Under the Moon

by Deborah Kerbel

  I laugh at that. Hard. Yeah, I laugh so hard, I almost pee my borrowed pair of little sister pants. And Emma laughs along with me, even though she has no idea why. It’s a cheek-smarting, mouth-stretching, hold-your-stomach-and-cross-your-legs-so-youdon’t-have-an-accident kind of laugh. And it’s so much better than anything I’ve felt in a long, long time.

  Finally, after a few minutes, Emma catches her breath enough to ask: “So w-what’s so funny, anyway?”

  “I … I don’t sleep. Like, at all. I kind of lost it after my Aunt Su died. I don’t know where it went. And I’m kind of beginning to think I’ll never find it again.”

  Silence with a side order of confused frownage. “What, you don’t sleep at all?”

  “Nope.”

  “Not even a catnap?”

  Vigorous shake.

  Emma whistles as she wipes a stray strand of hair out of her face. “God, Lily, I didn’t think that was humanly possible.”

  “It is … but just for eighteen days.”

  “What happens after eighteen days?”

  “You die.”

  “And how many days has it been for you?”

  “Twenty-six.”

  “Seriously?”

  Nod.

  “Why aren’t you dead?”

  My voice shrinks down to a tiny whisper. “I don’t know. I’m pretty sure I’m a genetic anomaly.”

  Emma smiles and air-pokes me from across the room. “Yeah. I knew there was a reason I liked you.”

  And that’s it. No doubts, no arguments, no thinly veiled looks of scepticism. I wait for her to tell me I’m crazy, that it’s impossible, that I must be lying. But she doesn’t. Instead, she just squishes her heart pillow in half to make a shelf for her chin and silently believes me. Just like the main character’s best buddy inside all those cheesy teen books lined up on Emma’s shelf.

  Who knew stuff like that actually happens in real life?

  For the second time tonight, I feel the tears coming on and don’t know how to stop them. Oh God, I’m so terrified I can barely think straight. Terrified of dying, of losing the cabin, of having my first real friend, of telling Ben how I feel, and of him not feeling the same way about me. I turn towards the wall and swipe my hands over my eyes. My breath stutters painfully in my throat.

  “Lily, are you okay?”

  I nod, mopping the last of the tears with the hem of my borrowed T-shirt. Before I can say anything, there’s another knock at the door. We both turn to see Mr. Swartz poking his head into the room. “You girls still up?”

  Picture an older, male version of Emma and you’ll get a good idea of what Mr. Swartz looks like. The similarity is kind of eerie, actually. Except his red hair has streaks of silver winding through the curls. And his freckles have all joined together to make a ruddy looking tan. Plus he’s wearing a pair of those funny old-person reading glasses that look like half-moons. I recognize him vaguely from the few times I’d gone browsing inside Beachside Books. And I think I probably saw him at Aunt Su’s funeral reception too — but pretty much everyone in Big Bend had charged through our house that day, so that’s kind of a given.

  “Well, for goodness’ sake! Lily MacArthur? Is that you?” Mr. Swartz walks into the room and reaches for my hand. “It’s so nice to see you!”

  Did I mention the fact that his eyebrows are totally fused together in the middle of his forehead? It looks like there’s a long, bushy, red caterpillar sleeping on top of his nose. Just as I’m opening my mouth to speak, the caterpillar opens its beady little eyes and smiles at me.

  “Thanks,” I reply, pulling my hand back. “It’s … um, nice to see you too, Mr. Swartz.”

  Mr. Swartz and his caterpillar are both staring at me so intensely. Makes me feel like a bug under a microscope. “You look all grown up with that makeup! Is that my daughter’s doing?”

  I hear Emma groan beside me. “Dad, please!”

  “Sorry Em.” Chuckle, chuckle. “It’s just that I always think of Lily as Su’s little niece.”

  Now the caterpillar is chuckling too. A line of shivers runs up my spine. Is this another hallucination? Man, I really hope so. I take a small step back. Mr. Swartz takes a small one forward.

  “I was a good friend of your aunt’s, you know?”

  I swallow hard. “Yeah, she went to your bookstore a lot, right?”

  The caterpillar rises up and starts hopping up and down his forehead. “That, she did,” Mr. Swartz replies. “We’ve been friends for years and years.”

  “Really?” Why can’t I remember her mentioning him?

  “Really. And she talked about you constantly. I have, in fact, been hearing all about you since the day you were born.”

  Right then, my guts feel like they’d been dropped onto the floor. And then stomped on. And then set on fire. Where have I heard those exact same words recently? And why do they make me feel so icky inside? But before I have the chance to figure it out, Emma has her hands on his shoulders and is pushing Mr. Swartz back toward the doorway. “Time for you to go now, Dad. This is a girls only night, remember?”

  He holds up a hand to stop her. “Actually, Em, I think I’d like to have a moment alone with Lily.”

  Alone?

  “Dad …” There’s a hint of a warning crouched behind Emma’s words. Jeepers creepers, why is this night suddenly making no sense? It feels like I’m trapped in some kind of weird, dystopian nightmare. But of course, that would be impossible because only people who sleep are allowed to have nightmares. Sucks to be me.

  “Don’t worry, Em, it won’t be long,” he says. “I just want to have a little chat about Su.” In a split second, everything goes and flips upside down. Now Mr. Swartz is the one pushing Emma out the door. I leap forward before she can leave, frantically trying to signal her with my eyes. Morse code eyelid blinks — everyone knows how to decipher those, right?

  No, don’t go, Emma, I blink desperately.

  She pauses.

  Yes! It worked!

  “Is the mascara bothering you, Lily?”

  Merde! No. No. No. Don’t leave me alone with your dad and his freaky caterpillar! I blink again.

  “Hmmm, I’ll see if we have a fresh box of tissues. Be back in a minute.”

  And then she’s gone. The door closes behind her with an ominous snap. Mr. Swartz reaches for my hand again.

  “How you doing, honey?”

  I back away. Across the room to Emma’s big, pink bed. Why is he asking me that? And why is he calling me honey? “Yeah, thanks … I’m good.” Now the warning has settled in behind my words. Hopefully he hears it. And maybe he does because he doesn’t try to come after me or take my hand again. Instead, he just talks.

  Relief.

  “I know it must have been quite shocking to hear the news about your aunt.”

  I grip onto one of the bed’s posts. “Yeah, sure.”

  Mr. Swartz’s voice suddenly shrinks down to a whisper. “Believe me, I would rather have told you in person instead of in a letter. But I think it was important for Su to let you know the truth her own words.”

  What letter? “What letter?”

  “The one from your aunt. I mailed it to your father’s house after the funeral.” The bushy red caterpillar, which had been lying still for the past minute, suddenly starts hunching down over Mr. Swartz’s eyes. “You did get my letter, didn’t you?”

  The letter. Oh my God! That’s why this guy’s giving me such ick! He’s the strange old person with the stamp who isn’t my friend! The writer of the first white letter! Aunt Su’s suicide note suddenly comes rushing back to me like a fierce gust of wind. My knees wobble and I sink down onto the end of Emma’s frothy bed. I get that funny, bitter taste at the back of my mouth. You know the taste I’m talking about? The one that makes you think your dinner is moments away from making a reappearance on the floor? I white-knuckle the bedpost and focus hard on the Pepto-Bismol pink. Please, let it be okay.

  Deep breath in. Deep breath o
ut.

  A bit better.

  Mr. Swartz’s caterpillar is peering at me over the rim of his half-moon glasses. “Lily, honey? Are you all right?”

  No, not even close. “Yes, Mr. Swartz, I did get the letter.”

  He takes a fraction of a step forward. This time, I don’t mind so much. This guy is Aunt Su’s friend, after all. She trusted him with her biggest secret. It’s okay for me to trust him too.

  “I’m just so glad you and Emma have become friends,” he says. “I knew it would be a good idea for you two to reconnect.”

  “Um, you did?”

  The caterpillar climbs up his forehead — like it’s looking for a safe place to build its cocoon. “Don’t take it the wrong way. It’s just that, you know, after getting the news about your aunt, I figured you could use a friend.”

  My stomach suddenly feels like I’ve swallowed a hornet’s nest.

  “Y-you asked Emma to be my friend?”

  The answer is right there on his reddening face. I mean, you could power a city from the heat radiating off his cheeks. My hands curl into fists at my sides. I’m centimetres away from hitting this guy. No, make that millimetres. Aunt Su’s friend or not, what he did was so vastly wrong on so many levels. Maybe Mr. Swartz senses my prickly mood, because he ends our private tête-à-tête right there.

  “Well, I’ll let you go. I can see this is bringing back some powerful memories for you. But please keep in touch. You’re welcome to come by the store whenever you’re in the neighbourhood. I’ll tell you some old stories about your aunt.”

  Rigid, tight-lipped, signature General MacArthur nod. The hornets in my stomach buzz angrily. The caterpillar on Mr. Swartz’s forehead seems to have gone back to sleep. He reaches for the door knob. “Okay, guess I’ll go get Emma now.”

  Did I mention that I’m prone to great acts of stupidity when I’m angry?

  The second his back is turned, I’m off the bed and out the window. Justlikethat. The landing pad beneath Emma’s bedroom isn’t nearly as soft as the one beneath mine. The ground rises up to hit me with a smash. Twin lightning bolts shoot up my legs from the impact. I take a few seconds to shake off the pain, just like Mom taught me to do all those years ago.

  And then I start to run.

  EIGHTEEN

  The sky is black with clouds. No moon to light the way as I take off down the road. Not even a hint of a trace of a sliver. Still, it helps to know it’s up there somewhere. Yeah, there are times in life when faith is the only thing you’ve got. I know this for a fact.

  Emma is only pretending to be your friend, chants a nasty little voice in my right ear. Do you really think she cares about a not-even-halfway-normal, forever-a-disappointment, oxymoronically named, and permanently introverted nocturnal mutant like you? Her father told her to do it.

  Does that make Emma the pathetic one? Or me? I’m too upset to know for sure.

  Who cares why she did it? whispers the voice in my other ear. Fact is, she was your friend … is your friend. Emma made an effort, when nobody else would. Doesn’t she get points for that?

  “Justshutupshutupshutup!” I yell at the voices, shaking my head to knock them loose from my ears. I pick up the pace in case they’re planning on following me. Crunch … crunch … crunch go my shoes on the gravel as I stumble through the darkness. Past Derry’s, past Beachy Keen, past the Spotted Dick, all the way to the one place in the world I need to be. Ignoring the hissing speaker, I go straight to the window of the crappy little cubicle. I don’t care if I wake him up. I don’t care how grumpy he’ll be. I just have to see him.

  But when I look through the window, it isn’t him at all. Merde. It’s another one of those hallucinations. It has to be. This is exactly the kind of thing that happens when you don’t sleep for twenty-six days. I close my eyes and shake my head, trying to knock my brain back to reality. But when I open my eyes again a few seconds later, it still isn’t Ben. I can feel my chest twisting with dread. This is no hallucination.

  “Where is he?” I demand.

  Jake Hudson, a senior from my high school, lowers his BlackBerry and frowns.

  “Lily MacArthur? Where’s your car? This is a drive-thru, you know?”

  I’m running out of patience. Fast. “What are you doing here?” I holler at him. “Where’s Ben?”

  He shrugs. “How should I know? He just pulled me aside today and offered me the shift. Said it was the easiest job in the world. This is my first night.”

  “When will he be back?” My words are like poisonous darts. But sadly, this guy isn’t sharp enough to notice. It’s a well-known fact that Jake Hudson has failed grade eleven twice. Not exactly the brightest star in the galaxy.

  He shakes his thick head and shrugs again. “Ben won’t be back. He quit.”

  Ben quit? Why? Where did he go? He wouldn’t have moved back to Toronto without telling me. Would he? In a flash, my angry voice dissolves into an anxious whine.

  “But … do you know where he went? I mean, did he take another job?”

  “Sorry, I don’t know anything about it,” says Jake. “Can I get you some fries? There’s a fresh batch …”

  I turn away before he can finish his sentence. Across the parking lot over to the Docks, back through the strip, I march — eyes sweeping the village for Ben. But everything is shut down like a blackout. There’s no sign of him anywhere. If I knew where he lived, I’d go to his house. But I don’t know where he lives. In fact, I know almost nothing about him. I take to the main road, all the while trying to tell myself it doesn’t matter, that I don’t care if he’s gone. Why should I care, anyway? I barely know the guy! And what I do know isn’t all that great. I’ll be better off without having to avoid his scowling face at school. Truly. And now I’m free to go get some fries at three o’clock in the morning without worrying about running into His Grumpiness.

  For some weird reason, that last thought makes me unbearably sad. Tears burn my eyes. I break into a jog that quickly turns into a run that quickly grows into a frantic gallop. I race down the road as if an invisible monster is on my tail. And the tears keep coming, no matter how fast I try to outrun them. Blinded by the darkness, I don’t even know where I’m running until I find myself back on Aunt Su’s front lawn. Even through the pitch black sky, I know where I am by the familiar sweet smell of mint in the air. Also by the fact that I trip over the obnoxious, hairy gnome. It’s so dark, I can barely make out the shape of the house, but I know it’s there. This little cabin has pulled me towards it like a giant magnet. I stumble around to the back, almost totally blinded by the night. The sound of the waves lapping up against the circular dock is almost as familiar as my aunt’s voice. I close my eyes and struggle to find my breath.

  In… out … in… out …

  Better.

  Then …

  A sudden snap of a twig to my right. A cold touch of something

  brushing against my arm. A shiver crawling up my spine. And then the sinister hint of an invisible monster’s breath blowing on my skin, stealing my own breath right from my mouth.

  Oh my God!

  With a yank, I pull my arm away and start running again. Heart pounding, breath panting, lungs exploding. The cool night air is suddenly thick, hot, burning against my skin. There’s barely enough of it to pull into my lungs. My feet punch the ground as I fly up the road. The chomping footsteps of the stranger behind me fill my heart with ice cold terror. Don’t look. Don’t look! He’ll catch you if you turn around to look!

  I can’t help it. I turn around to look. Dark shadows everywhere. It’s too black to see much of anything, which just makes it worse because I can hear him following right on my heels. How can this lunatic see me through the darkness? Is he some serial psychopath who’s invested in night goggles or something? This latest thought jacks my panic up to a whole new level.

  Oh my God! He can see in the dark! He’s going to catch me! I want to scream. Believe you me, I know it’s my only defence. I try so hard to
scream.

  Help! Somebody help! There’s a lunatic chasing me!

  The words are so clear in my head, but for the life of me I can’t push them out. My voice is frozen in my throat. Caught up inside my panicked breath. If I want to live, I’ll have to keep running until I find a house. But my poor muscles are screeching at me to give up. There are no neighbours for kilometres, Lily! And at the same time, there’s a logical little voice somewhere at the back of my brain calmly informing me I’ll never make it. Let it go. Drop out of the race. You’re dying a slow death-by-exhaustion anyway — why not let this serial psychopath put you out of your misery?

  What choice do I have? Truly, it’s almost a relief to do it. My muscles serenade me with a chorus of love songs as I let my feet slow up their pace. Little sparks of light swirl in front of my eyes.

  Another second and his cold hands will be around my throat, squeezing the breath right out of my body. I let the serenade take over my thoughts and brace myself for a final, violent end. I’ve managed to survive for twenty-six days with no sleep and this crazed lunatic with hi-tech night-vision goggles is about to finish me off on a dark, lonely road.

  Quel injustice!

  My whole body hurts at the thought of never seeing Ben again.

  Then, suddenly, out of the darkness comes a beam of light. Shining through my eyes to the back of my skull — blinding me more absolutely than any darkness. I stumble over my feet and feel myself crashing down onto the gravel road. Little stones cut through the knees of my jeans and slice into the skin of my palms. Like miniature teeth.

  And then a voice.

  “Lily? Is that you?”

  NINETEEN

  Ben jumps off his bike and kneels down beside me on the gravel. Crunch go his shoes on the road. Boom goes the pulse in my ears. The smell of watermelon suddenly fills my nose. I close my eyes. My head is spinning so fast, I feel like it might just roll off my body.

  “What happened, Lily?”

  He’s so close, I can feel his words on my face. There isn’t even a trace of boredom in his voice. This is new.