Even If the Sky Falls

by Mia Garcia

  “Can I hear one?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Please?”

  He smiles.

  “Let’s see, there’s this one called ‘My Darling Jean,’ but you gotta imagine this with some amazing music behind it, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  Miles clears his throat and starts; his voice is deeper than I expect.

  Everything is dark here,

  at night the stars are pale.

  I worry about tomorrow,

  because, dear Jean, what if I fail?

  I shiver, his voice tangles around me, twisting around my fingers, waist, down my legs.

  My heart I left with you,

  the world now more than cruel

  what little hope I have left

  feels weak. Sometimes I think

  I’ll never wake and feel you

  beneath me.

  There’s more, I can tell, but that’s all Miles offers. “They sound like sad letters,” I say. Yet something in his voice brought out the longing, the love and passion that linger through time.

  “They were. Lots of the letters were written by soldiers during World War I, and they’re all there, just scanned in and nobody knows whether the men who wrote them lived or died.”

  I took a deep breath, savoring the feel of Miles next to me, pretending the song is about tonight, about possibly never seeing each other again. What memories should we make? What memories did I want to make?

  “How do they get the letters and not know what happened?”

  “My mom says a lot of the stuff gets donated or tossed out, found in old homes. I could only tell they were from the war from the dates and a mention here or there about a battle, but not a lot, they mostly spoke about missing home and trying to hold on to the good memories.”

  “Good memories.” I nod. Lately all the bad memories have been infecting the good ones; latching onto happy moments and simply forcing them out. I need all the good ones I can get, like tonight: tonight is a good memory.

  Our pause extends, and the lapping of the waves bothers me. I close my eyes, dipping my head under; when I emerge the sky is one blanketing cloud: gray and heavy, even the quickening wind can’t move it. As I stare needlelike pellets of water descend, pinpricks of cold. I let go of Miles’s hand and stand, tipping my head to the side to let the water drip out. It’s not painful yet, I think, we still have time.

  “What are you running from, Sunshine?” he asks, his voice so soft I can’t hear him at first, when I do I blank, my shoulders tense, and I freeze before I can control my body and hide my reaction.

  “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have, I just thought we were—” He floats toward me, inching down so that we are level with each other.

  Opening up. Sharing secrets. We were, or more you were, Miles.

  “No baggage,” Miles says, reminding himself, jumping up onto the edge of the pool.

  “That’s right, no baggage.”

  I try to sound nonchalant, like I don’t want to know even more about him, like I don’t think the no-baggage rule is total bull.

  He dips his feet back in the water, motioning me over. I take a seat next to him but farther apart, and he moves closer until he’s just a foot away, stopping short of touching me.

  “Questions, Questions,” he says. “But this time I want to ask something of myself.”

  I lift an eyebrow in response.

  “I asked you what you were running from, but I should ask that of myself first, right?”

  “I—I don’t know, yes?” I say before continuing. “Yes. Okay. What are you running from?”

  “I have a girlfriend,” he says like he’s ripping off a Band-Aid even though I suspected as much; a part of me imagined him with several girlfriends. He waits for my reaction.

  “Was it one of the girls from the square?” I offer.

  “No, actually—but they were her friends.”

  “And you didn’t want them to see you with me in case they thought—”

  Miles cut in. “I didn’t want them to see me at all, regardless of whether or not you were there—no offense.”

  I flinch a bit, but he doesn’t catch it. “Zero taken. Why didn’t you want them to see you?”

  “Because of Angie.”

  “Your girlfriend?”

  “Yes.”

  Angie is a pretty name. I try to imagine her and Miles together, to crush these little butterflies before they grow any bigger.

  “Okay.” I nod, urging him to continue.

  “Angie—Angela—and I have been friends since we were born. Clichéd, I know, but our mothers are best friends so we were always together. Playdates, school, same neighborhood. She’s been a part of my life for so long . . . if you erased her you’d take me away too.”

  Miles keeps glancing at me from the corner of his eye, gauging my reaction. If he’s expecting me to be jealous he’s going to be waiting for a while. I should be, I suppose, I’m—okay, I’m attracted to Miles so I guess I should be threatened—but the most I feel is a brush of disappointment that I’m not the only one he’s opened up to, that this wasn’t 100 percent unique, just for me, but I sweep it away, reminding myself that my plan was never to jump Miles but to lose myself to the night (and maybe make out a bit). Plus the way he speaks about her, it’s almost like Angie is his left leg and what would be the point of being angry at a girl he’s spent his life with when I’ve only known him for a day?

  “Eventually playdates led to date-dates and it seemed like a natural fit—dating my best friend. It’s what all those movies talk about, right?”

  “Right. Sounds nice.”

  I’m shivering, and I can’t control it. I dip back down into the water before Miles can notice. I don’t want to leave the pool just yet even if it’s still raining.

  “I guess.” He shrugs.

  “Are we getting to the part where this is baggage yet?” I say, and Miles splashes me hard, which makes me splash him back. He pushes me further into the water and when I try to pull him in, he holds on to my hand tight, the mood suddenly shifting. I meet his eyes, concentrating on the feel of the water around me, telling myself that’s why I feel so warm and not the heat coming from his hand in mine.

  He breaks the gaze and stares down at our hands intertwined; I try to pull away, but he won’t let go. “It took us a while to figure it out.”

  “Figure what out?”

  “The different types of love. I love Angie. I do. And she loves me.”

  It should’ve been crazy weird to hear a boy confess his love for someone else while you held hands under the water but for some reason this didn’t bother me. When Miles spoke of his love for Angie it was frank and quiet, like Abuela spoke, his fingers gently moving across my hand. “She will always be a part of my family—she is family . . . like a sister. Not a girlfriend.”

  A sister. It felt like a hundred butterflies were kissing my skin. Tingles ran up my spine, my heart lightened. I did not contain them. The butterflies control the water, float me toward him; we are inches apart as his eyes find mine. I think of straightening, placing my hands on either side of him. It would make me much warmer—skin to skin. I blush at the thought.

  “Does she feel the same?”

  “Sort of—she thought we had just gotten into a routine, but it wasn’t even that, we had become a—damn, this is hard to explain.”

  “You should just word vomit it.” I reach over to the edge where he’s sitting, pulling myself closer, and he grabs my hand, tugs, and now I stand right in front of him.

  “I’m trying. I swear.” Miles keeps stroking my hand, searching for the words. “It sounds so simple, but we were best friends, then boyfriend and girlfriend, and then we just went back around to best friends again. Love, but not in love. She got there too, eventually.”

  “You broke up?” I need to know.

  “Yes.”

  I fight the smile. Don’t smile.

  “So you don’t have a girlfriend?”

&nbs
p; “No.”

  “Even though you said you did, just a moment ago.” I gesture over my shoulder as if that is where the past is kept.

  “Right. Right.” He exhales. “It’s been a long time since I’ve spoken of her as anything else. I guess now she’s just Angie.”

  “So why did you run if she is a had and not a have?”

  “Little bit of everything. I want to stay friends—I love her.” Miles looks up, searching my eyes for anger but finding none.

  “I don’t think she believes me.”

  “She’s scared of losing you. I would be too.”

  I can feel the rain running down my back, and I wonder if it is okay to hang out in a heated pool during a storm? Probably not.

  “Yeah,” Miles says, his touch on my hand distracting me. I should pull away so I can concentrate on what he is saying, but I selfishly stay. “Taj and Danny know, but it’s not my place to tell her friends, and . . . and I just didn’t want to lie and I didn’t want to think about it anymore because part of me did have doubts; because I’m seventeen and what the hell do I know about love, right? What if I’m just messing it all up? It’s not like there isn’t other shit on my shoulders and I can’t lose Angie, but she deserves better.”

  “So do you.”

  “Hmmm.” His breath deepens. I watch his chest rise, droplets rolling down. He jumps back in with me, still holding my hand like it contains the answers he needs. Turning it over, he runs his fingers over my palm pausing on the crescent-shaped scar just below my thumb then up to my wrists, bringing it up to his lips, kissing it. His lips are soft, wet; my pulse beats against the touch. He pulls me forward, and I thank God we aren’t talking anymore because who can form sentences at a time like this?

  He wraps his arm around my waist, so perfectly warm even as the rain and bitter wind try their best to chill us to the bone. We are flush against each other, lips just a hairs-breadth away. I am mesmerized by every bit of him and wonder if I’ve possibly just made him up, a figment. Miles traces his lips against my cheek, dropping his head on my shoulder, taking in the feel of my skin, and I follow with mine on his. We sway a bit, the water lapping around us. The rain pricks, but it is nothing like the feel of his skin below my hands. If I could dive into him and disappear I would. I can feel Miles playing with a strand of my hair, the gesture both calming and possessive.

  He tilts my mouth up, running his fingers over my lips. He traces the raindrops as they run down my face, my mouth. He brings my lips to his, encompassing. And though the rain doesn’t disappear and the wind doesn’t cease, they are nothing compared to his lips, his body with mine, to the heat under my hands. You are nothing, storm. Try as you might, you are nothing.

  The melody to “My Darling Jean” plays in my head, and I hope the whole world can hear it.

  Little Miss

  Little Miss, I,

  I don’t know how—I

  had never seen

  such a bright thing

  with fairy wings. I—I

  couldn’t breathe.

  We felt the sway,

  the tug and play

  of the Midsummer scene.

  So it wasn’t long

  just a couple of songs

  before we became

  a couple of flickering lights

  in the heat of the night

  in the heat of everything.

  Little Miss, I—I

  don’t know how, I

  had never seen

  such a bright thing

  with fairy wings. I—I

  couldn’t breathe.

  And even though our

  history is shorter

  than it’s ever been.

  When you take my hand, I—

  I can see that our paths

  were meant to cross.

  So, Little Miss, I—I

  ask you to stay

  and help me be.

  Because with you—I

  have been the brightest

  I’ve ever been.

  Global Warming

  THE QUARTER IS ALMOST A GHOST TOWN WHEN WE EMERGE from the hotel, from our kiss, secure in each other’s warmth. The streets, which once were throbbing with people, now only bustle with the sound of rain against rooftops and the shriek of the wind as it picks up speed. It is unsettling and surreal, particularly compared to the energy that strums between us. Miles’s kiss is still fresh on my lips. I press my fingers against them as if I could feel the memory there. Instead I feel the thump, thump, thump of my heartbeat—an instrument just played—and Miles thrums beside me. In my head I hear our different beats, colliding, mixing, falling into place; a song not quite there yet but soon. Soon. He watches me, eyes lingering on my mouth.

  We gravitate toward each other as we walk.

  “Where is everyone?”

  “I have no idea.” Miles reaches for my hand, and together we travel along the streets, meandering around discarded cups and remnants of costumes. The pavements glimmer as we walk—the result of sequins and glitter sacrificed to the night.

  “Really hope the zombie apocalypse didn’t happen while we were in the pool,” I say, trying to lighten the mood, but I’m secretly searching for zombies around every corner.

  “If it did, you’d have to keep me safe. I do not do well with decomposing bodies.” Miles makes a face and does his best zombie impersonation. It is horrible.

  “No worries, I’ll protect you,” I say, even though I know we would be dead within minutes if this were a true zombie event of cataclysmic proportions. I have absolutely no useful skills and would only serve as semi-good moral support. I can’t even make it through a slasher film without hiding my face in Kara’s shoulder.

  “Can we stop over there for some water?” I motion to a pharmacy up by the road.

  “You spent over an hour in a body of water, and you’re thirsty?”

  “Yes, chlorine makes me dehydrated.”

  We head on up to what’s actually more of a twenty-four-hour convenience store, but when we walk in we get a bit of a shock. “You sure the apocalypse didn’t happen?”

  The shelves are practically barren—from the entrance I can see there’s only a gallon of water left and no smaller bottles whatsoever.

  “What are you two doing here so late?” A woman comes barreling toward us, carrying a large sheet of wood. She looks about sixty with bare arms that are toned and muscular.

  “It’s only, what?” Miles turns to me. “One, two?”

  Which is late by most people’s standards but perhaps not by Mid-Summer standards, plus the night feels like it just started.

  She leans the sheet of wood by the cash register, then picks up the hammer and a couple of nails. “I know what goddamn time it is. I don’t mean that, I mean the hurricane. Didn’t you hear the news?”

  “No,” I say. “We’ve just been walking around, and no one else seemed worried about the weather as far as I could tell.”

  “That was then, honey, and tides change.”

  Miles adjusts his banjo and says, “I thought it was an offshore storm, and we were only going to get a lot of wind and rain.”

  Which we had. I figured the actual storm would just be more of the same but for a longer period of time.

  “Like I said, that was then, this is now. It was a tropical storm and we were just going to get the ass of it, but now it’s a damn Category Two and it is going to hit us straight on.”

  “Oh.”

  “Damn straight.” She picks up the plank once again and walks past us. “Supposed to feel it sometime around four, five in the morning.”

  “We still got time then,” Miles says, looking at me with a reassuring smile.

  “I’m taking no chances—closing for the night and heading for my cousin’s up the way. I suggest you do the same, though I don’t know why I bother wasting my time. That hurricane is going to traipse its ass straight through New Orleans, and people will still be in the damn bar.”

  “Mind if we get some wate
r?”

  “Get what you want; you got ten minutes—gotta get home and board up my windows before I leave. Can’t afford no stinkin’ broken glass, and I’m getting tired of fixing stuff around here, been fixing shit for years now. If you don’t mind I’m going to board up the store while you two peruse to your heart’s content. Give us a shout when you’re done.”

  “All right.” Miles heads for the shelves, grabbing the last gallon of water.

  “Shouldn’t we head back . . .” I don’t finish. Back where? I think. Back home, back to Tavis? Neither option is appetizing.

  “Or we could stick it out, get some water, snacks, hole up.” That last bit he says while looking at me through the world’s most persuasive eyelashes. The boy is good.

  “But the hurricane . . .”

  “It’s a Category Two. It’s not that bad.”

  “Did you learn this in weather school?”

  “Yes,” he says with a wink. “Listen, Katrina was a five. This is nothing in comparison. If we hole up we can keep this going. Plus, weathermen are always wrong about how soon a storm is going to hit. It might be two hours from now, it might be one. Safer to hole up now just in case. I promise we’ll be safe. I know a nice solid building, above ground, sturdy as hell. Withheld the last couple hurricanes after Katrina like a champ.” Miles continues browsing the aisles and snags a bottle of hard cider. His eyes meet mine. “I don’t want this night to end just yet.”

  His voice is almost pleading, and truthfully I don’t want the night to end either. The thought of spending a dark candlelit night surrounded by Tavis and the cheer squad is the polar opposite of appealing, unlike a night holed up with Miles, which would be, well . . . Plus I’m not ready to face my punishment just yet. I press down on my scar, my decision becoming clearer and clearer. I mean . . . it could be JUST around the corner. Really it would be the safest choice.

  “We’re going to need more than just water and cider.”

  “Yes!”

  Miles pulls me into his arms and gives a quick hug before releasing me; I wobble a bit as we turn back to the shelves.

  There’s not much left, so we end up with the gallon of water, the bottle of cider, an apple, a box of crackers, gummy candies, one Twinkie, a few tiny candles, and two giant Santa Barbara candles. By the time we go up to pay, the woman will only take twenty for all of it—which Miles and I split—because she doesn’t have time for change.