Wider than the Sky

by Katherine Rothschild

  I worked the rest of the evening. When I was done, I held the costume up, proud of the simple creation. When I tried it on, my first thought was that Dad would have loved it. I tried to push the thought away, but it stuck. Even if no one else got me, I knew he would have. I fluffed the feathers of my white skirt, fluttering them, and thinking of my dad’s smile.

  The thought should have made me happy. But all I felt was empty.

  24

  IF I CAN STOP MY HEART FROM BREAKING

  I did not need to worry about accidentally winning the Rolly Halloween dance costume contest—even if I hadn’t chosen “weird and obscure” as a themed category. When we arrived at the school, it was to a Marie Antoinette with removable rubber head, a Helen of Troy complete with mobile papier-mâché boat, and a miniskirted Dorothy with a live Toto in her basket. I didn’t stand a chance.

  We joined the line of Hollywood extras, and I slipped my hand into my feathery skirt pocket to touch my dad’s letter. Before I left the house, I’d grabbed it. For luck, I guess. Beside me, Blythe was wearing a skintight black bodysuit, a kitten headband, and eyeliner whiskers, along with an aggressively catlike demeanor. The best thing I could say about my befeathered, drawn-on costume was that no one would mistake me for Blythe tonight.

  As we waited our turn in line, I saw a dark-haired guy wearing a tuxedo top and a wet-suit bottom, like his deep-sea dive was about to be followed by a black-tie event. James Bond spoofy. Clever. And the guy could fill it out, too. He turned, and it was Kai. My heart slammed against my chest, and I started to push through the crowd. He looked amazing. But just as I got close enough to call his name, a beehived blonde wearing nothing but gold paint ran out of the gym and into his arms. He caught her and spun her in the air. When he put her down, they high-fived each other and posed for a picture. Goldfinger. And they looked perfect.

  I slinked back to the line. They hadn’t seen me, and I was going to keep it that way until I could breathe again. Blythe hissed and meowed behind me. I thought she might be sympathizing, but then I saw Nate walking up wearing a white curly wig and an old-fashioned burgundy suit. And carrying a grocery bag.

  “Meow.” Blythe deadpanned and scratched at Nate’s Whole Foods bag like a rat might be in there. “Sir Isaac Fig Newton?”

  “You amateurs forgot your canned goods.” He shook the bag of clanking cans. Of course Rolly couldn’t just have a dance. They had to make it a charity event so we could put it on our college applications.

  “It was an act of anarchy,” I said. Blythe pulled two cans from Nate’s bag and handed me one. Nate’s eyes roved over Blythe’s leave-nothing-to-the-imagination costume. I thought he might say something obscene, with the look he was giving her. But he didn’t.

  “Where’s your tail?” he asked.

  She hissed again. “I lost my tail in a catfight.” We pushed toward the front of the line. He laughed and they hissed and meowed at each other as we crept slowly toward the entrance. Beside the gym doors, PTA moms were checking student IDs and collecting canned goods. I hefted my can in the air and stepped up, trying not to look around frantically for Kai and Emma. They were dates in costume only, I reminded myself.

  Our neighbor, Mrs. Costello of the gingersnaps, was at registration. “Look at you two! I’m glad you’re here. I never called your mom back about the neighborhood association. Tell her to talk to Mr. Cade in person. He knows all.”

  “Address?” Blythe asked. “Hold it out—I’ll take a picture.” Mrs. Costello looked at Blythe like she was asking her to rewire a computer.

  She cleared her throat. “He lives on our street.” She leaned in close, as if she had a secret. “He’s Mr. Pumpkinhead. You should go by on your way home. It’s a hoot.”

  Mr. Pumpkinhead? How was that an address? “This place just gets weirder,” I said.

  “Actually”—Nate adjusted his wig—“Mr. Pumpkinhead is quite awesome. I’m still not sure how he does it. Maybe he rewired his security system?” I started looking for Kai again as Nate explained the possible logistics, leaving Blythe behind to argue about how it might be done. Whatever it was.

  Inside, the light was dim, and it smelled of fog machine, dirty socks, and handball. Pop music pumped from crackly speakers, and cardboard headstones and black streamers hung from the ceiling. And everywhere, kids in expensive costumes hopped around, hands in the air. And in the middle of everyone were Kai and Emma, the most creative, the most perfect to their characters. A matched pair. That was their trick, really. There were two of them; they could tell a story. I stared for a full minute before Kai looked up from his Bond girl and saw me. He waved me over, but I just smiled.

  When the song ended, he skidded across the floor. “Guess!”

  “Goldfinger?” I said, smiling at his enthusiasm.

  “So, you know James Bond.” He crossed his arms over his dress shirt. “If only you’d known the Cure, you’d be practically perfect.”

  “I know the Cure!” I tried to look mad, but I couldn’t help laughing at his feigned dissatisfaction with my level of pop-culture knowledge.

  “Well, now that you’re with me, you do.” He took my hand, and I stepped closer. “And you’ve accepted that it’s pure poetry, of course.”

  “‘Charlotte Sometimes’ is poetry . . . maybe.” I gave him a little smile, waiting for him to start singing, but just then Emma hopped over to us, and Kai and I dropped hands.

  “You two look amazing,” I said, because they did. “Tell me about this. Is it a real wet suit?”

  Emma nodded. “I sewed his old, worn one to the shirt, and it unzips in one piece.” I tried not to think about her zipping or unzipping Kai. And I tried to ignore that she was dressed in what amounted to a gold bodysuit. And that her glasses were gone and her blond beehive wig glittered under the disco lights like a goddess.

  “Did you see Helen and the boat?” Kai asked Emma.

  “Yeah. The judges love literary.” Emma glared in the boat’s direction, then looked at me. “What are you supposed to be?” She looked genuinely curious, so I turned so she could see my back, where the rest of the poem was written. Across the chest, I just wrote hope . . . , but on the back, I wrote the rest of the poem, then drew a feather. It was obscure and nerdy, but I didn’t care. I tapped the letter in my pocket. I knew my dad would have loved it. I tried not to think how badly I wanted Kai to love it, too.

  “I don’t get it.” Emma tilted her head. “You’re, like, half bird, half girl?”

  I gritted my teeth. Even after the incident of the costume room, I didn’t feel angry with Emma. I didn’t know why I did now—except that maybe I thought she’d like what I’d made. “I used your sewing machine to make it. But don’t worry; I bought new thread. Thanks, retroactively.”

  The smug look dropped from Emma’s face. It was clear she was surprised I’d made it, but she didn’t say that. “So, what are you?”

  “Isn’t it obvious?” Kai laughed, still on a costume high. “She’s hope—and hope is a thing with feathers.” He pointed to the words written down my back. Then he took my hand. “Come dance with me, Queen of Feathered Things.”

  Emma crossed her arms over her golden chest. He didn’t see how her expression darkened as he tugged my hand. But I did.

  Kai spun me in a circle then pulled me close even though the music, in a blatant attempt to keep everyone at arm’s length, was insanely upbeat. He dipped his face to my ear. “I feel like we haven’t seen each other in weeks.” He hummed a few bars of “Charlotte Sometimes,” then sang into my ear, his voice gravelly and soft. I melted closer to him.

  Kai tapped my nose with his own. “Sing along to the poetry.” I sang along, and he grinned, the sparkling lights reflecting in his eyes, making me feel dizzy. How was it he filled up all the empty places inside me? How did he make me love everyone—even myself?

  “I missed you, too,” I said. We danced tog
ether, ignoring the frantic beat of the music and instead spinning together, moving only as fast as we wanted, our hands never moving far from one another. When the song ended, we took a few steps off the dance floor, making way for some wild dancers with no sense of personal space. I leaned against the wall, fluffing the feathers of my skirt.

  Kai straightened his bow tie, looking me up and down. For once, I wasn’t wearing boots but little white flats that didn’t take attention from my feathers. His eyes lingered on my bare calves. “Did you really make this?” he asked, fingering a feather. “It’s beautiful.” I nodded and shrugged. It wasn’t hard to make a skirt or sew a premade tank to one. But it did fit pretty well.

  So slowly that my heart rate increased as I watched, he gave me that lopsided smile I loved so much. He pressed his lips together and threw a glance over his shoulder. There wasn’t anyone too close to us. He slipped a hand around my waist, and I stepped into him. “I really want to kiss you.”

  “So kiss me,” I said, surprised by my own boldness. I met his eyes, and the past week of awkwardness disintegrated as we kissed. When I pulled away, he dipped his nose into the pile of curls on my head.

  “I love the way your hair smells. It reminds me of that purple rose.” I knew the one he meant—Barbra Streisand—but my mind was too hazy to get the words out. He kissed me again, slowly, like we had all night. Ignoring the muggy air and the pound of the music, I flattened my stomach to his, feeling the rubbery neoprene of his suit against my knees. He nudged my lips apart, and we sank into each other. That’s when the back of my neck prickled, as if we were being watched. I pulled away a breath and glanced around.

  Emma stood still in the middle of the dance floor, glowing gold under the disco lights. Just—watching us. She didn’t look angry. She looked . . . bereft. I shut my eyes and willed myself to ignore her—to let Kai make me feel dizzy and happy. But I couldn’t do it; the guilt was too much. I touched my nose to Kai’s once more, breathing in the scent of his skin, then stepped back. Kai’s eyes snapped open.

  “I have to tell you something I should have told you before,” I said.

  “Okay.” He traced a finger down my cheek and over my bare shoulder. His hand was warm and dry, and I shivered, almost losing my nerve. But unless I told him what I’d done, being with him felt like a lie—a lie that was hurting Emma more than I had already hurt her. I was done with everyone’s secrets. Even mine.

  “It was me.” I swallowed down fear and poetry. “I told Mrs. McMichaels that Emma was staying with you.” His face contorted, like he’d finally noticed the gym’s handball smell. I was brave for thirty seconds too long. I should never be brave again. Ever.

  “Wait, what? Why would you do that?” He stepped back, but his hands lingered on my elbows, giving me a chance to explain.

  “I did what I thought was best for Emma. I know you didn’t see the harm in her living with you, but she couldn’t stay forever, could she?”

  He shook his head. “No, of course not.” He tugged my elbows, and I stepped closer to him. “But I told you what she was afraid of. I told you what might happen if her grandmother found out at the DUI. I thought you understood it was a secret.”

  “I did.” I shook my head, trying to explain. His eyes looked so dark in the low light—almost black. Unfamiliar. I covered my mouth and tried to focus, to think. I had good reasons. I did. “But some things shouldn’t be secret. Some things can’t stay secrets for everyone’s safety.”

  He bowed his head, dropping his hands from my arms. “I feel like you’re talking about your family’s secrets. But this is Emma’s life.” I bit my lip, feeling poetry climbing my throat, trying to rob me of my own words. He was right. I was talking about my own family’s secrets . . . but it held for hers. She should be protected from a dad who needed help. But I wasn’t going to convince him unless I told him the whole truth. And that wasn’t nearly as charitable.

  “I didn’t want her so close to you after . . . what I saw.” The air felt sucked from me. “Emma’s into you, and I didn’t want her living with you. Not when something was starting between us, because I might . . .” I gestured between us, unable to use the words that were right there in my mind: be falling in love with you. I knew it was true, too. It was him—his quirky sense of humor and the way he smiled at me. But it was also the way I felt about myself when I was with him. With him, I could laugh, be honest about my family, and let him see pieces of me only Blythe had ever known. He had sewn himself into my heart, like a patch over a bleeding wound. It would hurt like hell to tear those stitches out.

  “Sabine.” He took a deep breath and reached for me again. “Emma told me how she feels that day in the costume room. When you saw . . . what you saw.” I sucked in a breath.

  “But if you know how she feels, why are you . . .” I wanted to ask him why he would lead her on with this whole costume thing? Why was she still jumping into his arms if he knew how she felt? Did she think there was a chance? Was there? The word polyamorous floated through my mind, and my stomach twisted.

  Kai’s hands tightened on my arms. “Sabine. When no one in Thornewood would speak to me because I wore hand-me-downs twice over, Emma did. She made every day of elementary school easier. And every day since. I owe her. But I don’t owe her you. When I’m with you, it doesn’t matter that I have to work two jobs or that I never get enough sleep or that my hamstrings are always killing me. You get me in a way no one else does. I’ve been thinking of nothing but you and your crazy poetry since the day we met. So I told her I loved her as a friend, but that was it. I told her it’s you and me.”

  You and me. I looked up to the ceiling. It twinkled like a night sky. I could feel Kai’s grip on my arms, and it felt a little like without him tethering me here, I might float away. “I should’ve told you,” he said. “If I had, maybe you wouldn’t have made that call.”

  I closed my eyes, admitting it to myself. “I was afraid,” I whispered. “I feel like you get me, too. In a way no one has. I was afraid to lose that.”

  He let his hands trail down to my wrists and took my hands. “But you didn’t trust me?”

  I shook my head and squeezed his hands, hoping he would understand. “I didn’t trust the situation. So I freaked and called Mrs. McMichaels.”

  He squeezed my hands back. This was a misunderstanding; we could get past it. I breathed a sigh of relief as he pulled me closer. I tilted my head, about to place it on his chest, when he stiffened.

  “Please tell me I misheard you.” It was Emma. Kai stared over my shoulder, then quickly let me go as Emma stepped between us in the narrow space.

  “You called Grandmamma?” Her sparkling face was inches from mine. “Do you know what you’ve done? I may not see my dad for years. He could go to jail.”

  “Emma. I’m sorry.” I squeezed my hands together, trapping my thumbs. “I didn’t know what would happen. I just wanted you to have a safe place to live.”

  Emma curled her lip at Kai. “You told her everything?”

  “Emma.” Kai’s voice was low. “Sabine is your friend. Friends care about each other, even if they’re mis—” Kai grabbed Emma’s arm as she tried to round on me, her glittering hands in the air.

  “You think she cares about me? She only cares about you.” Emma yanked away from Kai and stepped so close I could see the droop of her fake eyelashes. “Why do you think my sewing machine is at your house? I can’t even have it with me at Grandmamma’s. Now I’ll never finish my collection. I’ll never get into fashion school. And I’ll never get out of Thornewood. Thanks to you.” She was crying, black eyeliner sliding over her golden cheeks. She just let the tears fall, ruining her perfect gold makeup. I lifted a hand to touch her shoulder, to comfort her, but Emma threw herself against Kai, her hands covering her face.

  Blythe was suddenly there, her cat-ear headband in her hands. I looked from it to her, then to Nate, who hurried up be
hind her. “What’s going on?” Blythe asked.

  I gestured to where Kai was trying to soothe Emma, patting her shoulder and murmuring in her ear. She reared back from whatever he said. “But if I don’t do what Grandmamma says, she’ll press child-endangerment charges.” My stomach twisted at Emma’s words. Child endangerment?

  Blythe poked my shoulder, waiting for an answer. “I might have . . .” I wrung my hands, feeling the creep of poetry again. “Emma might not be able to see her dad for a while. And I guess he may have to . . . serve time?”

  “In prison?” And it was like Blythe turned into her costume: cat who just lost her tail. “What does that have to do with you?”

  “I told Mrs. McMichaels that Emma’s dad was in rehab and that she was living at Kai’s?” I hoped it didn’t sound as bad as it seemed to.

  “Rehab is no joke, but why couldn’t she stay with Kai?” Blythe asked, and looked from me to Emma, and back to me. “You just didn’t want her living there, did you?” I flicked my eyes to his. Kai met my eyes, listening. There was a look on his face that was both sweet and sad. I didn’t like it.

  “It wasn’t only about Kai,” I said, searching for other reasons that would sound less like I was being a jealous jerk.

  “You can be so selfish sometimes,” Blythe said, shaking her head. “I can’t believe you. First you tattle on Emma’s dad to the Wicked Crone of Thornewood, then you saddle the house with so many fines we could end up homeless.”

  Kai’s eyes found mine over Emma’s blond beehive. “Is this about . . . what we did at the house?” Kai glanced between me and Blythe, frowning. “I thought you both wanted to sell your house.”