by Amber Kizer
do you have to know?
S: ah
but if u dont know which it is
how do you accept when others arent saved
or fixed
or cured?
what makes u special and them not?
PP: how do u deal with it then?
S: still learning
but it comes with a lot of responsibility there are all these people out there who are hoping i live up
to the potential of their dead person its a lot of pressure.
PP: even if the dead guy wasn’t going to be president
or a nobel prize winner?
S: people have a weird way of making the dead into saints
happens everywhere
across cultures & religions
Tell me about it. Philanthropist? Really?
PP: like ignoring how much he pissed you off or that he owed you money
S: y
people make up shit to feel better
about wasting time
PP: that’s what we fought about
S: what?
PP: wasting time
she’s convinced she’s going to die young and shouldn’t think about the future
S: i understand this
PP: how?
cuz i don’t
she’s got a new chance
more time
S: before i had surgery odds werent good
id see the next decade
let alone my 80th birthday
PP: now?
S: theres middle ground
we can all die today
for a million different reasons
dying young can happen to anyone except the old
PP: that sounds like a fortune cookie
S: i have that tendency
look
its hard to want more than u already have
when u know people whod give anything
for a minute with a dead kid
maybe she feels guilty about making plans
because they cant
PP: thnx
that helps
S: can i ask you a favor?
PP: sure
S: u live in Seattle
right?
PP: y
S: u ever heard of East Sealth High?
PP: that’s my school
S: no way
PP: true
why
S: do u know a girl named Misty?
my cuz also goes there but she doesnt know her
Sam sat back and waited while the cursor blinked. There were no coincidences. He knew this, but he still startled when he saw the connections in action. Of course PigskinPaint Leif goes to Misty’s school. In Samuel’s mind, the world eased into another degree of connectedness.
Of course?
PP: sorry man
i don’t know Misty
what’s your cuz’s name?
S: Rebecca Sabir
PP: nope
my mom has the yearbooks
I can go ask her for them right now
S: nah
dont worry about it
PP: sounds important
S: im worried about her
i thought maybe since u went to the same
school
u might know her
shes in bad shape
had a liver transplant
i think the whole thing is messing with her head
my cuz is looking
PP: u want me to track misty down?
S: i hate to ask that
but
PP: not a problem man
it’ll give me a reason to talk to Viv 2
maybe she knows her
S: thnx
just keep showing her theres a reason to plan the future
its about looking ahead not down
PP: true
S: u any closer to figuring out whether u want to play ball this fall?
PP: no man
I’ve made up my mind not to
but then my parents are counting on me
idk
Samuel tapped a few keys and sent a fresh message to another Seattle friend, then clicked back into his conversation with Leif.
S: i want u to go by Saint’s Rehab
ask for Pirate
PP: why?
who’s Pirate?
S: hes a friend
met him online 2
i told him youll be stopping by
i think hes good for your questions
PP: dude u sound like a motivational speaker and u suck
Samuel laughed. Maybe.
I totally agree.
S: sure
just go see him
ill message u the addy
consider it a favor
PP: you’re not setting me up on a date r u?
S: no
no date
wouldnt want to break Vivs heart
PP: Haha
pretty sure she hates me
S: nah
shes a girl
girls r weird
PP: that’s profound
and jackass
S: true
but am i wrong?
go meet Pirate
& report back
PP: aye aye
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
The door to the bathroom swung open and Misty instinctively held her breath. But between the sniffing and nose trumpeting, it didn’t take long for her to blow her cover.
“Are you okay?” Patent leather sneakers with pink laces stopped in front of the stall door. “Are you crying?”
“No, I’m fine,” Misty answered, hoping she’d go away.
“Are you sure? I think I have tissues in my locker. I can run and get them. Oh, wait, I think they’re in my bag.” The girl bent down and Misty listened to her riffle through her backpack. A couple of pens fell out, along with three postcards that flew under the stall like they were on strings.
“Oops,” she said, but held a packet of tissues with cats on them under the door. “Trade you, if you can grab those.”
Misty saw a hippo riding a bike, some stone temple in a jungle, and a bright blue frog as she scooped the postcards up and handed them back under.
“Thanks!”
The girl made sure Misty took the tissues before she tossed everything back into her bag and moved away. “My locker is right out there. If you wanna talk or—”
“Sure,” Misty replied, but offered nothing else.
“Okay, see ya.”
Misty realized she hadn’t thanked the girl or asked her name.
Rebecca. Her name is Rebecca, and she’s looking for you.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Leif was up all night reading a medical textbook on cystic fibrosis. He memorized terms and treatments like he used to do with football drills and plays. Next on his weekend agenda was meeting up with Pirate. Samuel was the only guy Leif confided in. So far Sam hadn’t laughed, or made him feel stupid. That went a long way in Leif’s mind.
The rehabilitation center was about an hour’s drive south, set right outside the joint military bases. Sam refused to tell Leif anything useful about who Pirate was, or why Leif was there to see him.
Leif walked into Saint’s and approached the front desk. Like there’s another option? “Hi, um, what room is Pirate in?”
“What’s your name?”
“Leif Leolin. MiracleMan Samuel sent me?”
And the receptionist doesn’t even bat an eyelash? Cool place.
“He’s probably in the gym. Hang on. Have a seat.” She picked up the phone and started dialing.
The rehab center looked like a huge house but with lots of medical equipment and machines in corners, nooks, and the steady movement of an overcapacity anthill.
“Hey, kid.”
I saw the speaker at the same time Leif focused on him. Tough and wiry, he exuded warrior. Pirate?
“Hi, I’m Leif.” Leif stuck out his hand, then let it drop when he saw the gloves and pressure b
andages up and down Pirate’s right side, visible under a tank top and running shorts. Pirate was missing pieces.
“Pirate.” The man held out his left fist to bump.
The two shiny question marks where his legs used to be immediately grabbed Leif’s attention. “Cool blades.” Leif nodded toward the prosthetics with his chin.
“You got your sneakers on?” Pirate was already moving. I got the feeling sitting still was not in his repertoire.
“Yes, sir,” Leif answered, feeling as though he’d inadvertently signed up for boot camp.
“Good, let’s run.” Pirate waved at the woman on the desk and then headed out the front door. “So, I hear you aren’t sure you want to do football in the fall. Want to be a painter or singer instead.”
Was there anything Sam left out? I smiled, or tried to, anyway.
Leif’s pretty cute when he’s embarrassed.
“Don’t worry, kid, I’m good at asking questions to get information.”
Leif nodded. The pace pushed his muscles. He’d forgotten how much he enjoyed the burn of working out past his wall. “Sure. How long have you been running on those?” He pointed down at the prosthetics.
“Months. I’m working up to the Iron Man. Burns take a while to heal and skin grafts come in stages.”
“The Iron Man?” Shock reverberated through Leif.
“It’s about self-discipline. You any good?”
“At football?”
“Or the singing? What are you good at?”
“They think I can go pro at quarterback.”
“Ah, that’s a lot of responsibility.”
“It is?”
“Sure it is. Leading your team on the field. All those players trying to take you down. Not for the faint of heart. What about singing?”
“I suck.”
“How long do you work at it?”
“Hours.”
“You feel better when you’re singing or on the field?”
“I hadn’t thought about it like that.”
“You should try. It’s a shame to do something every day that doesn’t make you want to keep going. I’m grateful. Every breath. It’s sappy, but it’s truth. Sometimes it takes an injury to find that.”
“Yeah?”
Pirate held up his hand and showed Leif his fused fingers. “I’d be back out there in a second, kid. With my men. Heading into the field of combat. It’s where I belong, it’s what drives me. Before this? I thought about getting out, going back to school, becoming an accountant or some shit.”
“And that changed?”
“Yes.” Pirate stopped. “I can’t carry a pack yet. This body is now a liability to my soldiers. I’m not going out into combat again. Not soon. But I can teach them everything I learned, everything that got me through that day, and the eight years of missions before it. I’m not a pencil pusher, not in this body before, and not now. Let me ask you this. Who’s gonna die if you don’t take the field?”
Leif snorted. “I know it’s not the same thing—”
“Which gives you way more room to try things and make choices. Right? So you might make some poor girl’s ears bleed until you figure out you’re a painter, not a singer. Or maybe you’ll miss the football field come September. But you’ve got a choice. No one’s gonna die. They might yell at you, but you stay standing and you’ll find your path.”
“Why are you doing the Iron Man? Why not just do regular workouts?”
“My son saw me and asked his mother if I’d be able to play hide-and-seek again. He didn’t know I was listening. I’m doing the Iron Man for me. But I’m really learning to run on these things for my kid. Hard to hide a hospital bed and a wheelchair from a six year old. You up for four more miles?”
“Sure.” Leif pounded out next to Pirate.
Leif logged in as soon as he got home to tell Samuel about hanging out with Pirate.
PP: u there?
S: chat @ me
PP: exactly what i needed
S: cool
hes awesome
isnt he?
PP: y
made me want to be him
S: oh hell man
u r not enlisting
r u?
For what, the bad singer battalion? Or the finger-painting specialists? Boys.
PP: thought about it
but only 4 a sec
S: not tough enough huh?
PP: nope
total wuss
u were right man
he taught me a lot
and ran the shit out of me
S: hes a good guy
PP: so what happened
to him?
S: u didnt ask
PP: didn’t seem polite
S: dug up the story online
& saw his commendation paperwork in a file
PP: isn’t that illegal hacking?
S: only if you dont use it for good
PP: right
what’d u find out?
S: he survived a night ambush
he held off a dozen insurgents alone
he was the only conscious member of his team
was shot in the legs and through his hand
but only one wounded guy died
& he was shot in the head early
nothing Pirate could have done to save him
PP: wow
S: theres more
PP: corse there is
S: as he was rescued
convoy hit an IED
thats when he lost the legs & got so burned
PP: that’s horrific
S: true
but when i asked him about it he said at least it got rid of the bullet holes
PP: that’s one way to see it
S: thats the point
PP: what is?
S: always more than one way of seeing things good or bad
Huh, maybe so.
PP: oh hey mom gave me the yrbooks
i now have a pic of your Misty
i think
there r 2
but one grad last year
do u know her last name?
S: not yet
i havent asked
cuz I didnt want to come off as 2 cyberstalker
PP: good point
r u in prison?
S: N
PP: r u a politician
hunting up young boys
to seduce with your power?
S: N
PP: r u a cult leader looking for slaves
to sell to your followers?
S: hell man where r u coming up with this
stinking load?
PP: i’ve been working on a lot of songs
imagination is bulking up
S: is that what u call it?
PP: screw u
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Misty accidentally found herself in the apartment with her mother. Alone. Her papa was out looking for work; her grandmother was down at the corner market checking for her special imported fish. Her brother was at a piano lesson.
Mama flinched and rubbed her right shoulder, grabbing Misty’s attention.
How long had she been hurt?
“Hand me the big bowl from above the fridge?” her mama asked.
“Mama, are you hurt?” Misty dragged the heavy ceramic bread bowl onto the counter.
She didn’t answer, but nodded slightly.
Misty pushed. “Your arm?”
“Shoulder.” Mama moved the bowl but favored her hurt arm considerably.
“You need to see a doctor, don’t you?”
“No, it’ll be fine.”
“But how do you work?” The daily quotas her mother was expected to meet meant working the line at top speed for the full shift.
“It’s fine.”
“Mama—”
“Don’t.” Her mother raised her voice.
Misty shrank back.
Oh, Misty, this isn’t your fault.
“I will see doctors soon.”
&nbs
p; “We don’t have money, do we?” Misty asked.
“It’s always tight.”
“But especially now, because of me.” Misty didn’t ask. She knew.
“Your papa is handling it. He says we’re close to paying them all off.”
Misty glanced around the apartment, seeing all the things that were missing.
There was no television. Her brother’s game system gone. Her mother’s crystal vase from the ancestors gone. As was her mother’s gold wedding band.
“Did he sell your ring?”
“No, I lost it,” Mama answered, but Misty didn’t believe her.
“Mama—”
“I will pick up your medicines for this month when I get paid tomorrow.”
“No!” Misty jerked away. If she hadn’t stopped taking the meds every day to make them last longer, she’d already be out of pills. As it was, she alternated kinds and skipped days. So far, she felt no ill effects.
I notice changes. Why doesn’t anyone else?
“What? Why not?” Mama looked up, concern, worry, and stress evident in every extra line framing her features.
Please ask. Please demand to see the bottles. Please notice!
Misty lied quickly. “I already got them.”
“How did you pay?”
“I got a job.”
“You did? When?”
“A couple of weeks ago.”
“Where?”
“At the library. After school, before classes too.”
“You get paid enough for the medicines?” Her mama was dubious. Something had to feel wrong to her about Misty’s answers. Wrong with the way she acted. The way she was quiet, and tired, and not as pilled-up puffy, should make her family notice.
“Yes, and school fees, the college preparatory tests too.” Misty knew by mentioning college, her mama’s attention could be diverted.
“Good. That’s a help. Your papa will be proud you are working. But your grades are high, yes? Still top of the class?”
Misty never showed her parents her report cards. In the beginning, years ago, they didn’t understand or read them. When she began getting average, and mediocre, reports, she simply told them what they wanted to hear. “Yes.”
They’re too busy surviving to know what to ask for. And she’s too busy surviving each breath to know to ask for help.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Vivian tossed her charcoal pencil onto the table in frustration. There were two subjects relentlessly seeking creation: Leif’s face. The perfect prom dress.
Leif wanted her to be perky and optimistic, and the only way she knew how to do that was to live in a certain amount of denial. If she didn’t make plans, she never faced disappointment. It worked for her. His loss.
