Wider than the Sky

by Katherine Rothschild

  “Emma, I’m sorry about . . .” I tried to find words to exonerate myself. To blame my hope bird. Or fountains. Anything.

  “I’m doing their costumes. So it all worked out. Nate’s paying me. So now we have a business relationship.” She set her work down, snipped the ends of the threads, and closed the top of the sewing machine before turning it off. She dropped her sewing shears with a clunk. “And that’s all.”

  Her chair made a loud scrape as she pushed it back, picked up her coat, and walked toward me. I stepped into the hall, making way for her to leave.

  “Emma, please know that I—”

  “That you pretended to be my friend to get close to Kai? Don’t worry. You’re not the first.” She pushed her glasses up her nose. “You’re just the first for whom that’s actually worked.”

  I opened my mouth to tell her that I met Kai before I ever met her, and that there was no way I was her friend because of him—but she was already whipping down the stairs, her heels clattering on the new hardwood.

  “I told you to tell her . . .” Charlie’s Southern drawl sounded so much like my dad’s, I wasn’t sure if I leapt a foot in the air because he’d snuck up on me in the dark or if it was because, for a moment, I’d thought he was my dad. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you. But I did tell you—”

  “I know. I know.” I looked over at Charlie. When did I start having so much trouble with truth? “What is it y’all always say? No crying over spilled milk?”

  “I think it’s cat’s milk, but you’re getting the gist of the thing.” He crossed his arms and leaned against the doorway to the sewing room. “I’m afraid I owe you an apology. Your sister’s more astute than I thought.”

  “What do you mean?” I glanced down the hallway to where pink light shone from under our door. “She knew I was on a date?”

  “Well, she knew you weren’t doing charity work.” He crossed and uncrossed his arms. “Maybe you could tell Blythe the truth next time.” I couldn’t believe him. If he thought he was teaching me a lesson about honesty, he was totally wrong. If he wanted to teach me about honesty, maybe he could have kept his word and helped me out.

  “You know what? We don’t need you babysitting us. Go back to your million-dollar apartment.” I pointed in the direction I was pretty sure was the backyard. “And all your photographs.”

  “So you’re angry. You want me to leave because of the photographs?” He looked down and tapped his Ferragamos against the new floor. “The photograph of your father?”

  “That’s what you wanted me to see, wasn’t it? To know that my dad was a total stranger to me? That he was never mine, but yours?” I felt the pinch of tears and pushed through it. “But we’re not. We will never be yours. And I’m going to get us out of here and into a home of our own.”

  “Go ahead and try.” He brushed his hand beneath his nose then turned on his heel and left. When I couldn’t hear him anymore, I leaned my head against the doorjamb, rolling my forehead back and forth against the cool, painted wood. How could I have messed things up so badly? Charlie had said he would help—but what had come of it?

  I’d stepped on Blythe’s heart.

  I’d kicked in Emma’s heart.

  And now I’d twisted Charlie’s heart. I swept my thumbnail over my lower lip, pressing hard into my scar. “Not with a Club, the Heart is broken. Broken. Broken. Slivered. Splintered. Smashed, pierced, taken apart. Slivered, slivers.” I reached for the fabrics to give myself something else to touch, breaking the poeting. I ran my hands over one beautiful textile after another until I’d let go of the words that kept intruding into my mind.

  I walked to the sewing room’s front window, looking out through the curtain I’d seen pushed aside before. Out front, I saw a brother and sister racing their bikes in the twilight. The wind picked up, and through the glass I heard the threat of rain, a wet whistling from the edge of the sky. I wrapped my arms around myself.

  It wasn’t until the tears came that I knew. It wasn’t their hearts I’d broken.

  It was mine.

  22

  SO FAR FROM CHILDHOOD

  At lunch on Monday, there were only a few students in the quad because of midterm conferences, so I spotted Kai and Emma right away. They were sitting at a picnic table opposite from where we usually sat. I hesitated to join them, but the worst was already over: she knew everything. Now all that was left was to live with it. So I headed toward them. In French, we’d had a test, so all Kai and I had exchanged were tense smiles. I had no idea what he’d told Emma. But when she saw me, she grabbed her bag and stalked off in the direction of fine arts.

  I sat down and pulled out the lunch Charlie had packed. “And you thought she wouldn’t care. She’s not speaking to me now.” Kai wrinkled his nose. I met his eyes and said: “Did she tell you she was at number six Saturday?”

  Kai shook his head slowly, dropping his sandwich crusts onto a plastic bag. “Saturday? She said she was working.” I frowned at him. “Why would you think she’s not talking to you? She told me she knows about you and me and that she’s happy for us.”

  Wait—what? While I’d been living with a silent, glaring sister and zero messages from Emma, he’d been going about life as usual? I glanced to where Emma had disappeared, wondering what she was playing at. I didn’t want to say anything to him until I knew. “So what were you talking about, then?”

  “Our Halloween costumes.” He stared into my eyes for a beat, looking a little like he thought I was acting jealous. “It’s her favorite holiday.” I glanced around at the posters advertising a Halloween dance. They were everywhere, but I hadn’t really noticed. I didn’t want to know about Halloween and dancing when Blythe and I weren’t speaking, Emma hated me, and now Kai was giving me the side-eye.

  “Oh.” I wanted to question him—had they been talking about Halloween, or the dance? Had she told him she’d seen us kissing, or had she just said she knew? To stop myself from becoming a prosecutor, I shoved half my bologna sandwich in my mouth.

  Kai pulled his Hacky out and tossed it in the air. “Have you ever had a habit?” He squinted at the overcast sky. “Something that you just did, and never thought about?”

  I couldn’t speak around my mayonnaise-y bite, so I nodded.

  “I just got my first B-plus.” He tossed his Hacky Sack half-heartedly. “Emma doesn’t think I should quit soccer because it’s a strong chance at a scholarship. But I have two jobs and night practice and six hours a day of homework. And I can’t quit either of my jobs. Something has to go. I don’t know what to do.” He leaned closer, his knees just touching mine under the table. On the table, he squeezed the Hacky Sack between his hands.

  I thought of what my dad would say. “What’s your gut?”

  He pressed his lips together, looking up again. “That this is only going to get harder. If it’s this hard to keep my grades up now, at Rolly, what will happen at college? I’ll have to work there, too, and train. And you have to maintain a certain GPA as an athlete. What if I can’t do it?”

  “I bet you can do it,” I said, finishing my sandwich. It seemed like he could do anything and everything. But . . . if he had to skip practice just to get one day off, maybe he was overcommitted. “What do you wish you didn’t have to do?” He didn’t say anything for a long moment, his eyes on the ball in his hands. I wondered how much of himself he saw as “soccer player” and how much was other things, like mover, or natty dresser, or future physician, or lyrics lover.

  “I love soccer,” he said. A group of students came milling through the quad, blinking sleepily at the overcast sky, in midterm dazes. “I just wish I didn’t have to treat it like another job.”

  “Can you play just for fun?” I asked. I had never thought of fashion as a job—it was always just for fun. But . . . maybe it could be a job? Maybe almost anything could be.

  “I need at least a partial
scholarship to school.” He bit his lower lip, drawing my eyes to his mouth. I took a deep breath, got up, and walked around to sit beside him.

  “There are academic scholarships,” I said. “Blythe knows a lot about it. Some are for specific regions, and some are for specific groups—maybe there’s one for people of Hawaiian descent?” If this was his first B+, he should be able to qualify for an academic scholarship, as long as he kept his grades strong.

  “Maybe.” He straddled the bench and scooted closer to me. “I’ll find out.” He grinned, and my hope bird fluttered around in my chest. He closed the space between us and kissed my cheek. One of my curls fell on his nose, and he caught it with two fingers. “So, about this Halloween dance,” he said. He twirled my curl between his fingers, his mouth just inches from mine. My heart leapt in my chest, but caught, as if it had leapt too high and snagged on a branch.

  “What about Emma?” I tried to keep my voice steady. “You two were talking about costumes?”

  He sat back a little. “Yeah. We’ve won the Halloween costume contest every year since first grade. Our first costume was Breakfast. I wore a big box of Cheerios my mom painted, and Emma was bacon and eggs. Her idea.” He laughed, his cheeks going pink.

  “Wait, so you and Emma always dress up together?” I imagined little Emma, face scrunched as she hand-stitched felt bacon. “And you’ve been winning since you were six?” Winning a costume contest for ten years in a row—that was fashion school application–worthy. “So what about this year?”

  “I don’t know,” he said, leaning in again. “I think this other girl might be mad if I didn’t take her to the dance.”

  “Really?” I looked around. “Who is this girl?”

  “Oh, you’ve seen her around.” He grinned and tugged on another one of my curls, popping it so it flipped in my face. “She’s got these wild curls big as the boots she wears. And she stomps around reciting poetry and pointing out injustice and speaking French like she was born in Paris.”

  I tried not to smile. “She sounds like a nut.”

  “Yeah. But a good one. Like a macadamia nut. With chocolate.” He leaned in, and his nose brushed my cheekbone. “So . . . what do you think?” Kai was asking me to a dance. I was being asked to a dance. But I couldn’t concentrate on the awesomeness of the moment. I looked across the quad toward the fine arts building. Did Emma become a designer while making their Halloween costumes? Was it all those years thinking of wild pairings that helped her imagine the life she wanted to lead? Her designs and her creativity were so much of what she was. I didn’t want to take that away. And I wanted Kai, but I didn’t want Emma to lose the part of him she’d always had.

  I pulled back from Kai. “You should go with Emma.”

  “What? No way.” He slipped his hand into my hair, and I marveled, for just a moment, at how quickly touching him had become comfortable, easy, necessary. I leaned into his hand.

  It took every shred of humility I had to get the words out. “Go with Emma as friends. We’ll meet there.” But he still looked unconvinced. His hand lingered in my hair, and I gave him what I hoped was a lazy, happy smile. “We could meet there and I could say, ‘You look so familiar,’ and you could say, ‘We met in a dream.’”

  His eyes wandered over my face, then he sat back and laced our fingers together. He hummed a few bars of “Love Song,” by the Cure. I pressed my lips together so I wouldn’t poet over his humming, but inside I buzzed with words, thinking of what Emily wrote about how today is so far from childhood—that growing up happens suddenly and it feels like childhood never really was. “Are you sure about this?” He asked.

  I was in no way sure. “It’s a costume, not a date. Right?”

  “Right.” He hopped up, scooping up his trash from the table. “Let’s tell her together so she’s not so bummed about the costume contest.” I stood and took his hand and we headed across the quad. But as we got close to the fine arts building, I wondered if this peace offering would be enough for Emma to forgive me. I took a deep breath before we walked through the double doors into the costume room.

  Inside, Emma pushed a bolt of shimmering gold fabric over the table. She looked up when we walked in, her glasses on her forehead. She was wearing a clingy white tank with a single tight red sleeve, and she looked ridiculously good. I wanted to take back my offer right then and there, because this was her not even trying.

  She smiled at Kai, but looked away, not meeting my eyes. She was acting as if we’d never sat hunched together, analyzing how to save the school from fashion suicide. As if we’d never sewn together or shared Red Vines. I felt poetry rise in me but pinched a piece of the stretchy fabric between my fingers to stop it. “I heard you’re the defending costume contest champs. Nine years running?” We all stood there looking down at the fabric for a moment. “You should make it ten.”

  Emma’s eyes flashed up—not to me, but to Kai. “Really?” I glanced at him, but he was looking at the fabric on the table, wearing a tiny smile. I felt his hand on my hip and tried to tell myself that this was the right decision. Totally unselfish.

  Kai finally looked up from the table and smiled at me. “Can we give her a hint?”

  Emma spoke without meeting my eyes. “It’s top secret for a reason.” She looked at Kai shyly. “We’ve been talking about it for a while. I think it will be a hit.” Emma pressed her lips together and flicked her eyes to the clock. “If I’m going to get this done after all, I need some photos, and we have to start measurements.”

  She gestured for me to take the photos, so I pulled out my phone and took photo after photo as she held different gold fabrics against her skin. I smiled uneasily through it, wondering whether we were cool, or if we never would be. She took my phone, scrolled through the photos, and sent herself one. But she never met my eyes. Maybe she just needed time. My hope bird flapped at my chest, constricting it. Being in the costume room made me realize how much I would miss it, and Emma, if she didn’t forgive me.

  “Is the gold for an evening gown?” I asked, but she didn’t take the bait. Instead, she pulled out several black fabrics and started draping them over Kai’s shoulders. I glanced at the clock. Ten minutes until class.

  “Okay.” Emma snapped the fabric tight and shooed me away. “You’ve seen enough.” I glanced at Kai, but he was busy holding a bow tie under his chin. When he caught my eye in the mirror, he pointed his finger like a gun and winked.

  “Sure.” I hesitated at the door, but what did I expect? “Happy measuring.” I was halfway down the hall when I realized I’d left my phone behind. I hurried back and slipped through the double doors of the costume room, already reaching for the table. I glanced up to find Kai with his back to me, shirtless. I froze.

  My heart did a kind of wobbly, drunken dance, and I grabbed for my phone.

  Emma had her arms around Kai as she positioned a measuring tape tight against his bronze skin. Her hands flattened over his back, then she slowly brought the measuring tape up to his shoulders, pausing at his biceps.

  “I’m sorry.” My voice was breathy, like I was the one caught in a compromising position. Emma looked up, and I looked back. I couldn’t look away. She let the measuring tape drop and curled her hands over his shoulders.

  “Oops,” she said. Emma grinned at me over Kai’s shoulder, and in it was a challenge—a declaration of war. But I didn’t want any part of it. Kai was mine or he wasn’t, but I wasn’t fighting her for him.

  “I forgot my phone,” I said, and this time Kai heard me. He whipped around, reaching for his shirt. I held the phone up and shook it a little as I backed away. My heart lurched as I watched him pull his shirt over his head. I pushed the door open, reminding myself I’d told him to do this. It had been my idea.

  “Wait up.” Kai grabbed his jacket. “I’ll walk you to class.” I shook my head, but he wasn’t looking at me.

  “We can finish l
ater,” Emma said. She stared at me, her glasses widening her already huge blue eyes. I almost laughed, because she could get to him night or day. They lived together. It suddenly seemed so unfair, I wanted to scream. I pushed through the swinging doors.

  “Sabine.” Kai’s gravelly voice followed me. “Wait up.” I didn’t wait. I ran out of the building, my face smoldering. I couldn’t look at him right now. I mean, couldn’t she have measured him with a T-shirt on? How could he think they were just friends? I jogged to my next class, getting lost in the crowds of students hurrying to class. I was almost to my classroom when I glanced at my phone, hoping Kai had messaged me some kind of explanation. The screen flashed: photo deleted. I stopped walking in the middle of the breezeway as the other students streamed around me. I scrolled, thinking Emma must have chosen one photo then deleted the rest, but her dozen gold-fabric photos were all right there. What was deleted?

  I scanned the photos slowly. There was an image of a book I wanted to read, and after that a sign for a Vivienne Westwood exhibit that I’d seen in Golden Gate Park. Then the gold fabric. And suddenly I knew what was gone.

  A picture of me and Kai in the Shakespeare Garden, our heads together. Not smiling, but happy. It was gone—deleted. As if that perfect moment had never been. I kept pressing buttons, but it wasn’t in my recently deleted; it wasn’t anywhere.

  The bell rang, but I just stood in the now-empty breezeway, staring at the place where the photo should have been. There was no way that picture had been accidentally deleted. There was no way. And there was only one person who’d had my phone in the past few hours. Emma.