Toil & Trouble

by Jessica Spotswood

  Once, he texts just as Nia and I are getting ready to head to Grandma Anita’s. I ask if he wants to come with us. He says he can’t, but that he’s going to get over there soon. I wonder if he’ll bring Blythe.

  “You need to get your shit together,” Nia says, looking over at me from the driver’s seat. “You look like somebody died. She’s just a girl...they’ll probably break up soon.”

  “You haven’t seen them together. They’re nowhere near breaking up.” I look down at my hands. “She says things like, ‘I love this guy!’ in the picture captions.”

  “Does she write out love or use a heart?”

  “L-O-V-E. I think it might be the real thing, Nia.”

  “It’s puppy love. Nothing serious.”

  I finally agree to go to a party with Webb and Blythe, thrown by some skaters they know from the road. They’re a little older, college age, but the party doesn’t seem much different from the ones I’ve been to, besides the better variety (and quality) of alcohol, and the fact that everyone seems to be wearing sponsored gear. It’s a Sunday night, but my parents are more lenient about me going out on school nights when Webb is home. And I wasn’t completely truthful about where we were going.

  I stick close to Webb and Blythe, observing them as they move through the crowd. Webb is popular with everyone, and again, it’s strange contrasting his easy confidence with the way he carried himself after the rumor. He used to avoid looking everyone in the eye, and now people won’t stop approaching him, wanting to chat.

  “He’s really great, huh?” Blythe says, following my gaze to Webb. He’s across the room, talking to a guy with a shaved head and small black plugs in his earlobes.

  I startle. I didn’t hear her walk up.

  “Yeah,” I say after a moment. “He is.”

  I feel her eyes on me, and there’s a pause before she speaks. “You two never went out?”

  “No. Just best friends.” I swallow hard. Can she see that I want more?

  “He cares what you think.” When I finally look over, her hazel eyes are serious. “A lot. So I hope we can be cool, Queenie. I’m sorry about what I said that first day. It was stupid, and I was trying to impress you with how much I knew about you and—”

  “It’s okay,” I say quickly. “I know you didn’t mean anything by it.”

  “You promise?”

  “Promise.” I hold up my beer, and a couple of seconds later she smiles, clinking the rim of her plastic cup against mine.

  Later, I go out back to get some fresh air, trying to decide if I should call a car to go home or wait for Webb. When I came back from the bathroom, he was leaning over Blythe’s shoulder, whispering in her ear, his arms wrapped loosely around her waist. I immediately walked outside, annoyed at having to see them together and then mad at myself for being annoyed.

  The door opens, and when I turn around, Webb is standing there. “Here you are. Thought you might’ve left.”

  He joins me, sinking into the rickety wrought-iron chair next to mine. “Having fun?”

  “It’s okay.” I shrug. “I don’t know anyone besides you two.”

  “That’s what I love about these things. It’s not the same old people we’ve known since we were six.”

  “I guess.”

  “What’s wrong, Your Highness?”

  “Nothing.” I gaze into the deep darkness of the backyard.

  “Not true.”

  “I haven’t seen you much since you’ve been back,” I say, finally looking at him. “I know you have a girlfriend now and things are different, but...I missed you, too. And I wish...”

  “What?”

  I shake my head. I don’t want to say it out loud because it feels whiny. But this is big, him having a serious girlfriend. And I can’t stop wondering why he chose not to tell me until it was time to meet her.

  He won’t let it go. “You wish she wasn’t here?” His voice is soft, but that doesn’t make it any easier to digest his matter-of-fact words. He must know how I feel about him. Why else would he think that?

  “I wish I’d known about her. Why didn’t you tell me you had a girlfriend?”

  “I don’t know. Because...sometimes these things that start on the road don’t work out. I wasn’t sure she liked me enough to come visit.” Webb cracks all the knuckles on one hand before he continues. “And...because I was afraid you’d be mad that I don’t have as much time for you.”

  I look at him. There’s something else he’s not saying. Grandma Anita says Webb is too stupid to see how I feel about him, but I’m not so sure that’s true anymore. I feel it in the air, and he’s not saying it.

  Because I know you have feelings for me and I didn’t want to hurt you.

  And that he won’t say it, that he’s not being completely honest with me—it makes tears come to my eyes. I turn my head so he won’t see them, but it’s too late.

  “Whoa, whoa, hey.” He touches my knee, and when I don’t face him he gets out of his chair and crouches in front of me. “Queenie, come on. You know you’re my number one person.”

  I nod, even though hearing him say it doesn’t make me feel any better. It doesn’t change the fact that our feelings for each other are uneven.

  “I don’t know what I’d do without you,” he says.

  Webb slides his thumb across my wet face, and I turn my head to look at him. He leans forward at the same time to kiss my cheek. Then his lips brush against mine by accident and everything stops.

  We look at each other for what seems like hours, our lips so close I can feel his breath. He swallows hard, and I expect him to retreat, to apologize and run inside so he can be with Blythe. But he takes my face in his hands and he kisses me. Really kisses me.

  Webb’s lips are soft and his mouth is warm and he tastes like beer. I close my eyes and kiss him back. Really kiss him: leaning forward to be as close as I can without making him topple over backward, running my hands slowly up and down the muscles of his back. I knew I liked Webb, but I’m not sure I realized how much until this moment. And now that the moment is here, I don’t want it to end.

  But he snaps out of it, pulling away and backing up a few feet on his bent legs before he stands up straight. He runs a hand over the top of his Afro, shaking his head. “Shit. Queenie, I—shit. I’m sorry. I gotta—”

  And then he does go inside. He doesn’t run. He stumbles, really, leaving his beer next to the empty chair.

  I sit by myself for a while, gently touching my fingers to my lips. For a moment, Webb was mine. And it was strange and wonderful and wrong all at once.

  * * *

  The kiss is all I think about the next day. I’m barely present at breakfast, at school, and on the ride to and from there with Nia.

  I keep going over what happened, replaying the moment from every possible angle. It’s obvious he didn’t plan the kiss, but had he wondered for a while what it would be like? Or did it just hit him while we were sitting there, so close and alone for the first time since Blythe arrived? Will this change things with them? And if it does, what does that mean for us?

  My phone rings just as Nia pulls onto our street. I smile when I look down and see Webb’s name. He rarely calls, so what happened must have meant something to him. I don’t want to be the reason he breaks things off with Blythe, but I can’t help hoping the kiss made him look at me the same way I’ve been looking at him for a while now. I hope he can’t stop thinking about it, too. About me.

  “Hey,” I say in a voice that makes Nia raise an eyebrow. “How’s it going?”

  “Queenie.”

  Normally I love hearing him say my name, but there’s something off about it this time. He’s breathing heavily, like he’s close to hyperventilating, and there’s something I don’t normally hear in his voice: panic.

  “Webb? What’s wrong?”

  �
�It’s Blythe.”

  Oh. Shit. She found out about the kiss and broke up with him. And now he’s mad at me.

  “I’m sorry,” I say. “If you need me to talk to her—”

  “Queenie, she’s hurt.”

  “What?”

  Nia pulls into our driveway and stops the car, staring at me.

  “We were over at the skate park in Venice, and these fuckers were talking shit to her, telling her she should get out of there because it’s for real skaters. And she can usually handle that shit, but then they dared her to do a trick and she never should’ve tried it—it’s too hard for, like, a lot of pros—but they just kept fucking with her, and she wanted to prove herself and—”

  “Where is she now?”

  “In an ambulance.” His voice shakes.

  “Where are you?”

  “Standing on some street in Venice...near the beach. We took the train down here. I don’t—Queenie, I need you.”

  I’ve never heard Webb sound so scared in his life. Not even when he broke his leg attempting a complicated trick of his own.

  “I’ll come get you,” I say, looking at Nia. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  * * *

  We pick up Webb and drive to the hospital, and I tell Nia she can leave because none of this has anything to do with her. But as much as we annoy each other at times, Nia is a good sister. She tells me to go in with Webb while she parks the car.

  Webb is beside himself. He can’t sit still, and on the ride over, he kept asking if Nia could drive any faster. At the front desk, we find out that Blythe is in critical condition and we can’t see her. Webb nearly crumbles.

  I lead him to a couple of empty chairs. He plops down with a hard thunk, as if someone else is controlling his body. I perch on the edge of my seat and wrap my arms around him, but he shrugs me off. As if he doesn’t know me at all.

  I sit back and try to swallow down the hurt. This isn’t about me or us right now.

  “Have you called her family?” I ask.

  He nods. “When the ambulance came. It’s just her mom. She’s on her way.”

  “I’m sorry, Webb. I wish there was something I could do.” I hate feeling so helpless.

  He stares straight ahead at nothing for a while. Then he turns to me, eyes wide. “There is something, Queenie.”

  I understand right away, and my head starts shaking. “I can’t.”

  “What about Big Queenie?”

  “She’s in Europe.”

  “Then it has to be you.” He moves so close to me, his knees dig into the side of my leg. “That’s what you guys do, right? You’re healers?”

  “We don’t do anything. Big Queenie is the only one who can...” But even as I say it, I wonder if it’s true. I’ve never tried to heal anyone before. I’ve never used my magic for anything good—only on Becca, and I stopped after that.

  “Queenie, please. If there’s ever anything you could do for me—” His breath catches and he stops, staring down at his lap. When he looks at me again, his eyes are glassy with tears. “Please...can’t you try?”

  * * *

  I don’t know what time it is where Big Queenie is, so I let out a breath of relief when she picks up after a couple of rings.

  “Big Queenie?”

  “Little Queenie?” She’s the only one who calls me that, and I don’t mind. I am named for her, after all.

  “Where are you?”

  “I’m in Milan.” She sounds tired. “And it’s very early in the morning... Is Mama okay?”

  “She’s fine. I’m calling because...” I glance at the guy standing a few feet away from the hospital doors. He looks like he’s waiting for a ride. I move away a bit. “I need your help. Webb’s friend—girlfriend—is in trouble. She had a skateboarding accident, and now she’s in the ICU and he’s really scared.”

  “Okay, slow down.” Her warm voice is soothing. “Take a deep breath, then tell me again—everything you know about her and the situation.”

  I tell her we don’t know exactly what happened yet since the doctors won’t give details to anyone who’s not family, but that Webb overheard the EMTs saying she had a head injury and there was the possibility of internal bleeding. I tell her Webb said that, for a few moments, he wondered if she was dead.

  When I finish, Big Queenie pauses for so long I wonder if she’s still there. But then she starts moving around, shuffling things in the background, and I think maybe she’s looking for a spell.

  “This is the first time you’ve tried to use your powers since—”

  “Yes.” I swallow. “Since Becca.”

  “Okay, sweetie. First things first: Do you believe you have powers?”

  I look around, as if her voice is being amplified by a speakerphone. “Yes,” I whisper.

  “What was that?”

  “Yes,” I say, louder.

  “You have to. If you don’t believe in it yourself, Queenie, your intentions will be fruitless.”

  I forgot that Big Queenie talks like a spiritual guide, but I don’t even care. I just want to do what I can to help Webb.

  I was there when Big Queenie used her powers on Grandma Anita. There were no crystals, no chants. But there was a current that ran through the air, an energy that I felt, too, as much as I didn’t want to admit it. My aunt was calm and completely focused on Grandma Anita, her eyes closed and her slender brown fingers hovering over my grandmother’s body. She didn’t say a word, but her hands moved over different parts of Grandma Anita, spending a long time in the places where the cancer had spread.

  Besides my grandmother I don’t personally know anyone she’s healed. Big Queenie lives up in Oregon when she’s not traveling. But sometimes we video chat, and in the background I can see the cards and letters she gets from people who are thankful for her services. That has to be proof that she’s good at what she does.

  Big Queenie tells me about different chants and spells, and says that if I want to try crystals I can go to her friend Kiera, who lives in the Valley and whom Big Queenie trusts wholeheartedly.

  “I have to tell you,” my aunt says, “I’ve tried it all, and what works best for me is focusing all my energy on the task. Letting go of the negative and distracting forces in my mind. Clearing out the noise. Focus, focus, focus. Truly believe in the energy you’re putting out there.”

  “I put the wrong energy into Becca,” I almost whisper.

  “Oh, sweetie. Do you know how many kids play with spells and Ouija boards and all of that? As soon as your mama told me you’d found the book, I should have talked to you.”

  “It’s not your fault, Big Queenie.”

  “And it’s not yours, either. I don’t want you to keep blaming yourself for something that you didn’t understand.”

  I feel a little better when I hang up, but not so confident that I can harness the powers Big Queenie is so sure that I have. I wasn’t lying to her—part of me believes they exist, but I don’t know if I’m strong enough to make them work the way I want them to.

  My stomach twists into a knot when I look up at the looming brick hospital. The last time I was in one, I was visiting Grandma Anita. But I can’t help thinking about Becca being taken to the hospital, too. A couple of days after I cast the spell, she stayed home from school. Webb and I marveled at the fact that it had worked, imagining Becca weak from a stomach bug or the flu. It turns out she had pneumonia that never cleared up.

  Nia and I wait with Webb until Blythe’s mother whirls into the hospital: a tall black woman with bloodshot eyes and her daughter’s high cheekbones. It will be a while before Blythe can have visitors besides family, which means there’s no way I can try to help now. Webb says his mom is on the way and that we should leave—he’ll call me when he knows something.

  “Queenie?” He touches my wrist as I stand.
<
br />   I look down into his tired, confused eyes. “Are you sure you don’t want me to stay?”

  “I’m fine. But—what I said earlier...?”

  “I don’t know, Webb. I—Call me when she can have visitors, okay?”

  * * *

  I barely sleep at all that night, keeping my fully charged phone on the pillow next to me.

  In the morning, Mom takes one look at my face and lets me stay home from school. I fall asleep for a couple of hours after everyone else leaves for the day, but I jump out of bed when my phone rings and answer without looking at the screen.

  “Webb?”

  “She’s in critical but stable condition. Visiting hours start in a bit.” His voice is shaky but hopeful. “Are you at school?”

  “I stayed home.”

  When I don’t say anything else, he clears his throat. “Can you come down here, Queenie?”

  “Won’t her mom wonder why I want to visit? I barely know her.”

  “I’ll figure it out. Just get here. Please?”

  I go. Webb has told Blythe’s mom that I became close with her daughter while she’s been in L.A. I don’t know if her mother believes it, but I’m allowed to go in and visit Blythe—for just a few minutes, declares the strict nurse who leads me down the hall.

  The room reminds me of Grandma Anita’s, with beeping machines and thick electrical cords and blinking lights everywhere. I close my eyes for a second, reminding myself that this isn’t Grandma Anita. It isn’t Becca, either. I wish my heart would stop racing; it’s pounding so hard it feels like it’s going to fly right out of my ribs.

  Blythe is lying motionless in the big hospital bed. I stop when I get closer. Webb said she had a head injury, but they aren’t sure how severe. She’s unconscious. Her head is bandaged on one side, and her right arm and leg are in casts. There’s a tube in her nose. I can’t believe this is the same girl who was just drinking beers with me and posting endless pictures of her and Webb exploring Los Angeles.

  I walk tentatively toward her, holding my breath. I wonder if I should have gotten the crystals from Big Queenie’s friend or written down the spells she mentioned, but she didn’t seem convinced they would help. She made it sound like everything Blythe needs is already in me.