Night Sky

by Suzanne Brockmann

  I went inside and turned my phone back on before changing into dry clothes and plopping onto my bed. It was only five o’clock, but our trip to Harrisburg had worn me out.

  Popping my earbuds in, I set my iPod to shuffle and leaned back, zoning out as the music lulled me to sleep.

  The dream was different this time.

  It started in that same field, and the sun was shining so brightly that my head started to hurt, right behind my eyes. I lifted a hand to my face to shield it from the glare.

  Birds chirped in trees overhead, and I looked for them, but all I saw were leaves dancing in the breeze. That, and monarch butterflies weaving through the air. I sighed and sat down.

  The grass was as green as emeralds and soft like a plush rug. I ran the palm of my hand over it and felt relaxed for the first time in a while.

  The feeling of peace only lasted for a moment, because a dark shadow moved swiftly across the sky, blocking the sun. The horizon turned a bruised color.

  I looked around me, and the field was gone. The birds were silent, their cheerful trilling replaced by the chirp of a hospital’s heart monitor. I smelled rubbing alcohol.

  And backed-up sewage.

  “Don’t look,” a voice whispered, and I inhaled sharply.

  “Don’t look,” another voice repeated.

  I turned, and the highway was in front of me, stretching as far as I could see. The white dotted line dividing the lanes seemed to extend toward infinity.

  Sasha was there.

  Sasha was alive! She was standing there, clear as day, on the dotted white line, her back to me. Her hair was stuck to the nape of her neck, and her white-and-blue dress flowed urgently in the wind, pressing against her body and outlining her fragile legs.

  “Sasha!” I called out, but she didn’t turn around.

  I tried to run toward her, but each time I took a step forward, she seemed farther and farther away.

  When I woke up, my sheets were soaked with sweat, and when I reached up to touch my face, I felt tears on my cheeks.

  But I brushed them away, my heart beating hard as I remembered the rush of relief, the sense of certainty that had filled me because I knew—I knew—that Sasha was alive.

  What if the conviction I’d felt in my dream was real, and Sasha truly was still alive?

  I reached for my phone, intending to call Calvin, but then I stopped. He wouldn’t believe that Sasha wasn’t dead. He was my best friend, and I loved him, but right now I needed someone to say, “Hell, yeah, Sky, you could be right.”

  Dana wasn’t that person, either. It didn’t take much to imagine her harsh, Get a grip, Bubble Gum. The girl is gone.

  But Milo…

  I found myself wishing I could talk to Milo, which was kind of weird because I didn’t really know him—plus he’d made a point not to share his gum with me.

  Of course, maybe my sense that Milo would offer the right kind of encouragement was as crazy as the idea that I should know—from a dream—that Sasha wasn’t dead.

  So instead of calling anyone, I had dinner with my mom—who didn’t say a word about my phone being off, thank God. I did my homework, watched a little TV, and “celebrated” the end of the weekend by going to bed early.

  —

  I was starting to get really sick of Mr. Jenkins.

  Monday was like jumping headfirst into the world of mediocrity, and band was proving to be the worst of it.

  “Let’s start again on the fourth measure of page nine,” Jenkins said, patting the top of his head gently, no doubt double-checking that his comb-over wasn’t too unkempt.

  I still couldn’t get over the fact that my mother and Jenkins had actually gotten coffee together. I prayed it had been a one-time deal, because the implications of their relationship being something serious were nauseating. Jenkins at dinner, Jenkins in our TV room, Jenkins at breakfast…

  But sitting in the practice room with my triangle in my lap, I knew there were so many more important things to focus on, like finding Edmund Rodriguez. I hadn’t heard a thing from Dana or Milo since yesterday—which made sense since neither of them had a cell phone, and if I wanted to talk to them, all I had to do was wish for it. Or something.

  Yeah, and so far that hadn’t worked.

  I turned my sheet music to page nine and found the fourth measure. Fat, black rectangles dangled beneath the lines. Great. I had whole rests for at least three pages.

  Kim Riley stood next to her bass drum and shrugged sympathetically at me.

  I shrugged back.

  Mr. Jenkins counted the class in with his usual Let’s Polka! fervor, and everyone who wasn’t me or Kim started to play the Beethoven piece we’d been working on for the past month. It would have been okay, even with Beethoven’s trademark intensity, if Jenkins hadn’t been a musical moron.

  I looked over at Cal, who was concentrating as he played his trumpet. Garrett wasn’t concentrating quite as much. When he spotted me looking in their direction, he smiled.

  I looked away quickly.

  I hadn’t seen him since Saturday, but apparently he’d decided that we were on good terms. Maybe he was just excited that I hadn’t told the whole school about beating him in that race—or the fact that he’d puked his guts out all over the beach.

  Garrett turned and whispered something into Cal’s ear. Cal glanced up at me and then looked down at his music and scowled. I wondered why Garrett was always so chatty with Cal in band practice…and why Calvin never told me what their conversations were about. It was pretty weird, considering Cal usually told me everything.

  But then I thought about yesterday’s dream and how I still hadn’t mentioned it to Calvin, despite the fact that he’d driven me to school.

  As I watched, Garrett slapped Cal congenially on the back and whispered something else, before Calvin hit Garrett on the shoulder. His smack didn’t look quite as friendly.

  Mr. Jenkins tapped his pencil on the side of his music stand and the band fizzled out. “Is there a problem?” he asked the two boys.

  “Absolutely not, sir,” Garrett said in a tone that was dripping with mockery.

  Cal didn’t answer.

  “Well, then let’s pay attention, please.”

  “Will do!” Garrett exclaimed enthusiastically. He was such a dick.

  Jenkins squinted at both of them suspiciously before launching into a discussion of the Beethoven piece and what we all had to do to improve it.

  I watched Calvin’s jaw clench as he struggled to focus on what Mr. Jenkins was saying. There was something really wrong.

  Finally, the bell rang, which meant it was time for Jenkins to shut up until tomorrow. I raced out of there as fast as I could, and then waited in the hallway for Calvin.

  Two minutes went by, and he didn’t show up.

  The rest of the kids from band practice slid by me, laughing and talking with each other. Kim Riley waved silently on her way past.

  I poked my head into the practice room, but it was empty.

  That was beyond weird.

  Cal never exited through the back, partly because he always walked me to the next class, but also because there was nothing outside the east band doors except the soccer field and some reserved parking spots for teachers and other faculty.

  I walked through the practice room and peeked out through the windows of the east doors.

  I spotted Cal’s trumpet case on the sidewalk.

  Quietly, I opened the door and stepped outside.

  I heard voices and peeked around the corner. Sure enough, Calvin and Garrett were out there, but neither one of them had spotted me.

  “…if you really think about it,” Garrett was saying.

  I heard Cal laugh a little, although the shake in his voice implied that he didn’t think whatever Garrett was talking about was so funny. “I
think I intimidate you,” Calvin replied.

  “You intimidate me?” Garrett scoffed. “Come on, man. You’re black and you’re crippled. I’ve pretty much got the upper hand.”

  I gasped, quickly drawing my hand to my mouth so I wouldn’t make a noise.

  “See, that’s funny, because last time I checked, my skin color didn’t really have much to do with anything. But it’s cool. I know you can’t help being an ignorant redneck.”

  Go Calvin.

  Garrett laughed like that was the funniest thing he’d ever heard. “Man, my family’s from New York. How am I a redneck?”

  “Man,” Calvin said, mocking Garrett’s tone, “you don’t have to be from the South to be ignorant. These days, rednecks are everywhere. It’s a state of mind.”

  “Well, if I’m ignorant, you’re a little…bitch,” Garrett exclaimed.

  The bell rang. I didn’t move.

  “All right, Garrett. You win. Call me whatever you need to so that you can feel better about yourself and I can get the hell to class.”

  “Bro, I don’t have to feel better about myself. I’m just grateful that I’m not stuck in a chair all day, and that I get to actually stand up to take a piss like a real man.” Garrett chuckled cruelly. “Only bitches sit on the pot to piss. You know, maybe you should think about a sex change, considering you’re already halfway there—because your dick is as limp as your legs.”

  Calvin didn’t respond. For a moment, there was complete silence.

  I realized in that instant that I’d never really thought about it. Could Calvin even…? I honestly didn’t know. I was aware, just from reading, that some people who’d been paralyzed didn’t have control over those parts of their bodies and sometimes even needed to wear an adult diaper.

  But surely if that was the case with Calvin, I would have heard about it.

  Or maybe not.

  Garrett didn’t seem to realize that he’d crossed a terrible line, because he laughed and said, “For all I know, it already got cut off in the accident. You know, Calvina, with enough estrogen, you could grow a really nice set of tits. Give you something to play with. Bigger than your girlfriend’s, although that wouldn’t take much, would it?”

  “Are you done?” Calvin said, his voice tight.

  “You know I screwed her,” Garrett said. “She came to me, begging, because she wasn’t getting it from you.”

  Calvin laughed. “It really pisses you off, doesn’t it?” he said. “When I don’t rise to your bait? I know exactly what happened when you took Skylar to the beach. She kicked your ass. Made you vomit like a little girl—”

  “Fuck you!”

  What I heard then sounded like Calvin’s wheelchair clanking up against the side of the building, as if Garrett had actually pushed him.

  I grabbed the door and flung it open so that it hit the outside wall with a crash, calling, “Calvin, are you out here?” as if I’d just come racing through the band room, and hadn’t heard the last five minutes of Garrett’s disgusting insults.

  “I’ve got your trumpet case,” I called as gaily as I could, as I grabbed the boxy thing by its handle. “Hurry up, we’re already late to lunch and I’m hungry!”

  Garrett must’ve lit out, escaping around the side of the building, because when I rounded the corner, Calvin was sitting there alone.

  “You okay?” I asked him, mostly because it would’ve been weird not to say anything.

  “Yeah,” he said, forcing a smile. “I just needed to take a moment after, um, Jenkins’s attempt to deafen Beethoven’s ghost.”

  I made myself laugh at his joke, even though my stomach hurt. It was clear he wasn’t going to tell me about Garrett’s abuse as he followed me back inside. “Yeah, old Ludwig was definitely thrashing around in his grave today,” I said as I wondered how long Garrett’s bullying had been going on. I seriously doubted that today was the first time he’d been cruel to Calvin.

  But from now on, as far as I was concerned, if Garrett was going to mess with Calvin, he was going to have to go through me to do it.

  Chapter Twelve

  At lunch, I waited in vain for Calvin to say something to me about what had happened after band with Garrett, but he acted as though everything was absolutely normal.

  “Question of the day!” he exclaimed, his mouth full of the leftover pizza his mom had packed for him.

  I sat atop one of the picnic tables by the quad, my elbows resting on my knees. I didn’t say a word. I just chewed my free-range and antibiotic-free turkey on gluten-free bread.

  “Okay! Would you rather…have a long, hot make-out session with Mrs. Disapproval, or French kiss Mr. Kaspersky for ten minutes? Lots of tongue.”

  Mr. Kaspersky was our school principal, and he had the worst breath in the entire world.

  “God, Cal, it always has to be while I’m eating!” I dropped my sandwich on top of my paper lunch bag and made a disgusted face.

  Cal smiled, absolutely tickled with himself. “What’ll it be?” he said.

  I sighed. “Mrs. Disapproval,” I replied.

  “I didn’t know you swung both ways,” Calvin said gleefully. “That’s pretty awesome.”

  “I don’t!” I said. “Not that there’s anything wrong with it, but it’s just not my thing. I think Mrs. Disapproval probably has better dental hygiene than Kaspersky, that’s all.”

  “What do you think about your friend with the steel-toed boots?” Cal said. “You think she’s a girlfriend kind of girl?”

  “Do you mean, do I think she’s gay?” I shook my head. “No. Definitely not. I’m pretty sure she and Milo are a thing.” I paused. “Why do you ask?”

  “Just wondering what your thoughts were,” Cal said, and took an enormous bite of pizza.

  “Wait a second,” I said, smiling. “You like her!”

  Calvin scoffed, his mouth full. “Me?” He pointed to his chest and laughed.

  “Oh my gosh, you do!”

  He tried to play it super casual. “She is sexy, but in an extremely scary way,” Calvin replied. “Like a dominatrix. And if you tell her I said that, I’ll be forced to kill you.”

  “Good luck with that, me being a Greater-Than. Also? She probably wouldn’t blink. She’s probably used to having guys fall at her feet,” I pointed out.

  “You really think she and Milo are…” He pounded his fist into the palm of his hand.

  I looked at him with unconcealed disgust. “What is that? Is that supposed to be…?”

  “Banging,” he said, doing it again.

  “Banging,” I repeated. “No, I do not think they are banging. I do think they make incredibly passionate, steamy, romance-novel-worthy love together, as often as humanly possible.” This was the perfect segue into my admitting that I’d overheard his earlier conversation with Garrett, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it.

  “You got a problem with that?” Calvin asked. “With Dana and Milo?”

  And I realized that I was frowning. “No,” I said. “No, of course not. I was just thinking about your question of the day and throwing up in my mouth a little.”

  Calvin offered me a very self-satisfied grin. “You’re welcome,” he said.

  —

  School dragged for several more hours. I had so much crap on my mind that my brain actually hurt.

  When the final bell rang, I almost fell to my knees and thanked whoever resides in the clouds. I was that relieved.

  Instead, I waited outside in the front parking area, next to Cal’s car.

  He wasn’t done taking the popquiz Mr. Daniels had so heartlessly surprised us with in history class today. I kicked at an empty soda can on the sidewalk and watched kids shuffle into their cars. The sun was out again today, and as a couple of jocks walked by, I heard them mention something about heading to the beach.

  For a moment
I wished that my life could be that simple again…just a normal high-school junior, getting through her classes so she could spend the afternoon at the mall, or maybe catch a movie or drive around with her friends.

  For me, life had stopped being simple a long time ago. And it didn’t show signs of letting up.

  I wished… I didn’t know what I wished, but I suspected it included Milo.

  Just then, out of the blue, Dana rounded the corner on her huge-ass motorcycle, as if punctuation to my thoughts.

  “Hey!” she called out to me over the roar of the engine, removing her white aviator sunglasses and stacking them on top of her head.

  I stepped closer to the bike. Kids were looking at Dana, some of them pointing. I wondered if they thought she was a new girl or if they realized she wasn’t high school material. Probably the latter.

  “Hop on!” She pointed to the back of the bike.

  I hesitated, because oh my God. She really expected me to just hop on that thing? She didn’t wear a helmet, and I was one of those kids whose mom had made me wear protective headgear with my tricycle. And as much as I hated the fact that my mother’s inner bat-crap-crazy alarm sounder could ever be right, statistics really did prove that even a minor accident on a motorcycle could be fatal without a helmet.

  Add that math to the fact that it had taken me months to be able to ride in a car without holding on to the grab bar for dear life and…

  I started to sweat.

  “What are you waiting for, Bubble Gum? We’ve got work to do! You wanted training? I’m gonna train you. Now.”

  “I have to wait for Cal,” I shouted back, trying to sound apologetic instead of relieved that I had a reason not to just hop right on. “We had a plan to go over to my house after school, to work on our math homework. I don’t want to just, you know, ditch him. He’ll be out soon.”

  Dana wasn’t pleased. Her hoop earrings jingled against her neck as she shook her head. “Five minutes,” she said, and tapped her wrist.