That Night

by Cyn Balog

  Class resumes, life resumes, everything goes on but Hailey Ward. And when I look back for Kane, he’s already gone.

  478 Days Before

  When school started up, it meant that dance started up again.

  My mom had it in her head that I could be a professional gymnast or dancer. Why else had she brought me to Grace Gymnastics & Dance Center four days a week since the time I was three?

  I’d started with gymnastics, but quickly moved to dance when I fell behind my teammates. I didn’t possess Luisa and Nina’s flexibility. My mother would watch me from the observation room, and sometimes she’d look disappointed. Practice makes perfect, she told me time and again. But all of that practice only made it clear that there were some moves I’d never be able to do. Like a split. My legs simply didn’t go that way. Some things were a matter of natural talent.

  The further I went with dance, the more inadequate I felt.

  “You did just fine,” Luisa said, massaging my shoulder as I slinked toward our cubbies and started to untie my pointe shoes.

  Usually I agreed with her, because there was no point in arguing. But I was fed up with her lying to me to make me feel better. I was bitter too. We’d gotten our PSAT scores back, and while Luisa had scored in the 1400s and Nina had gotten a 1200, I hadn’t broken 1000. Kane was the only one who hadn’t beat me, but he treated those tests like a joke. I’d taken mine as though my life depended on it, ensuring I’d had the required number two pencils and gotten a good night’s sleep. So I felt like a massive goober.

  “I didn’t do fine,” I snapped at her, feeling bad the second the words were out. I sighed and threw on my hoodie. “I sucked. You can be honest.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Nina said. “Miss Amber always gives good parts to everyone for The Nutcracker.”

  Yes, she always gave out good parts, but I hadn’t yet had a solo. Nina and Luisa had both proven their worthiness to Miss Amber. Nina had had a solo since she was ten. She’d been Clara two years ago, and Luisa was Clara last year. So I thought this was my year. But here I was, almost sixteen, and after the mess I made of my tryout, I was likely to be skipped over once again. My humiliation would undoubtedly be accompanied by more maternal disappointment and a serious discussion over whether the three hundred dollars a month was well spent if I insisted on playing around instead of taking dance seriously.

  We packed our things and stepped outside, where the moms usually waited for the older kids in the parking lot.

  But when we got out there, Kane and Declan were sitting on the benches.

  “Ladies,” Kane said, tipping an imaginary hat like a dork.

  Luisa got all giggly. She tucked her blond hair behind her ear, and her pale skin bloomed red. “Oh, hi! What’re you guys here for?”

  Kane always knew how to get her. “You,” he said, his voice cool, eyes never leaving her face. “Okay?”

  She nodded and almost visibly swooned into him. Then she looked back at her mom’s Range Rover. Her eyes stormed over. “I should go.”

  Kane knew this. He was such a mind fuck. “Oh. Too bad.” He looked at me and winked. “Guess we’ll just walk this girl home.”

  Declan stood and smacked Kane in the back of the head, but the whole time he was looking at me. “Your mom couldn’t pick you up. So Kane said he’d walk you back since it’s getting dark.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “Then why are you here?”

  He punched Kane in the arm. “I’m walking him.”

  “Oh.” The studio was only a mile or so from our development, through the woods. But not picking me up was weird, even for my mom. She’d seemed fine when she dropped me off, but I never could tell with her. “Where’s my mom? Is everything okay?”

  Declan nodded.

  Luisa got this desperate look in her eye, and I knew she was thinking how lucky I was. “Maybe I can sleep over your house tonight?” she asked me, but I shook my head. Kane was too busy checking out Luisa’s butt in the ballet leotard, but I could tell by the way Declan was looking at me that he was worried about something.

  “Sorry, Lou. My parents have a thing,” I said vaguely.

  She stuck out her lower lip in a pout. “All right,” she said, motioning to Nina. “See you guys.”

  As they left, Kane’s eyes lingered on their backsides. I punched him. “So, what?” I asked them when the girls had left and we’d started on the path through the woods. “My mom has been driving me and picking me up for ten years. She’s never missed.”

  “Your grandmother,” Kane said. “She died.”

  I stopped walking. I hadn’t expected that. She hadn’t even been sick. “Oh my God.”

  “I’m sorry,” Declan said. “You guys were close?”

  I shook my head. She lived in Vermont, but my mother always talked to her, sometimes for hours, on the phone. My mother never talked to my dad, only to her mom. And my grandmother would send me cards with money in them. The last time I’d seen her was during a weekend skiing trip when I was fourteen. She was nice to me, made the best macaroni and cheese and shortbread cookies. When we left, she’d given me a little sack of them to take home with me. But I’d left them in the sun and the icing melted so badly that I couldn’t eat them. I threw them away.

  I always assumed I’d get to see her again. But as we walked home, I realized I’d thrown away the last thing my grandmother would ever give me.

  Tears came to my eyes, but I did my best to blink them back. Kane was going on and on about Luisa’s ass and how fine it’d looked in her leotard. I tried to listen, to be present, but he was so damn annoying. So oblivious! How could he tell me my grandmother died in one breath and be a complete horndog in the next?

  “Well, thanks,” I murmured when we got to Fox Court.

  “I got some math shit to do. See you,” Kane said, starting to jog off to his house. But Declan lingered. When Kane realized he wasn’t following, he shouted, “Come on, Dec. It’s your turn to take out the garbage. You’re not putting it on my ass again.”

  “I’ll catch up,” he said as Kane headed toward the house. He turned to me. “Are you okay?”

  “I’ve been better.” I sighed. “You got your SATs back, didn’t you? What did you get?”

  “Fifteen-sixty,” he said, smiling, clearly pleased with himself.

  Ugh. I shouldn’t have asked. This day probably couldn’t suck more.

  His smile dissolved. “What? Why? Oh, hey. Yeah, Kane said he got his results. Didn’t do so well?”

  I shook my head. Suddenly, someone shouted, “Eight-fifty!” behind us. Kane was doing a triumphant Rocky jog on the front porch. He was such a loser.

  We both shook our heads at him, while Declan said, “Well, the PSAT is hard. You’re getting used to the format. I didn’t do too well on that either.”

  Something told me Declan “not doing too well” couldn’t have been less than a 1400. “Well, Kane sure seems happy with his score. I didn’t do much better than him, honestly. And I tried.”

  “That little brother of mine can be a real twit sometimes.” Declan smiled. “But there’s something else bothering you. What are you thinking about? Your grandmother?”

  I shrugged. It was scary how perceptive he could be. Like he knew me, even though he didn’t really know me. “I was just thinking that you never know when you’ll see someone for the last time. If I’d known that family ski trip was going to be the last time I saw my grandmother, I would’ve done things differently.”

  “Like?”

  “I don’t know. Eaten her cookies. Things like that.”

  As ridiculous as I sounded, he nodded with understanding. I occurred to me he must’ve been thinking about his dad.

  “Do you ever regret not doing things with your father?” I asked him quietly. “I mean, not having him to talk to?”

  He nodded. “Yeah. Whenever I do,
I pray.”

  “Oh.” Of course. I hadn’t ever prayed like that before. Most of the time, my prayers were like wishes. I turned back to go into the house, but I had to admit, I was curious how he could have lost the most important person in his life and still remain so together. Here I was, about to fall to pieces about a lady who gave me cookies. Gnawing on my lip, I asked, “Can you show me how?”

  He raised an eyebrow. “What? Praying?”

  I nodded, blushing. “I’ve never really…you know.”

  He grabbed my hand and led me to my old swing set, and he knelt behind it, secluded from the rest of the world, facing the retention pond. I followed and dropped to my knees in my pink tights, feeling stupid at first.

  He held my hand the whole time. He said, “God, I’d like to introduce you to Hailey.” He looked over at me and winked. “He’s pleased to know you. But He made you, so He knows you pretty well already.”

  I blinked, shocked at how relaxed Declan was.

  “Hailey’s grandmother passed into your care, and she’s concerned. She wants to make sure her grandmother knows how much she loves her.”

  He bent low to the ground and closed his eyes, then stayed there, very still, for a long time. When he sat up, he rolled over onto the grass and smiled at me. “Hailey,” he said. “Do you feel it?”

  I closed my eyes, and suddenly, I did feel something. Peace. His rough, Band-Aid-covered hand in mine, warm and perfect. It wasn’t only the praying. It was him. Declan. He had this way about him. It was like settling into your warm, comfortable bed after a long, tiring day. He made everything seem right.

  “I think she’s okay about the cookies,” I whispered.

  He smiled and stroked the rough pad of one of his fingers over my knuckles. “I think so too.”

  Saturday, February 16

  A thin drizzle falls as I navigate down the driveway, past clumps of sad, dingy snow.

  I wish winter would make up its mind. Either snow, or don’t. None of this depressing rain.

  I slide my sneakered foot along the asphalt, testing it. At least it’s not icy. I stretch my hams off the curb, touch my toes, and rub the goose bumps from my legs. I pop in my earbuds as Fall Out Boy pumps through my iPhone, then affix my headband over my ears.

  A snowball hits me in the knee.

  Globs of ice slide down my shin and collect in the rim of my sport sock. Who the hell—

  Kane. Of course. He’s always been half vampire. He saunters up to me, grinning. He’s wearing a loose button-down shirt and jeans, wrinkled, no coat. His pale face amplifies the bleariness of his eyes, but he’s Kane. And Kane always looks good.

  I scowl at him. “What are you doing?”

  “I can ask you the same thing. Don’t tell me you’re…” He shakes his head. “It’s four in the morning, crazy girl.”

  “Yeah, it’s four in the morning.” I study him, take a sniff, detecting nothing but Kane’s perpetually appetizing, uniquely Kane smell, like fresh air and leather. “I woke up. And you obviously haven’t gone to bed yet, psycho boy.”

  “There was a party. Remember? The one you were invited to and subsequently blew off?” I start to jog away as he calls after me, “I think you made some excuse about having something important to do last night? Whatever it was, I see it allowed you to get up all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.”

  I stop. Nothing makes me bright-eyed anymore. Nothing. I whirl around. “You’re the one who says I need to do something other than mope. Well, I’m running.”

  At least I try to. I never ran track in high school, but I used to run before that for the fun of it. These days, I can’t remember what fun feels like. I run to escape. It’s not fun. It’s a matter of life and death.

  “You didn’t stretch good enough. You’ll get shin splints.”

  “Thank you, coach,” I growl at him.

  He holds up his hands, acquiescing. I think he’s going to leave me alone, but then he comes up close to me. Too close. He reaches up and plucks the earbud from my hand, putting it against his ear. “Good song.”

  Kane hates this band. “You’re smashed,” I tell him.

  He shrugs. “Maybe.”

  “Where’s Luisa?”

  His playful look dissolves. “Why do you always ask me about her?”

  “She’s your girlfriend.”

  “Right.” He drops the earbud and starts to walk away. Sighing, I stick it in my ear and continue out of the cul-de-sac, breaking into my normal run.

  I did cross-country in middle school, but always ended up near the end of the pack. Even though my runs now are not timed, I feel like I’m faster. But it doesn’t matter how fast I am. Some things you can’t run from. Besides, I’m going in a circle. Brookline Way, the main road of our development, is a three-mile loop, so the jog to my front door makes for a perfect 5K. I used to be out of breath running the mile around the track in gym. Now I can loop around like a washing machine, over and over again until I lose count. The only thing telling me to stop is the sun creeping over the horizon.

  I’ve passed the first few houses when I feel like I’m being followed. I shake the water from my brow and glance behind me as he comes barreling up to my heels. I pull out my earbuds and groan, “I thought you were going to mug me.”

  “You shouldn’t be jogging alone,” he says.

  “I jog nearly every morning.”

  He falls in pace with me. Ever the athlete, even drunk, Kane can beat most anybody. He surges ahead of me. I’m going too slowly for him. He’s wearing his running shoes. He must’ve gone in and changed. “Not a good idea. You’ll break your neck on some ice.”

  “Maybe.”

  “What? And that would make you happy? This self-destructive behavior shit is getting really old.”

  “This isn’t self-destructive! You’re the one running with me after a night of hard drinking.” I scowl. “Leave me alone, Kane.”

  We’ve already gone about a quarter of the loop. I know I can’t lose him, so I stop. He runs a few paces, then slows, bending over. Finally, he looks a little beat. As much as I love Kane, I have to admit I’m glad whenever I see a rare chink in his armor.

  He inhales deeply, braces his lower back with his hands. “Oh shit. I might puke.”

  I roll my eyes, then start to jog away. “Goodbye, Kane.”

  “Hold up, Hail. Just hold it,” he begs. When he uses that tone of voice, I have a hard time not doing what he says. I slow. He comes up to me and says, “There’s another party. Next weekend. It’s at Luisa’s. Her parents are out of town, and Erich’s home from college. He’s bringing the beer. And she really wants you there.”

  “Sure she does.”

  “No, she does. She wants things to go back the way they were. We all do.”

  “They can’t.”

  “Okay, they can’t. But maybe we can strive for, you know, hanging out with your friends?”

  I open my mouth, but what I’m thinking—that I’m not sure these people are my friends anymore—doesn’t come out.

  “He would want that. You know he would.”

  I hate how everyone professes to know what he would want. Because I thought I knew him best, and yet I clearly had no clue. From what I know of Declan, if you asked me what he wanted most, I’d say to be alive.

  Still, me not moving on was not because I thought Declan wanted me to lie down and die with him. That’s all my choice. “All right,” I tell him.

  He smiles. Then Kane steps close to me, close enough so that his face is all I can see. Is he going to kiss me? I can’t… I won’t…

  Declan was my first kiss. It happened a little more than a year after what I did with Kane. I’d gone into it expecting bad breath, slobber, and teeth clattering against each other. Instead, it was an experience so memorable that I can still taste him on my tongue every morning when I wake. I ca
n still feel the pressure of his finger under my chin, drawing my lips up to meet his mouth.

  Declan was also the last person I’ve kissed. And I’m not ready for the taste of him to go away.

  Something in Kane’s eyes tells me he knows it. He pushes a stray lock of hair behind my ear, then walks to the side of the road, leans over a pair of scrubby evergreen bushes, and vomits. I think about rubbing his back, telling him it’s okay, but before I can, he wipes his chin and jogs off toward home, arms over his head like a triumphant prizefighter, as if nothing in the world can touch him.

  352 Days Before

  “Come on, Hail,” Declan said as he settled his strong hands around my waist and lifted me up the climbing wall to the top of the playhouse. “This is going to be incredible.”

  I shivered as I scooted into the playhouse and pulled the blanket I’d brought up to my shoulders. He’d set up what looked like a telescope, sort of. It was made with a cereal box and an old Eight O’Clock coffee can and some other household items. That was Declan. He’d work on his car with his stepfather, but then get these brilliant ideas and build gadgets in his room too. Those gentle Californian hands of his never sat idle.

  “I thought they said we could see this with the naked eye.”

  It was a cold and silent February night. He fussed with his contraption as I pulled the furry blanket tighter over my shivering shoulders. “They did, but why see something naked when you could see it clothed?” he murmured, then smacked the side of his head. “Scratch that. Some things I would much rather see naked.”

  I grinned. “I don’t think I want to know what.”

  Somewhere along the line, all the time I’d been spending with Kane became eclipsed by time spent with Declan. Before long, being alone with Declan felt natural. But there was no denying it was different. The way he looked at me. The way he talked to me.

  And he touched me. At first, innocently: a finger on my arm, or holding my hand to guide me somewhere. Now he held my hand all the time. Now my hand expected it, wanted it, wasn’t complete without his.