Candy Colored Sky

by Ginger Scott

  I took the same seat as last time, and instead of Gemma on my thighs, it was Eleanor. It was the first time I’ve held her like that without it being to console her. It was greedy, but I have thought about that five-minute ride for the entire week. It might have been the only time I’ve been in a car with Jake driving when his lack of attention to the road was the last thing on my mind.

  My Tuesday lunch was taken up with a dental appointment (thanks, Mom) and I decided to let Eleanor have her time with Gemma the rest of the week. Things almost felt normal, as if she never left the hallways of Oak Forest High at all. Only, in this version of my senior year, Eleanor talks to me in the hallways and I don’t run and hide.

  Tonight, though, will be a different test.

  For us.

  For her.

  As shitty as our high school football team is, there is still a strange hierarchy that accompanies the Friday night games. There’s an unspoken structure to where people sit within the student section, and though I always get a pass because I’m with Jake, I don’t want to sit in the thick of the crowd with him. I want to be up front where Eleanor can see me if she needs a reassuring face.

  “Are you sure you want to sit with the freshmen? I mean . . .” Jake doesn’t quite grasp why anyone would do this. Even when he was a freshman he did not sit with the freshmen. It’s harder to see things up front, at least if you’re watching the game. I couldn’t give two shits about our one-and-eight football team, though.

  “I’ll be fine. Honestly, I might even be the popular guy down there. Those fourteen-year-old girls think I’m a sophisticated older man.” I tug the neck of my long-sleeved shirt as if I’m wearing a tie. Jake jerks with a laugh and rolls his eyes.

  “There is nothing about you that looks sophisticated in that thing,” my friend says, pointing to the hat on my head. I’m still without my beanie, so I had to settle for my Cubs hat which is, apparently, a dad-hat style. Flat brims are where it’s at.

  My shoulders sag with his confidence deflator.

  “It’s better than my hair,” I say, pulling it off briefly to unveil hair that at this point is probably in need of a cut. My friend studies it for a minute and shakes his head.

  “I don’t know. It’s really a toss-up.” He turns and walks up the bleachers to where the rest of his basketball teammates are waiting for him. They’re all decked out in our school colors, some of them going so bold as to paint Badgers on their chests and wear their shirts tied around their heads.

  I turn to the roomy area on my right where a few freshmen girls share a bag of popcorn, and I smile when they look up at me.

  “Oh, my God!” The one talking actually looks repulsed while the other two laugh, and they huddle in closer. I think they’re hoping I will pass and sit nowhere close to them.

  I sigh.

  They get their wish as I slip to the very front row, behind the trash can. I’ve thought this through, and nobody hovers around that can, which means if I need to stand and lean over the rail to talk to Eleanor, I shouldn’t have to fight my way through a crowd.

  I wore my gas-station-style shirt over my gray long-sleeved shirt and black jeans. I couldn’t look less full of spirit, but that wasn’t part of my thought process. I think I look good in this shirt. Or I did, until a few minutes ago when three freshmen girls brought me down a big notch.

  The drums from our marching band kick in from behind the bleachers, so I get to my feet. Cheer walks in with the band. It’s literally the one programming note I have memorized. I’ve spent every game I’ve attended waiting for this part so I could watch Eleanor Trombley march in at the front of the line.

  She isn’t first this time, but that’s okay. I think she asked for it to be that way, not wanting the eyes on her. People still whisper. Not so much the students but their parents. Gossip keeps people going, and it seems to be a primary fodder of choice for adults of a certain age and income.

  I catch the grin on my face when my eyes meet hers, and I can’t be certain but I think her eyes widen seeing me. I clap along with the band, which is something only band parents do it seems, but I’ve already started so I keep the habit up through the fight song while I stand by myself, sheltered by a trash can that smells of old soda.

  “Let’s go, Badgers!” The cheer squad yells in unison, but it’s only Eleanor’s voice I hear.

  Her lips are a bright red, and her cheeks sport the same blue and yellow hearts they wore last Friday night, only this time they’re accompanied by high, rosy cheeks. This is where she belongs.

  I keep my spot protected, manspreading, as my mom calls it, to keep other people from sitting directly next to me. I stand for kick-off, but keep my eyes on Eleanor rather than the crappy defense that lets the other team get away with a sixty-yard return. I don’t sit until she tells me to—literally. She spins to face the crowd and completes a few jumps before holding her hands at her hips and mouthing my name.

  I cup my ear, unable to hear her. She steps closer to the rail and I get excited for a minute because everyone sees her talking to me. This is literally a scene out of a dream I once had.

  “You can sit now!” She points with her finger in a downward motion, and my face burns red hot.

  “Sorry,” I say, smiling through gritted teeth. A few people near me laugh, and I let my eyes flutter as they roll behind my lids. Eleanor is still smiling when I open them again, and that is all that matters.

  I decide to stay close to the bench for the first half, not that there is much to stand for at a Badger game. Eleanor seems mostly in her element, catching on to a few new routines and following Gemma from behind. She seems a little winded when the buzzer sounds and the team heads to the locker rooms for half time, so I decide to step closer to the track and see if she needs me to get her a snack or something more exciting than ice water.

  Navigating toward the field is a little like salmon swimming upstream to spawn, but eventually I make it to the small walkway along the track. I lean over the fence and hold up a hand, trying to get Eleanor’s attention, but her coach steps into the space between us, blocking her view. I back up into the shadow under the bleachers so I don’t distract them, but the longer the conversation continues, the less sure I am that this is a good idea.

  “We had to move on, Eleanor. I am so sorry for what your family is going through, but I had to look out for the team. You’ll still be an alternate, but we have to be ready for regionals.” These are the only words I can make out for certain from the cheer coach, and a slight shift in my position reveals a familiar expression on Eleanor’s face. It’s the brave one she puts on when she’s trying not to let everything out. It’s like a cork holding back a hurricane. Her lips work to maintain an understanding smile as she nods, but it’s her feet and hands that tell the truth. Her legs step side-to-side, her hands scrunched in her uniform. Puffs of fog accent her breath coming from her nose as she repeats the same words, over and over again.

  “Of course.”

  “Yes, I understand.”

  “I will, and thank you.”

  She was replaced. Her senior year, her defining moment, and her passion. Those words she is uttering, they are all lies. My chest burns for her.

  I stay in the shadows, even after her coach leaves her to find her way to the chairs to sit alone and watch her squad—the one she captained—do their routine without her. She keeps that smile locked in place and holds back the tears, though I can see them as they hover on the precipice, waiting to fall like daggers toward her neck and chest. She claps to the music, counting along with her teammates as if she’s out on the field with them doing the same flips and tricks.

  When their performance ends, she stands and clasps her hands behind her back, one holding the other so tight the blood squeezes to the surface of her skin.

  I dash from my spot before she notices me, grabbing myself a semi-warm pretzel and a Coke from the snack bar before heading back to the bleachers. My area is no longer open, so I hover on the steps for a fe
w seconds before deciding to join Jake and the other seniors in the middle of the student section. I’d rather rub shoulders with people I know.

  “You get lonely down there?” Jake asks.

  “Something like that,” I answer, knowing he’s not really looking for one. I offer him part of my pretzel and he rips off one of the loops. I don’t really even want it.

  The conversations around me carry on amid these worlds where nothing has changed. At least two of Jake’s friends comment how hot Elle is and how the new cheer uniforms are shorter than the old ones. Not one of them sees how her smile no longer reaches her eyes. I bet they don’t even notice she isn’t at the top of the pyramid where she belongs. For them, Eleanor was on vacation. Now she’s back, and all is right in their world. Meanwhile, hers is burning to the ground.

  “You’re quiet.” Jake pushes into my side, and I give him a sideways glance.

  “I’m always quiet,” I mumble, pulling another bite of my pretzel free and stuffing it into my mouth for a better excuse. “I’m eating.”

  “Bullshit. The food here is shitty. What’s going on?” His attention is only half on me. I can tell because he keeps turning to his other side to join in with the laughter. I don’t tell him this is why I hate coming to these things, because Jake loves stuff like this. When I’m here, I feel like his sad, pathetic pet that needs tending to. I’d be perfectly happy having him give me a place to sit and then ignore me, but that wouldn’t feel right to him. Jake is actually a kind person who tries to do right by people despite his sordid dating history. He wouldn’t feel right ignoring me, and I wouldn’t feel right telling him to.

  “They didn’t let Eleanor do the routine. I hope she’s okay, is all.” As soon as I finish my sentence I know Jake didn’t fully hear it.

  “Oh, you think? Wait, what was that?” He shifts to give me his total attention, but with the extra seconds of thought, I decide it’s better for Eleanor if I don’t make her worries known to anyone else.

  “I just thought our team was better than this. That’s all,” I lie. It’s a half-lie, actually, because I did expect us to score.

  “Oh, yeah. I should have warned you. We’ve gotten worse since the last game I dragged you to. I hear they might fire the coach.”

  “Like that will make a difference,” one of his friends snarks, leaning over Jake’s shoulder.

  “I know, right?” Jake answers, clasping hands with his friend in some sort of bro agreement. I tuck the straw from my drink into my lips and suck in a huge gulp. At least the soda isn’t flat. The burn of carbonation is a pleasant distraction and I let my eyes water, thankful for the way it scratches against my throat.

  I stick with Jake and his friends for the second half, and I only catch Eleanor looking for me once. I do my best to stand and raise a hand to help her find me, but her search is short. In a way, she seems relieved that I’m not there to witness her not shine. Thing is, though, she is shining. Simply being here and breaking through the heavy boulders tied to her spirit is a massive achievement. But no teenager wants to hear high level psychology like that when their world seems to be slipping away.

  I don’t stand again until the end of the game when our team actually scores. It’s only because the other team’s third string is in, but still, a touchdown means we aren’t completely shut out, and that is cause for celebration on the Badger side of the field.

  I slink out with the thick crowd, tagging along behind Jake and his friends down the steps and into the parking lot where everyone breaks up into their respective cliques to make plans for the next few hours. Jake knows better than to force me into another party, and there is no way I am letting Eleanor put herself through that after tonight. I can’t guarantee she won’t do something stupid like last week.

  “Hey, see ya for tutoring Sunday? Test Monday, bruh,” Jake says, holding up a palm as I inch away from his group of friends.

  “Sounds good, yeah,” I say, relieved when I’m finally free to wander by myself. I toss my empty drink cup into a trash in the middle of the lot then wait at the curb until most of the lot clears out, minus the cars belonging to players, band members, and cheerleaders.

  Eleanor’s car is in the very center, and if I had her keys, I’d pull around and pick her up so she doesn’t have to walk far. Instead, I sit on the parking stop in front of her car, my back resting on her bumper. It takes about ten minutes for players to file out through the locker room doors. The ladies’ side is on the opposite end of the building, so I keep my eyes focused on the yellow-lit walkway where Eleanor should appear soon. After a few more minutes, she comes into view, the first one out, her best friend nowhere in sight.

  She’s practically marching toward me, her hand working her keys into position, her pompoms clutched to her side along with a gym bag that I guess contains her uniform. She’s taken out the ribbons that had pulled her hair up tight at the top of her head. Everything about her movements teems with anger. I stand before she gets to me, and I mentally run through the talking points I spent the entire second half preparing. I’ll congratulate her for taking the first step. I’ll soothe her when she tells me what happened, and encourage her to fight to earn back her spot. I’ll offer to buy her a puppy just to make her laugh.

  My mouth hangs open as she approaches, though, and by the time she reaches me, I realize that nothing I say will penetrate the walls she’s put up over the last hour.

  “It’s all fucking bullshit. Let’s go,” she says, pulling her door open and throwing her things into the back of her car.

  “You ready?” She lifts her head and meets my gaze, her eyes glowing with rage. I’m not sure what’s better for her at this point, to be angry or to cry, which is what I know she really wants to do.

  “I—” My mouth still hangs open, not sure where to go from there. I haven’t moved a step. I’m still balancing on the parking stopper and she’s ready to hop into the driver’s seat and peel out of this place.

  “Do you want me to drive?” I don’t know why I think this is the best way to go.

  “I’m fine, Jonah. This was a stupid idea, is all. Just, let’s go home.” Her brow is pulled so tight that I fear it might leave a permanent line in her forehead. Her nostrils flare as she stares at me. This is one of those moments I am destined to stand out from everyone else in her life. She’ll either hate me for it or—

  “This was not a stupid idea, Elle.” I use her nickname, and I can tell immediately she thinks I’m using it as a weapon to soften her. Maybe I am.

  “You know they replaced me, right? I saw you. You heard everything. They had to ‘move on without me.’” She makes air quotes when she repeats what her coach said, but her phone is still in her hand as she does this, and her grip slips, sending her device end over end toward the ground.

  “Shit!” she shouts, her voice echoing and drawing attention from the few people in the lot.

  I rush over to help her retrieve her phone but she brushes me off when I get close. On her knees, gravel digs into her skin, piercing holes in her leggings. She cradles her phone in her palms and stares at the cracked screen.

  “I know a guy who replaces those things—”

  “Just don’t, okay?” Her voice comes out stern, like Morgan’s, and the bite in her tone makes me back up a step or two. My hands find home in my pockets as I do, and I move back to the front of her car, giving her the space she wants even if I don’t think it’s what she needs.

  She fusses with her screen for several minutes, and I’m left to watch her try to make various functions work. She swears every time she realizes something else is broken, and eventually she tosses it with a hard thrust along the ground, busting off pieces as it bounces several spots away.

  Gemma is on her way to her car and pivots to us, but I wave her off silently, begging with my hands for her to let me have this one. Gemma isn’t stuck on the sidelines. She will pretend to understand how this feels, but she can never really understand.

  After a few minutes
, the parking lot gets quiet again. There are a few cars left, but for the most part we’re alone. Nobody is parked close enough to give a damn about a girl trying her hardest not to cry.

  I scan the parking spots around us and retrieve the various parts of Eleanor’s phone. The sim card actually came out, which is not easy to do. I usually have to use a paperclip to get that sucker to pop out. I put all of the pieces in my front pocket and move closer to Eleanor, who has given in to gravity and is now sitting on the ground with her knees bent while she inspects the holes in her pants and the bleeding skin underneath.

  I know better than to talk first. I’ve got all night, and they’ll be cleaning the bleachers for at least an hour. Students are gross. I lean against her car a few feet from where she’s sitting, and fold my arms over my stomach for warmth while I wait.

  “I fucked up, Jonah. I fucked it all up,” she finally mutters. She blinks at the end of this faulty confession.

  “You didn’t fuck anything up, Elle.” I mean it, but she winces as if I’ve lashed her anyway.

  “I did. I took my eyes off my sister and ruined everything for everyone. And how shallow am I that I care about being in some stupid dance that isn’t even very good.” She shakes her head, tears finally descending along the contours of her face.

  “Nobody saw her, Elle. Nobody was watching, and you are not her parent—your parents are her parent.” It’s probably cruel of me to turn the fault on her mom and dad like that, but honestly, why everyone in her house seems okay with letting her carry the blame baffles me.

  My words don’t seem to matter; she’s content to fall on the sword. Maybe it’s so she can feel something other than the green poison of envy for the girl who took her place in a dance that, yes, probably isn’t even very good. I want to see her fight, though. I know there’s a warrior in there, and I feel like if she loses that, then she’ll never be the same.

  “Show me,” I say.

  She lifts her head and scowls, her mouth turned down.