen this day coming since the beginning of eighth grade, so when the Mr. Trenton established the end of their five-minute break by announcing their scores were here, James was the only one who was able to contain his panic.
“You shouldn’t be nervous about them.” Mr. Trenton’s gaze locked on Benji, who had his head in his palms. “The exams are meant to track progress.” He smiled at the stack of yellow papers in his hand as though they were shining blocks of gold. “As long as you did better than last year, you shouldn’t be concerned.”
Jett spoke as he raised his hand. “What if you didn’t do better?”
“If that’s the case, then I shouldn’t let you graduate.” Mr. Trenton flipped the first paper onto Noah’s desk and searched for his second victim, leaving Jett with blank eyes and a billion questions buzzing through his brain. It was refreshing to see Jett concerned over grades for once. But the humor was only a temporary relief, and as the room filled with nervous whispers, James had difficulty counting.
Ten, nine, eight . . .
Soon, the time came. Mr. Trenton’s stack was slender now. James glued his eyes to the page he had been reading for the last ten minutes and waited for the moment he’d been dreading all year.
An upside-down paper slid in front of him. Before deciding to look, James stuck a dime between the pages of his book and observed the room. Students were either waiting in angst or rubbing foreheads at their scores. Jett, who usually faced anywhere but the front, was sitting properly, hunched over his desk with a face hard enough to penetrate wood. Pencils rolled across desks, feet tapped, and a couple of girls in the back squealed like thirsty parrots. It’s crazy how easy it was to scare children with nothing but a few scattered numbers.
Three, four, five. James flipped his paper over.
His scores had always been high enough to skip a couple of grades. Although he considered it for some time, Mr. Koi wouldn’t allow him. He explained that attending school with his peers would improve his communication skills, which would prove beneficial when taking over the family businesses. His father’s high expectations were affirmed in that conversation, and since then, he had put in his full effort to over-perform. It wasn’t a matter of obtaining impressive scores anymore—it all narrowed to doing better than impressive. Each year his numbers increased. Low eighties to high eighties. High eighties to low nineties. Since they were always high, the pressure to perform better on the next test was monstrous. It was different from having mid-sixties, where with a bit of studying one could make a twenty-point jump.
This was the last year they’d be required to take the annual exam, and James was determined to end his primary school career on a successful note. He looked at the page. He read the numbers.
The room was desaturated, colorless.
Black.
All he could see were three rows in front of him, arranged in a neat chart.
Math: 98
Science: 97
English: 99
He exhaled a breath of hot air he’d been holding. High nineties—that was better than last year. He was safe.
Benji had his own paper in hand, his forehead creased as he read. After a few moments, he shut his eyes and nodded in acceptance. He wasn’t a genius, or even among the smartest. Yet although James’s scores from over the years were obviously favorable, Benji was Mr. Trenton’s favorite student. Probably because he was always eager to raise his hand in class, which James never bothered with. Why participate if his classmates didn’t care about what he had to say?
Audrey, who sat in front of James, spun around in her chair. “So,” she said, “how’d it go?” Her hazel eyes shimmered, despite the room’s dull light.
Everyone knew Audrey was the second-smartest person in the room. Her scores had always been only a percent or so behind James’s. By the fourth grade, she was reading at a high school level and solving complex riddles in her spare time. Now she was also class president, as well as the best player on Wishville Junior High’s basketball team. Sam heard from her brothers that she practiced basketball with the high school players every summer break. Sam called it cheating, but James called it resourceful.
The main talent that differentiated Audrey from James was her musical abilities through the violin, which he had no experience in whatsoever. Despite her ability to exceed i
n every aspect of her life, she was always humble, which drove Sam crazy. Sam had always tried to convince him that Audrey had been rivaling him all these years, but he never believed it.
Rival or not, Audrey was nice to him. He motioned to the paper with his eyes, and she rotated it. “As expected, you did amazing.”
She passed him her own yellow sheet. Mid-nineties.
“I guess I did alright.” Her silky hair hung from her head in thin wisps, and she spoke with a voice of soft cream. “I don’t know how you do it. You’re like a walking encyclopedia. But—you know—with a sense of style.”
James frowned. “Thanks?”
The bell rang, and Audrey took her paper back. “Can you believe we’ll be in high school soon?” She swung her mint backpack over her shoulder and took a sip from her thermos of tea. “You should have lunch with us in the music room sometime. Noah and Peyton really admire you. I mean—I do, too—of course, but really, you should. Sorry, that wasn’t English.”
James nodded as he slid his paper into a folder to keep it crisp. He was quick to leave the room in search of his parents. Benji must have run right after him, because Good work echoed down the hall. Mr. Trenton always complimented Benji’s achievements, but never James’s. Maybe he assumed he had enough recognition at home.
James heightened his pace, not in the mood for a chat, but he couldn’t escape them. Three kids swarmed in front of him, forming a wall between James and the entrance. Sam crossed her arms, Chloe detangled a piece of hair with her fingers, and Benji’s eyes glowed with a furious curiosity. James waited for them to say it. “So what’d you get?” It was always the same question they asked each year, and he would always answer with pride. He was preparing to share his three numbers when a new question struck him.
“What happened yesterday?” Benji stuck his hands in his sweatshirt pocket. Waiting. James understood the true intentions behind his vague question. He was trying to trip him. Trying to get him to say something he wanted to hear.
James had played this game before. He raised his stiff brows. “What do you think?”
Students zoomed through the halls, bumping shoulders and fleeing down the front steps. The four friends were trapped in time. Motionless in a world that wouldn’t stop turning. As James waited for Benji’s answer, Sam coughed, marking her participation in the game. “Enough joking around,” she said. “You think we don’t want an explanation?”
James remembered his parents rushing Nina to the hospital. He remembered sitting in the room, trapped between distant stars, forced to watch Earth circle the Sun. He bit his lip until it bled.
The hallways darkened. All James heard was the slamming of lockers and muttering of children. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed before Sam spoke again. “We were just worried,” she said. “No reason to be all sour about it.”
“I don’t understand these weird codes.” Chloe zipped her jacket. “Is Nina okay?” There it was, the true question.
James relaxed his jaw. “It’s not important.”
Benji remembered the night he came home from Blueberry last week. He remembered Nina’s strange apology. “Do you know something about Nina that—”
“It’s an act.” James tried to bite his lip again, but the tender flesh caused him to wince, so resorted to pinching his forearm. “She wants attention.”
Chloe kicked the heels of her boots against the floor. “You shouldn’t talk that way about her. If something happened to my sister—”
“Well your sister isn’t Nina!”
James lost control of his heavy breathing. They watched him silently, trying to read him. It stayed like that for a while, the other students trickling out the entrance of the school, the intervals of time between locker slams growing increasingly larger. The tension grew to the point that James had to start counting again. One to ten, ten to one, back again.
Sam couldn’t take much more of it. She broke from the group, heading to the door. “This is stupid. I’ll see you idiots tomorrow.”
Chloe was next. Her eyes trailed to the hallway clock, and she jumped a few times in nervous response. “Late to practice. Coach is gonna kill me.” She hopped backwards away from them, waving. “Come to my funeral, will you?”
James stopped counting when he noticed the red dot he’d pinched on his arm. As he headed for the exit, Benji finally said it.
“So what’d you get?”
* * *
James stood at Nina’s bedside. She sat against a tower of fluffy pillows, fidgeting with one of his wooden puzzles. Unfazed by his appearance, she continued, her braids resting calmly on her shoulders. “I’ve almost got it.”
James swiped it from her.
“Hey!”
He gave it a few solid turns and held the two twists of wood in both hands to show he had disconnected them properly. “Use your brain.” He merged them again, gave the pieces some messing with, and tossed it back into her hands.
“Now I have to start over.”
“You’re welcome.” James laughed at her pouting face, but eventually, she gave in and giggled with him. Nina’s laugh could resurrect even the most dead colors, so James had always longed to hear it. When the colors came, she was no longer the sick one. The weird kid. The sister he had to live for. And sometimes, he wished other people could meet this girl.
But when she dropped the smile and worked on the wooden puzzle from the beginning, everything was back to normal. Back to the way they’ve always been. Colorless and dry. An independent, gifted student and his sick, adorable little sister.
“Hey,” James said softly. “Stop the act. We both know you can’t tell the future.”
“Not acting.”
The two stared at each other deeply, and with only a moment of eye contact, an entire argument was spoken between their heads.
“I don’t understand it.” James leaned back, accepting defeat. “That’s all.”
“It takes a special kind of person to believe me.”
“Yeah. Very special.” James was about to grin, but was interrupted by the door. Mr. and Mrs. Koi peeked their heads inside to make sure Nina was awake before entering.
“How are you feeling?” Mrs. Koi rushed to Nina’s bedside, forcing James to step out of the way.
“I’m fine.”
While Nina battled their mom to leave her alone, the chair in the corner called for James. He threw his backpack against the wall before tossing himself onto a pile of blankets and pillows. The scent of hospital, which he hadn’t noticed since he entered, filled his lungs with a scorching burn. He tasted that smell too many times, and he was sick of it. These hospital visits with Nina were always the same. A bunch of workers with fake smiles and dry hands that smelled like alcohol. No matter how many masks he layered over his mouth, the scent of hand sanitizer would never leave his nose. He reread his high numbers one last time as his dad walked toward him.
“James.” Mr. Koi adjusted his glasses. “How was your day?”
“Great, we—”
“I see you spoke with Nina.”
James folded his paper.
Mr. Koi knelt in front of him, lowering his voice. “Did she mention anything to you?” He watched Nina working through the wooden puzzle as Mrs. Koi rebraided her hair. “About you know what?”
“No.” James raised the folded paper in his hand. “Today we got our . . .”
Mr. Koi faced him with shimmering eyes. His forehead was filled with mountains and valleys, his breathing uneven. Then James looked at his mother, whose hands were shaking as she ran her fingers through Nina’s cold hair.
Mr. Koi tilted his head as if to ask, You were saying?
James lowered his paper. “I’m going on a walk.” He stood, allowing Mr. Koi’s hand to slip off his shoulder.
“It’s getting late,” Mr. Koi said as he opened the door. But that was as
far as he’d go to stop James from leaving.
* * *
James found himself in Wishville’s town square. He wasn’t sure what brought him here, but the atmosphere calmed him, so he didn’t question himself.
It was quiet for a Friday. Perhaps the square had lost popularity since the last time he came, which was during last year’s festival. He stopped at Ms. Camille’s flower shop, observing a layer of damp cardboard taped over the broken window. Was Jett fooling around again? He counted five blinks before moving on.
When he reached Seaside Cafe, he leaned against the brick wall. He ensured he was far enough from the window that no one inside could see him. After a few moments of staring blankly at the courtyard fountain, listening to the water trickle from the top spout into the miniature pool below, he raised his arm and peeked at his scores again.
“I don’t know how you do it.”
Lauren Winchester loomed over his shoulder, wide eyes on his scores. When he was younger she was Benji’s babysitter since Rebecca was uncomfortable leaving him home alone. Lauren often had Benji’s friends come over, including James. She’d give them snacks and send Benji off with them for a few hours without Rebecca’s permission. She was only a high schooler at the time, and although James found her extroverted nature somewhat intimidating, he learned to appreciate her.
“Really,” Lauren said, “those scores are incredible.”
She was wearing her usual coffee shop uniform—khaki pants, a black collared shirt, and a plaid cross tie. When she graduated from Wishville High and started working at Seaside Cafe, James had found her uniform comical. She was always known for despising strict dress codes. In high school she launched a petition to remove the rule of wearing collared shirts to school, which was successful, yet here she was in the town square, stuck in the same quandary.
James bit the opposite side of his lip, avoiding the wound he had caused earlier. “Maybe.”
“You kidding?” She undid the top button of her shirt and adjusted her collar. “When I was your age I was scoring in the thirties and forties. Well, I guess that continued in the high school exams too.”
Leaving Wishville Page 4
