The Edge of Anything

by Nora Shalaway Carpenter

  “Gravity, Reflection, Part of a Whole.” She muttered the prompt words like a mantra as she crossed the rear school parking lot. She would have something to show Ms. Saffron tomorrow if it killed her.

  Len had wanted to drive the Parkway, hoping the change of scenery would light her muse, but Dad said they didn’t have gas to waste and Mom refused to let her bike on the blind curves. So she was stuck walking, like always, her camera looped around her neck should inspiration strike.

  A large boulder marked the entrance to the back lot; it was spray-painted with Southview’s blue and silver colors and an all-caps message about how this year’s seniors were kick ass. Original. When Len was a kid, she used to dream about the day she’d help paint the rock for her class—she was pretty sure she had a journal with doodling ideas somewhere—but now the whole ritual seemed pathetic. What a waste of time and paint to decorate something only so it could be vandalized the following year, as if your words and images had never existed, or, worse, didn’t matter. She started toward the rock, but stopped at the grass’s edge. It needed mowing. Who knew what she might step in?

  A crow landed on the rock, tilting its head in sharp movements, and cawed at her.

  “You’re right,” she said. “It might work for Part of a Whole.” She snapped a picture, then turned quickly. The last thing she needed was someone from school overhearing her talking to a bird. Luckily, the only person around was a jogger wearing earbuds. Len looked back to the crow, to tell him they were safe, but it had already flown away, embarrassed to be seen with her.

  Like Sage, Len thought, when she’d suggested they hike together. Sourness prickled through her, bitter as a vitamin on an empty stomach. She couldn’t believe she’d thought Sage might actually want to hang out with her again. The coffee shop had been a fluke, a distraction because Sage had been upset and needed to get away. But Sage had come to check on her after lunch, had stuck up for her with Ms. Saffron, and Len couldn’t stop the hope that bubbled up, that maybe Sage wasn’t just being a good human. Maybe they could be friends.

  She crossed the library lot that abutted the school’s back parking area, crossed the road, and entered the picturesque neighborhood of Biltmore Woods. A lot of her classmates lived here, she knew, and she often wished she could ask what they used them for, all those rooms.

  She pointed her camera—not at the houses, which, though magazine beautiful, were uninteresting for precisely the same reason. Instead, she zoomed in on smaller, often overlooked things: the street lamps; the tiny bark bits that littered the forest edges just beyond the neighborhood; the trees whose branches shaded the sidewalks.

  Trees, she thought suddenly. They could be her theme. Trees and parts of trees. She could do some cool things with acorn patterns, with rings.

  Talk about unoriginal, a voice in her head whispered, and it was immediately joined by the echo of Ms. Saffron’s condemnation: sterile.

  She pushed the memory away, snapping images at random. Better done messy than not at all, that’s what Nonni used to say. Just get photos for the prompts. That was today’s mission. That would be good enough.

  As she walked home, dusk draped its sad fingers over every corner of the world. Len distracted herself from it by focusing on the ground in front of her, on not stepping on anything that might dirty her boots.

  “Someone called for you,” Dad said as she entered the house. Len stopped at the edge of the living room where her parents sat together on the sofa.

  “You mean Fauna?”

  “No,” Mom said, her tone short. “I think she’s given up on you.”

  The shame Len felt at disappointing her, at disappointing Fauna, was overshadowed by curiosity. “Who called then?” she asked Dad.

  He finished a line in his sketchbook. “Sage someone. Strange last name.” He held up a piece of paper. “She left her number. Asked you to call her back.”

  When Len tried to take the paper, Dad held on, catching her eyes. “Did you get some good photos?”

  She nodded. Before he could say anything else, she tugged away the paper, grabbed the cordless from its base in the kitchen, and hurried to her room.

  There was a moment when she didn’t know if she could call. What if she was humiliated again? But then—what if Sage was having another panic attack? What if she needed her? Before she could talk herself out of it, Len dialed.

  “Hey, Len!”

  Sage’s recognition caught her off guard. “Oh. Uh, hi.”

  “What’s up?”

  “Um, nothing.” Len frowned, confused. “My dad said you called?”

  “Yeah. He said you were out taking pictures. That’s awesome!” Her voice was brighter than Len had ever heard it. Almost chipper. “Did you get some good stuff for your prompts?”

  “Maybe.” Len couldn’t believe she’d remembered. “Were you… um… calling to check up on my progress?”

  “Yes and no. I wanted to see if tomorrow would work for a hike? I checked and the weather’s supposed to be nice. Sorry I couldn’t go today.”

  Len’s mouth opened and closed wordlessly.

  “Hello?”

  “I’m here,” Len said, taking a deep breath. “Listen, it was really nice what you did today, but”—she shook her head, even though Sage couldn’t see—“I don’t need pity, okay, so if you just feel sorry for me—”

  Silence.

  Len waited for the click of a hang up, but it didn’t come. Finally, Sage said, “I don’t feel sorry for you.” There was an edge to her words that wasn’t there before. “I mean, I do, but not in the way you mean it. I feel sorry because I know you’re sad, even though I don’t know why. And honestly… Damn, you’re right. I do say that word a lot.”

  Len smiled.

  “Anyway, I feel like something is wrong, Len. Like maybe something happened to you, something bad. And it’s fine if you don’t want to tell me. But, I don’t know…”

  Len gripped the phone tighter, unable to answer.

  “After what I told you the other day”—Sage’s voice went higher than normal—“I get what you mean about not wanting pity.” The phone crackled. “I’m talking to myself, aren’t I? If you don’t want to go—”

  “Will it just be me and you?” Len asked.

  “Who else?” Sage began. “Oh. You’re worried about Kayla.”

  Len’s mind couldn’t stop replaying it, the way Kayla had looked at her as she pushed the paper towels onto her tray. The judgment in her voice when she’d asked Len what she was doing.

  “It will just be you and me,” Sage said.

  Len nodded. “Okay.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  SAGE

  AFTER LAST NIGHT’S SUCCESSFUL TRYOUT, SAGE FELT almost herself again. Enough, anyway, to concentrate on classes and fend off her friends’ concern.

  “How was your appointment?” Ella asked as she, Sage, and Kayla walked their usual route to practice after school.

  Sage’s jaw tightened. “Good,” she said. “You know, as expected.”

  Kayla caught Sage’s eye. She’d asked the same question that morning, but left it alone when Sage answered “fine” in a way that clearly meant she didn’t want to talk about it.

  “Did they say when you can play again?” Ella asked.

  Sage called back the killer attacks she’d made last night, the respect she’d earned from talented college players. The triumph of it dulled the ache brought on by Ella’s question. “Not yet, but they said I’ll know soon.” Her phone buzzed as she swung open the gym door.

  Flick: Team meeting tonight. 7 pm. Patton Park.

  “Ooo,” said Ella. “Why the grin? Text crush?”

  “What? No. It’s nothing.”

  “Fine,” said Ella teasingly. “Keep your little secret. We’ll find out soon enough.” As Ella headed for the locker room, Kayla grabbed Sage’s arm, holding her back. “Are you bullshitting me?” she whispered. “Do you actually have more tests?”

  Sage keep her face even, but
her voice came out hollow and disjointed. “Why would I lie about that?”

  Kayla released her arm. “I’ve been wondering that myself.”

  Sage matched her hard gaze, but she couldn’t speak. Kayla stepped toward the locker room, then turned back suddenly, her eyes locking again on Sage’s. “I don’t know how to help you,” she said. “Tell me what I can do.”

  Disappointment flooded Sage, like someone had shot it through her veins. “Tell you?”

  “Yes. What do you need? Tell me how to help you.”

  You’re my best friend! Sage shouted in her head. You’re just supposed to know.

  “Sage?”

  It hurt to see Kayla desperate, imploring. But Sage couldn’t answer her. It changed things, Kayla’s not knowing. Somehow, in some ineffable but heartbreakingly real way, things between them had shifted.

  “It’s fine,” Sage managed at last. “I’m okay. You’re helping.” She swallowed the knot in her throat and went to help Hannah tighten the net.

  * * *

  Sage’s game face got her through practice. Coach let her help lead warm-ups, as usual, though she wasn’t allowed to do any of them, which was humiliating. When Coach told her that he couldn’t even let her pepper with Kayla, Sage was sure something inside her withered up and died.

  Still, her game face didn’t waver. Her body control was so great, in fact, that she numbed her whole self, doing whatever she was asked—brainstorming plays with Coach, advising the JVers on their attack approaches, and then sitting the bench as her teammates ran through drills—all with the emotion of a zombie.

  I’m on the A team, she reminded herself, as she watched her replacement shank a serve into the stands. We’re going to win the championship. We’re going to win a state title.

  She closed her eyes, reviewing the play names Flick had given her after practice the day before. I can still matter.

  At four thirty, when practice shifted to scrimmaging, it dawned on Sage that there was no way she could hike with Len and attend the meeting, not if she stayed until the end of practice. Her lip curled unconsciously. And why should she do that? She might be a captain, but she wasn’t going to interfere with Coach’s instructions during the scrimmage. And Len had been so excited about hiking. If Sage called it off again, without explanation, she’d be hurt for sure.

  Hand on her stomach, Sage asked Coach if she could go home, pleading a stomachache. And of course he let her. She was a liability now, and her dad was a lawyer. The realization sent a physical pang through her gut, and Sage pretended not to see Kayla’s eyes follow her as she beelined out of the gym.

  This time, Len answered the door on the first knock.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  LEN

  SAGE DIDN’T LOOK GREAT.

  “Practice is over already?” Len asked.

  Sage shrugged. “You ready?” There was an urgency in her face.

  Len followed her to the Subaru that was parked in the drive, camera bag bouncing against her side. She couldn’t make it add up, the way Sage had sounded last night on the phone—breathless and ecstatic—and the way she moved now, jerky and desperate. Something didn’t jibe.

  “Do you have a spot you like to go?” Sage’s voice was sharp, all business, as Len slipped into the passenger side. “A favorite hike or something?” She started the car.

  Len buckled her seatbelt, careful not to let the bag slip to the floor. “It doesn’t really matter.” Sage accidentally revved the car, cursed, then released the parking brake. The car kicked up stones as she backed out.

  Len clutched her bag tighter. She knew better than to ask if everything was okay, even if she hadn’t already known about Sage’s heart. Still, she needed to say something. It was one of the loneliest pains, she knew, when people recognized hurt but pretended they didn’t. When they ignored it simply because they didn’t know what to say.

  “So, uh…” She floundered a bit as Sage’s face creased into a frown. “You had a good day yesterday?”

  Sage flicked on the signal, turned onto the main road. “What do you mean?” Her voice betrayed a twinge of panic.

  Len stared out the window so Sage’s clipped expression couldn’t intimidate her. “You sounded really happy on the phone, so I thought…” She chose her words slowly, carefully. “Maybe something good had happened? Some good news?” She turned back to Sage, who had hunched over the steering wheel, hands perfectly positioned at ten and two. It probably wasn’t the smartest thing Len had ever done, driving with someone whose heart might give out at any moment. But then, probably better to die in a car crash, head-on with a tractor trailer, than suffer the crippling demise of childhood dementia.

  “Yesterday was a good day,” Sage mumbled. The traffic lights all glowed green, blessing their journey, and they flew down the four-lane in no time.

  And then there was a semi, exactly like Len had envisioned, like she had somehow called it to them. Len shut her eyes, because how could she keep denying it? Manifestations were real. The truck was proof. Just don’t think, she told herself. Don’t think anything bad. Nothing bad. Our lives depend on it.

  By the time she opened her eyes again, they were passing the arboretum, climbing up to the Parkway. It surprised her that Sage hadn’t said anything, hadn’t wondered why her eyes were clamped closed for what must have been several minutes. But Sage seemed lost inside herself.

  At the stop sign, Sage finally glanced at her. “Actually,” she said, “if you don’t care, I have an idea.” A motorcycle whizzed down from the mountain, followed by a train of cars. “There’s this place,” Sage said. “I go there when I’m feeling, um, not myself and, I don’t know. It sounds kinda dumb, but I think it helps.” She shrugged.

  “Sounds like I should live there,” Len said, and Sage laughed, her veil of irritation fluttering just a bit. The last car zoomed in front of them and Sage jetted onto the Parkway, the sudden acceleration pressing Len back into the leather seat. Sage punched a button, illuminating SIRIUS ALT NATION in boxy, calculator letters on the screen, and music flooded the car.

  Sage’s shoulders twitched, then bounced, her lips pursed. Len wondered if she was having some kind of fit.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Oh.” Sage flushed. “Yeah.” The twitching stopped, and her shoulders slumped forward. “I was singing.” There was a shade of mortification in her tone. “In my head.”

  “You can sing,” Len said. “I don’t mind.”

  Sage shook her head. “I’m bad,” she said. “I don’t look bad in front of people.” She clamped her mouth shut and cranked the volume louder.

  Len turned back to her window, remembering, with a pang of embarrassment, the undeniable relief in Mom’s face when Len had mentioned the hiking excursion.

  “I’m so happy you’re making friends,” she’d said, practically radiant.

  Friends. Len sneaked a glance at Sage, wondering if the word fit them, or if they were more like two lost people who, when with each other, weren’t quite as lost anymore. Was that the definition of friendship? It seemed a bit bleak, even for Len.

  The car climbed higher and higher, until finally Sage slowed, the tick tick of the car’s blinker cutting in to Len’s thoughts.

  “There’s a trail here?” Len asked.

  “Uh huh.” Sage parked on the tiny pull off, barely large enough for one vehicle.

  “Does it connect to a lookout?”

  “Not a lookout.” Sage cut the engine. “Something much better.”

  They got out, Sage leaving her keys in the cup holder, the door unlocked. Len finally located the tiny indentation in the woods. The path looked overgrown and too small to be part of the official trails kept up by the park service.

  “How did you even find this?”

  Sage grabbed a long-sleeve T-shirt from the trunk. “Accident.” She slipped the shirt—Southview Volleyball—over her head. “We took a wrong turn on another trail. I’m not sure where it ultimately ends up. I’ve never gone
the whole way.” She shut the trunk with a thud and headed toward the path, slightly muddled with wisps of fallen cloud. “Come on.”

  The mist often descended quickly in the mountains. Tourists hated the way it muted views for their Instagram posts, but Len had always felt at home in the mist. Especially this kind, thin enough to let you see twenty feet or so ahead before it shrouded the distance. “Hang on a sec,” she told Sage as she tugged out and assembled her camera. She snapped a few test shots, then a few more, to calibrate the light settings. “Okay,” she said. “Ready.”

  After several silent minutes, Sage stepped off the path.

  “What are you doing?”

  “It’s this way,” Sage said. “The spot I was telling you about.”

  “You mean, off the trail?”

  Sage turned around. “Is that a problem?”

  Len surveyed the long, tangled weeds and briar thickets on either side of Sage.

  “You just have to mash them down,” Sage said, as if reading her thoughts. “Most of them are broken already from when we were here last time.”

  Len didn’t ask who “we” was, but she had a pretty good idea.

  “Are you coming?”

  Len took a deep breath and nodded. She couldn’t go back now. And it was okay. Sage was in there in only shorts, the edges of vines clipping her skin, and she was fine. She wasn’t even worried. Len used to explore places like this all the time. She could do it again. She would do it.

  She placed one foot off the path. Then another. Don’t think, she commanded her brain. That proved impossible, though, so she concentrated on imaging a bright, protective light surrounding her body, keeping her safe.

  “See that oak?” Sage pointed. “Just there? That’s where we’re going.”

  Len nodded, ignoring the sweat skidding down her neck and back. She snapped a few photos, then ducked low to avoid a grapevine, which Sage had lifted without a thought. Finally, Sage stopped, holding out her arm so Len wouldn’t walk past her.

  Several feet beyond Sage, Len saw that the ground fell away completely. The chasm ran left and right as far as she could make out, but it wasn’t particularly wide, at least not here. A huge, fallen tree, its thick, vein-like roots exposed and dangling, crossed the divide right in front of them. A knot of entwined roots formed steps, as if they had been created specifically for that purpose.