Dangerous Destiny: A Night Sky novella

by Suzanne Brockmann

  “Yum,” I said and took a bite. Meanwhile, Calvin’s sandwich continued to smell as good as it looked. But he’d set it down on the open wrapper in front of him.

  “Okay,” he said. “That’s not okay—that food-like or rather food-ish substance you’re eating. Lemme guess, New Girl, your mom is a health-food freak.”

  He got the freak part right. “My name is Skylar,” I repeated, saying it loudly enough for Hobo Girl to hear it, too. She was still staring at me, obviously listening in.

  “Uh-huh,” Calvin said, although I wasn’t convinced he was ever going to call me anything other than New Girl. “So what brings you to beautiful Coconut Key, where—congrats—your mere presence lowers the town’s median age to seventy-four.”

  Okay, that made me laugh. Clearly I wasn’t the only one here who’d made note of the overflow of elderly neighbors.

  “Yup,” I told him. “Kinda the way you make this high school ‘desegregated,’ and ‘richly diverse’ like it says in the brochure.” I gave the words air quotes, and as he looked at me, his eyes narrowed slightly. And with that, I knew that there were two things nobody here at the esteemed Academy ever talked to this kid about—his skin color and his wheelchair.

  That is, of course, assuming anyone talked to him at all.

  “Of course, the brochure also claims the school is attended by descendants of European royalty,” I pointed out. “For all I know, that’s thanks to you, too. There’s something about you that screams, I don’t know, maybe…” I squinted at him, studying his face.

  He was a rather lovely shade of milk-chocolate brown, with dark chocolate eyes, a someday-soon-to-be-handsome face that still held a little too much baby fat, and a fro-hawk that revealed he’d spent far more time than I had in front of the bathroom mirror this morning. “Swedish prince…?” I concluded.

  He laughed in genuine amusement, exposing the straight white teeth of a kid with rich parents, which was no surprise, considering this was an expensive private school. “Shhh!” he said. “I’m incognito.”

  “I won’t tell,” I promised, adding, “Your Grace.”

  And now he was looking at me as thoroughly as I’d looked at him. “You’re a junior, right?” he asked.

  I nodded. “And you’re…” He looked to be about fifteen, but the freshmen had their own band so I guessed he must’ve been a little older. “A sophomore?”

  That got me another narrowing of his eyes. “I’m seventeen,” he informed me.

  “You’re a senior?” I realized.

  “Junior,” he corrected me. “Just had a birthday.”

  I’d already heard the muttered gossip about how this boy had ended up permanently in that chair as a result of some terrible accident, back when he was younger. He’d probably lost some school time while recovering from whatever had happened. I toasted him now with my Tofurky. “Happy birthday,” I said, adding, “Nice wheels. Was the awesome chair a special present?”

  Calvin laughed again. “No,” he said. By acknowledging his chair, I now had his full attention. “You know, I’m pretty sure we’re neighbors. I saw you this morning at the bus stop. You moved into old man Beattie’s house, right? That’s about a block and half from me.”

  I shrugged as I glanced over at Hobo Girl. She was still listening in, and I wasn’t all that happy about having her find out where I lived. “I don’t know whose house it was, but it’s actually kind of new, like, relatively recently built and…” I realized that Calvin’s old referred to Beattie himself. “Wait. How old was old man Beattie?” I scrunched up my face. “Did he, like, die before we moved in there?”

  “No, no!” Calvin said through his laughter. “Nothing like that. The family sold it when he moved in with his son and daughter-in-law. I think they live up in Connecticut somewhere.” He glanced at me. “And it’s not so bad here in paradise, once you get used to it. Sunshine, beaches, blue sky, palm trees…”

  “Humidity,” I finished for him. “Swamp butt, heat rash, sunburn…”

  My pessimism cracked him up. “So where exactly are you from, New Girl? Where is this mythical, fabulous place that’s exponentially more awesome than beautiful Coconut Key?”

  “Skylar,” I told him again. “Actually, I’m from Connecticut, too.” I went general despite his exactly, figuring he wouldn’t know Guilford from Madison or even Hartford.

  “That’s a weird coincidence. Mr. Beattie went north and you came down here. Kinda cosmic.”

  I shrugged. Cosmic wasn’t the word I’d use.

  “So, you’re a Yankee,” Calvin concluded. “You love the seasonal changes, enjoy the cold. I give you eight months, tops, before you start shivering when the temp hits 65 degrees. It happens to everyone. So why the move mid-school-year?” He changed the subject without a beat. “Your dad work for StarSurge or something?”

  “What’s StarSurge?” I asked.

  “When NASA went private—” he started, but then cut himself off. “Obviously, if you don’t know what StarSurge is, then your dad doesn’t work there. Mine does.”

  “It’s just me and my mom,” I admitted. “And you’re half right. We moved down here because she got a job—which is stupid because she had a great job in Connecticut, only suddenly we’re here and I’m in this stupid new school, completely without friends, and…” I cut myself off. “I’m sorry. All my crap seems like…total crap, compared to…”

  Calvin had gone very still as he watched me, as if waiting to see if I’d say it.

  So I did. “Life in that chair.”

  His smile lit his face. “It’s not so bad. In fact, it’s kinda great to never have to worry about finding a place to sit,” he told me. “Plus, I don’t have to ride the bus.”

  “Unlike some of us at this table,” I agreed, smiling ruefully back at him.

  “Answer this quick,” Calvin said. “Would you rather spend ten hours in a car with a man with extreme flatulence—”

  “What?” I laughed out loud.

  “Or ten minutes in a porta-potty that’s been used by a basketball team with the runs?”

  I didn’t hesitate. “Ten hours with Mr. Flatulence,” I told him decisively. “Car windows can be opened. I will survive.”

  Calvin nodded thoughtfully. “Good choice.” He picked up his sandwich, carefully dividing what was left into two segments as he added “Don’t worry, New Girl, you’ll be riding in style before you know it, with all the new friends you’re gonna make here. You’re funny. And refreshingly honest. And pretty, if you’re into the whole skinny redhead thing, which, sorry, I’m not. Speaking of junk in the truck, or lack thereof, might I offer you half of my outrageously delicious sandwich, so you don’t have to eat that bullshit what-the-fah your mother gave you for lunch?”

  “Oh my God, yes,” I said, grabbing for it and taking a bite. It was hot sauce on that meatloaf, and it was awesome. I said the rest around a full mouth. “Thank you, Your Grace! I was starting to think you’d never ask.”

  Chapter Four

  It’s time.

  I know that it’s time, because she appeared. Sky walked out into the quad, like a gift.

  My heart is pounding. Pounding. Pounding, the blood inside of it moving so fast through tiny, intricate tunnels belonging only to me.

  Soon, that blood will leave my body. And then, only then, the pounding will stop.

  I don’t want to…but I need to.

  DO THIS.

  So scared. And so sorry. Skylar, I’m so, so sorry.

  DO THIS. I NEED to DO THIS.

  Need trumps want.

  I watch her as she laughs. She’s sitting there, her bloodred hair so pretty in the breeze.

  I don’t want to kill her.

  But I need to. I’m saving her from the horror of her death in that barn. She’d thank me if she knew.

  Such torture is in store for red-haired Skylar. It waits there, in the future, for her. It waits there for me, too.

  It’s our destiny.

  Unless I do th
is.

  And I must.

  Need trumps want.

  And it’s time.

  Chapter Five

  It was right as I was finishing up that first bite of Calvin’s ridiculously awesome sandwich that the aforementioned crap began to hit a couple fan blades.

  I was making yummy sounds and rolling my eyes in ecstasy—I seriously couldn’t help myself—when I glanced over and caught Hobo Girl’s death glare. Except as our gazes met and locked, I realized that her eyes were flooded with unshed tears. I also realized that her mouth was moving, as if she were talking to an invisible friend, or maybe her invisible hobo dog, Patches. But as I watched, I realized she was saying, over and over, “I’m so sorry, Sky. I’m so sorry, Sky.”

  Taking another bite of hot-sauce laden meatloaf, I leaned in and whispered to Calvin. “Do you know that girl?”

  He was noshing away at his own section of sandwich, but he glanced over his shoulder, and even smiled and waved a little at her. “That’s April,” he said dismissively with his mouth full. “She’s harmless. Just kinda, you know, emo hipster to the nth degree. We were really good friends back in middle school, but then…She outgrew me, I guess.” Calvin shrugged like it was no big deal. I caught something in his eyes that looked pained, for just a second. But it disappeared fast, and he smiled at me.

  I smiled back, but I was definitely distracted by April, who was still staring at me—grilling me, it seemed. And even though her eyes were still swimming in tears, they’d somehow hardened, as if she were summoning a death ray that would incinerate me on the spot. They were also oddly red—and I don’t mean gonna-cry-red, but bloodshot red. Like, since she couldn’t get the death ray to shoot out of her eyes, she was now trying to bear down extra-hard, so as to poop out a ray gun, so she could shoot me that way. Seriously, it was as if the little veins in her eyes were working so hard to pump blood that some of them burst.

  As I gazed back at April, I wondered if she was on some kind of really bad drug. But anyone I’d ever seen who had been on something always seemed vacant. This April girl? She was focused. No. Actually, she was beyond focused.

  It was like she was able to see things that I couldn’t see. Terrifying things. Mixed in with her angry glare, she looked terrified, too.

  Her mouth was still moving, but I couldn’t make out the words. I’m pretty sure my name was still in there, though.

  I’ll admit it, she was freaking me out.

  And the look on my face in turn freaked out Calvin. “New Girl. What’s up? Do I have a spider on me or some kind of giant killer bee…?”

  “Shh,” I instinctively said, although I had no idea why I thought it was necessary to stay quiet. It’s possible that April was muttering, “It’s time. Sky, it’s time.” But that was just too weird. Too creepy. Too ominous.

  Calvin turned around to see that I was still looking at his former childhood friend, who was now rocking in her seat. He didn’t seem perturbed—in fact, he called out to her, “You okay, there, Ape?”

  “Ape?” I whispered, eyes wide. Way to insult the crazy girl, and really, why would anyone be wearing a long, heavy coat in this heat? She wouldn’t, unless she was hiding something crazy beneath it. I found myself hoping against hope that April had shed her cargo pants in the girls’ room and was now bikini-clad under there, with a brand-new full-body tattoo of the cast from I Love Lucy, or some other iconic TV classic, inked across her torso. The Flying Nun in full habit astride the horse from Mr. Ed perhaps, sharing the saddle with My Favorite Martian.

  She’d open the coat, and everyone—or at least those of us who’d been scarred for life after spending a rainy afternoon watching ancient, ridiculous TV comedies from back before our parents were born—would gasp at her daring and permanent social commentary. But then we’d applaud, and all laugh…Friendship, friendship…The black kid, the hobo, and meeeeee…

  “Ape is short for April,” Calvin told me. “That’s what everyone calls her.”

  “She must love that,” I countered, watching as the girl extracted herself from the table’s attached bench, clutching her trench coat more closely around her slender frame.

  To my dismay, she didn’t head into the cafeteria to get another side order of cheese fries. No, she came toward us.

  Correction: toward me. She was still locked in on me, her gaze never leaving my face as she approached. She was moving with purpose, and I could see that my Flying-Nun-tattoo guess was dead wrong. Her cargo pants stacked over grubby and fraying cross-trainers. I could also see that she was sweating. She had spotted beads of moisture on her temples and forehead. Wisps of stringy hair clung damply to her face. Her eyes were so red—definitely bloodshot—and so intense. But still so sad, too.

  For some reason the sadness, lingering around her like a stale odor, frightened me more than the weird redness of her eyes.

  “Skylar,” April whispered. It was almost imperceptible, although again I saw her lips move and knew I hadn’t imagined it before. “I’m so sorry.”

  Calvin tilted his chin up to watch as April passed his chair without the slightest acknowledgment. In fact, she planted herself directly between Calvin and me, her back to him, almost as if he didn’t exist. Something about her posture made me leap up from my own seat. In fact, I was so spooked that I abandoned my remaining piece of Calvin’s sandwich in order to take a few instinctive steps back. But I was literally cornered—my back hit the heat of the brick wall. With April on my right and the windows on my left, I had nowhere to go. Apparently this conversation was going to happen, whether I liked it or not.

  Claustrophobia set in, and suddenly I was sweating too.

  I caught a nasty whiff of fish, and I had to fight not to cover my nose. This girl needed a shower, STAT. It was weird, because she was standing closer to Calvin, and he didn’t seem to notice. Maybe massive amounts of hot sauce had stunned his olfactory nerves.

  “Can I…help you?” I started.

  She was close enough to me now so that I could see a thick vein in her neck, throbbing as her heart pumped blood through her system. That sudden odd thought of blood with that fish smell made me feel sick, and I swallowed hard.

  “I’m so sorry,” April said again, choking on the words. And then, with a quick movement, like she was ripping off a Band-Aid she knew would hurt her more if she took her time, she pulled open her heavy trench coat.

  And that’s when shit got heavy.

  Because I was definitely getting flashed, but it wasn’t funny or silly or even just plain old stranger-danger creepy. Because underneath that trench coat, attached to April’s slight but fully-clad frame, were two thick, leathery Wild-West gunslinger holsters, holding two very huge and very deadly-looking handguns.

  “Whoa,” I said instinctively, extremely aware of those bricks against my back.

  “This is it for us, Skylar,” April’s voice grew a little louder—loud enough so that I was sure my new friend in the wheelchair could hear her, even if he couldn’t see what I could see. “It’s better this way. It won’t hurt. At least not as much. I know this—I do.”

  Calvin definitely couldn’t see those guns. No one could but me—not even the kids on the other side of the windows in the lunch room. April’s weapons were hidden by her coat and by the way she was standing.

  I didn’t know what to do. If I shouted—“Guns! Run!”—then everyone could scatter, but the chaos might make April draw and start shooting. Might? Try would.

  Should I charge her, put her in a bear hug and knock her down? Could I reach her before she pulled one of those guns free and started shooting?

  April’s shaking hands were lingering on either side of her, like a quick-draw gunslinger ready for the clock to strike high noon.

  Time seemed to move in slow motion as I flashed hot and cold. I didn’t know what to do, and I realized that this had to be what it felt like to be on a bomb squad. One wrong move—one mistake, and boom.

  Only my job wasn’t to figure out whether to cu
t the blue or the red wire. My job was to talk April off the ledge. If I failed, we’d all die.

  Not just me, but funny, friendly Calvin, and countless others, too. I glanced at the glass windows separating the quad from the cafeteria. There were a lot of potential targets here.

  Calvin was aware that something was up. He leaned his body to the side in his chair so that he could peer around April and lock eyes with me for a moment. He mouthed the words: “What the what?”

  As I looked back at him, I blurted “Don’t,” meaning Don’t move forward and get between the crazy girl’s guns and me.

  April was so absolutely unaware of Calvin’s presence that she thought I was talking to her. She shook her head, and her chin wobbled a little. “But I have to, Skylar. You’re like me. You’re one of us.”

  I shook my head back at her, my brain racing. What was she talking about? I’m not at all like you!—things not to shout when trying to calm down a potential school shooter. I may have been trapped in that corner, but I knew one thing for sure. I had to warn Calvin.

  And suddenly I had a plan. While I kept April talking, I somehow had to get Calvin to back away and take the rest of the students in the quad with him, after which I’d take my chances and jump her. But how to get Calvin to leave…?

  April blinked hard, and a few fat teardrops finally splattered down her face, mixing in with the sheen of her sweat. I watched the drops tremble as her chin continued to wobble. “I know you don’t believe that you’re like me, but you are, and it’s awful. It is.”

  “It’s not that awful here,” I tried instead. “High school doesn’t last forever. It gets better, right? At least that’s what everyone says…?”

  April shook her head in a quick, frantic move that made her entire body quiver. “They’re coming to get me, and they’ll get you, too. You can’t escape them! You don’t understand!”