The gate guard chuckles at Matteo’s eagerness and gives him a miniature salute. “All set, buddy. Go on through.”
What a little charmer. Why can’t I have people skills like that?
Inside the Exchange food court, half of the tables are filled with kids from my school, and the opposite side is occupied by kids from the Air Force school. Seriously, it’s like West Side Story Department of Defense style, only without the singing and pirouettes. Racially speaking, the military has to be the most diverse, integrated institution there is, but we often segregate ourselves by service branches. Don’t even get me started on the Army vs. Navy football game.
The food court is the popular hangout place, but I’ve never taken part in this excessive loitering. That’s partly because I’ve spent enough time working afterschool jobs in the majority of these eating establishments, from Baskin Robbins to Anthony’s Pizza. The other part?
Oh yeah. I have no friends.
My goal is to make it through the food court without running into soccer teammates who will ask me questions about Lucas. No one here really knows him, but news travels faster in the military than it does in the smallest town. Too bad Matteo sabotages my attempt at stealth by making a break for a nearby craft stand selling Polish pottery and these cutesy wooden signs with burned engravings of corny German phrases. Naturally, this kiosk is also where Chloe Ross orders a Mother’s Day plaque with an idyllic image of Neuschwanstein Castle and the verbose declaration Ich Liebe Meine Mutter!
I grab my little brother’s arm as he reaches for a Hummel figurine that costs more than my annual allowance. “Matteo, no! You can’t just run off without telling me.”
“Oh my gosh, Gabi,” Chloe squeals, enveloping me in a vanilla body spray–scented embrace. “We missed you this morning, but the team totally understands. How’s your brother?”
“The doctors say he’s stable,” I reply, my voice shaking. No way. I can’t do this right now. I can’t break down in front of all these people. Chloe is only trying to show sympathy, but Lucas is my family’s concern. No one here knows him, and no one here knows me.
Chloe grabs my hand, forcing my eyes up to where hers shine with the optimism of a cloudless blue sky. “Your brother is a hero and you can bet we all know it. A lot of people are praying for him and for your family, too. We’re all here for you, Gabi.”
The fact that Chloe received the Nicest Person superlative three years in a row must have something to do with the ease with which she speaks on behalf of others, whoever this collective “we” happens to be.
“Thanks for your support. I appreciate it.” And then I move on before the unstable, nameless thing inside me splatters across the floor like a tray of spilled nachos.
Unfortunately, I make the rookie mistake of walking past the toy section first.
“Legos! Legos!” Matteo jumps up and down like a frog on crack.
“Sorry, buddy. Dad didn’t give us security clearance to purchase any Lego toys.” I press on towards the shoe department. Then I freeze. “You have got to be kidding me.”
Yep, this outing was a huge mistake. Seth Russo sits in the shoe section, attempting to try on a pair of boots with only one arm. So far he’s managed to get the left boot on despite his sling, but tying up those laces is going to be a problem.
Good. Now he knows what it’s like to be left hanging. I’ll never forget the birthday party we both attended back in Texas almost three years ago. The group we were hanging with wanted to play “seven minutes in heaven,” and of course I got sent into the closet with Seth. For seven full minutes he ignored my existence. He never said a word, just stood there in the dark, playing on his phone. I didn’t want to kiss him, either, but I swore I’d never forgive him for the slight.
Only now my childish grudge feels kind of stupid.
I release a groan. The guy is injured and I can’t ignore him no matter how I’d like to, so I drag Matteo over to his chair. Seth bends forward, awkwardly shoving his foot into the Gore-Tex shoe. His dog tags dangle out in front of him, smacking against his chest as he sits back up.
“They already let you out?” I ask.
“You talk like I was in prison.” Seth’s lips turn up slightly, but his eyes stay sad. “I thought about breaking out in nothing but my hospital gown, but the doc ruined my commando escape plan by telling me I was free to go.”
My lack of laughter solidifies into a thick silence. Seth clears his throat. “I see that you’ve come to grace me with your fashion sense. What do you think about this pair? I’m going for the ‘I’m a baller too cool to tie my laces’ look.”
“Or you can’t tie them.” I pick up a pair of yellow and black cross-trainers. “Fashion sense, huh? Last I recall, you used to make fun of me for dressing like a tomboy.”
Seth’s eyes flicker across my moderately short cargo skirt—which is khaki green and has enough pockets to store a decent supply of weaponry, but still qualifies as a skirt. His smirk widens. “Last I recall, you never used to show that much leg, kiddo.”
“Cut the ‘kiddo’ crap, all right? You’re not even two years older than me. Besides, I’m not the one who needs help tying my shoes. Come on, Matteo, let’s show him how it’s done. Remember how to make the bunny ears?”
Of course he does—the kid’s smart as a whip. Matteo follows my lead as we kneel in front of this big, tough soldier and tie his shoes right there in the middle of the store, my brother reciting, “One bunny ear, two bunny ears” as he goes. I glance up, expecting Seth to either be pissed or embarrassed, but instead he’s staring at my brother like he’s the most precious thing he’s ever seen, not to mention the most painful.
“Thanks, kiddo,” he says in a husky voice, patting Matteo on the head. “You too, Gabi.”
“It’s the least we can do,” I reply. And I mean it. It doesn’t matter that I’ve always thought of Seth as the flippant jerk who scorned me. It doesn’t even matter that Lucas wouldn’t be in the hospital right now if Seth hadn’t convinced him to enlist. I may not like the guy, but his scars tell me he’s been through more than I can imagine. “You’re serious, aren’t you? You’re really going to walk to Santiago?”
Seth’s eyes turn hard. Dry. “For your brother, I’d walk anywhere.”
Chapter 5
One lightweight sleeping bag.
One pair of waterproof hiking boots.
One thirty-two-liter backpack.
That’s all it takes to blow through the remainder of Dad’s paycheck, but at least the Exchange has a flexible return policy, which we’ll need when my father returns to planet earth. That moment of truth ends up occurring sooner than expected.
“What do you mean the trek is off?” I demand over the Robin Hood sandwiches no one but Matteo is enjoying. My parents seemed tense in the car ride home, and now I know why. “What about Lucas’s request? What about your dream?”
“Believe me, mija. This pains me more than it does you.”
I don’t want to leave my brother’s bedside, but I also wanted the decision to be mine, not the Army’s. The fact that they’re intruding on this of all things changes everything.
Besides, I made a promise.
“Screw your commanding officer, Dad. We have to go.”
“Um, are you going to eat those?” Matteo asks over our elevated voices, pointing to the untouched pickles on our plates. Dad and I shake our heads no—a flicker of unity that extends to nothing else. My little brother gathers up the spears and moves into the living room to play with the unauthorized Lego blocks I bought him. Because this situation sucks, and he deserves the small joy that is multicolored, stackable plastic.
Mom sits across from me, hands folded on the table in front of her, lips pursed in an unyielding silence. My parents are good at presenting a united front, like they agree on absolutely everything, even though the hushed fighting I sometimes hear behind their bedroom door suggests otherwise. I don’t expect Mom to choose sides, but I wish she’d call my father out onc
e in a while.
“It isn’t that simple,” Dad replies once Matteo is out of range.
“So that’s it? We give up?” I persist. “The Army says you can’t go and we just ignore what could very well be Lucas’s final—”
“Don’t,” Mom snaps. “Gabi, don’t you dare.”
Dad studies my mom like she’s a ticking bomb. “Two nights ago there was another suicide attack, not far from Ghazni. Six soldiers from the same unit were killed and all of their families are stationed here in Germany. The chaplaincy in Vilseck is short-staffed as it is, so I’ve been asked to fill in. I’ll be able to come home on weekends to visit Lucas in the hospital, but I certainly won’t be approved for several weeks of leave. Paid or unpaid.”
“But why can’t the Army get someone else? Your family is grieving, too.” It’s a selfish thing to say in light of what these poor people are going through, but the thought of Dad counseling another soldier’s kid instead of fulfilling his own son’s dying wish makes me furious. I let the bittersweet indignation wrap itself around me like a warm hug.
“The Vilseck chaplain was one of the six,” Dad says softly. “So there is no one else.”
I know he’s right, but I don’t care. Budget cuts. Back-to-back deployments. Missed birthdays. There’s never anyone else. It will always be him because to us, he is everything.
“Then let me go on my own.” The words pour out without my consent. Ten minutes ago this pilgrimage felt like a bad joke, but now it feels like our lives depend on it. I don’t scheme, I don’t think, I just speak. “Let me walk to Santiago for Lucas.”
Dad laughs. I’m one hundred percent serious, and the man suddenly finds me hilarious. “I don’t think so, Gabriela. Not after what you pulled back at Fort Sam. You’re not walking anywhere you can’t be supervised. Not until you walk across that graduation stage first.”
“That’s less than two months away! What difference will a few weeks make?”
“In two months, you’ll be your own liability. Not mine.” Dad shrugs and Mom, well, Mom doesn’t say anything. I can tell something is bothering her, but she refuses to back me up, just like she refused to tell my father that a month-long house arrest right before the Army moved us to a foreign country was an excessive response to my so-called crime. “I’ve made my decision, torito. You may be stubborn as a bull, but you also know that my word is final.”
Yes, I’m familiar with El Jefe. An army of one.
Only this time, my father’s control-freak tendencies have crossed the line. “Dad, I can do this. I already have the gear. Please. Someone has to walk to Santiago for Lucas.”
There’s a knock at our front door, almost as if he planned it.
“And someone will,” Dad says. “Hablando del diablo.”
“Mom, listen,” I whisper while Dad gets up to answer the door, my final shot at an underdog alliance. “You know he’s being ridiculous. It’s not like I’m asking to spend my senior spring break partying at Daytona Beach. This is for Lucas.”
Mom stares at me hard, but it’s impossible to tell what she’s thinking behind the spiderweb of her bloodshot eyes. Before she can respond, Dad returns with the visitor of the hour. I’m starting to think of the guy as an irksome horse fly that won’t go away.
“Hey, Gabi.” Seth’s T-shirt is drenched and his face glistens with sweat. I can feel the heat radiating off of him from where he stands.
“Did you seriously run all the way here?”
“Gotta start training for the camino somehow.”
“It’s a walk, not an eight-hundred-meter sprint.” I point to his sling. “What about your injury?”
Seth pulls an orange bottle of large white pills from his pocket and gives them a shake. “Thanks to the good doctor, I am feeling no pain.”
“You want to tell us what this meeting is about?” Dad interrupts.
The young soldier hesitates, his eyes flitting from Mom to me, then back to Dad. “Sergeant Major Santiago, do you think we could, er, talk alone in the other room?”
Dad nods and Seth follows him into his office. Mom avoids my guilt-tripping gaze by telling Matteo it’s time for his bath. Once they’re gone, I tiptoe down the hall and press my ear against the office door. Most of what I hear is muffled and unintelligible, but one of Seth’s statements rings out loud and clear:
“Because of what I experienced over there, I’ve been given extended leave time.”
My Dad’s response is too low to make out.
Seth speaks again: “You can trust me, sir. I won’t let you down.”
• • •
“What? He was wounded? Wow, babe. I am so sorry.” Brent looks pensively torn up, which is kind of his standard expression, but it’s as poignant on a pixilated screen as it is in the flesh. “Man, I wish I could be there for you right now.”
I wish that, too, but that would require jumping through my desktop, and unfortunately technology hasn’t advanced that far yet. Brent is a sensitive soul—one of those super comforting people to have around when things get rough because it’s obvious he feels everything you’re going through. That kind of empathy reminds me why I’m lucky to be with a guy like Brent. An additional reminder is seeing his face, since we haven’t video-chatted in over a week. His chestnut hair is extra curly around his ears—a sign Texas is already hotter than Hades. People always say he looks like the lead singer of fill-in-the-name-of-whatever-band, but to me he’s just Brent. My Brent.
“I miss you, Gabi. I know I’ve been busy with the band, but I really do.” Brent tugs anxiously on one of the gauge holes in his ears—an accessory my father deplores (“Tell me, mija. Just what Amazonian tribe is your boyfriend a part of?”). “Is it bad?”
“Well, he’s in a coma. So yeah. It’s bad.”
I don’t elaborate because I can’t do so without losing it, but I’m surprised when Brent’s face does a free fall. He and Lucas never hit it off, in part because Brent isn’t a military brat. His dad is the regional manager of all the AAFES retail stores in Texas, so Lucas always thought of Brent as a rich kid just pretending to be one of us.
It doesn’t help that my brother is annoyed by fashion-driven subcultures of any kind. Hipster, goth, skater—he detests them all. Whenever I teased Lucas about his boring wardrobe of faded T-shirts and worn jeans, he’d smirk and say, “Classic old-school is the most radical thing a person can be these days, Gabs. Want to be original? Then stand for something time has proven to be solid.”
Sure, Brent pays extra attention to trends because he’s a musician, but I don’t mind, seeing how I’m the one who gets to enjoy the view. Besides, even if he and my brother are never best friends, Brent is there for me when it counts. Like right now.
“You said Lucas left a letter with instructions. What does he want you to do?”
“Go on a pilgrimage. Apparently.” I explain my brother’s strange request, which Brent doesn’t get at all.
“Seriously? Lucas wants you to walk all the way to Spain just to visit some dead guy’s tomb? Why not fly? It’d be a lot faster. Oh wait, is this supposed to be some weird way to save your brother’s soul?”
Based on how my brother’s mind works, Lucas orchestrated this little adventure to save us, not himself. He’s always been a natural mediator, and I have no doubt that Lucas saw this trek as a way to repair the broken bond between me and my dad. Too bad there’s no chance of a truce now. Dad has made it perfectly clear that he’s counting down the days until I am no longer a military dependent and a potential threat to his upwardly mobile career.
“The three of us used to do hikes all the time,” I explain. “I’m guessing Lucas’s plan has to do with how messed up things have been lately. You know, ever since—”
“Believe me, I know.” Brent’s flushed cheeks are even visible digitally. “The man hasn’t looked me in the eye, shook my hand, nothing.”
“Yeah, well, that’s what happens when you break the circle of trust.” I roll my eyes and change the subje
ct from my father’s resentment issues to something hopefully less futile. “Have you received anything from UT-Austin yet?”
Brent shakes his head and stares into his lap, like he’s embarrassed that he hasn’t heard back. From the moment I arrived in Germany, my plan has been fixed and my goal singular: to return to Texas as soon as possible. Our entire group of friends applied for admission to UT-Austin as a way to reunite the old crew after graduation. I got my acceptance letter in the mail a few weeks ago, but we’re still waiting to hear back on Brent’s application. He’s a decent student with a lot of extracurriculars like me, so I don’t get the holdup.
“Don’t worry,” I tell him. “You’ll get in and we’ll be together. Just like before.”
Brent nods, but he still won’t look at me. There’s something buried beneath the surface that he doesn’t know how to unearth, but now is not the day for me to dig.
“So when are you leaving for Spain?” he asks.
I sigh. “As of thirty minutes ago, it looks like I’m not. Dad’s boss won’t let him go, which means I can’t go.”
“And so you’re giving up? That’s not like you, Gabi girl.”
“What else am I supposed to do?”
“Go anyway.” Brent shrugs, as if this is the most obvious solution to my problem. To his credit, Brent’s parents are fairly hands-off, so it’s hard to blame him for failing to grasp life under an oppressive, dictatorial regime. “You’re about to graduate, Gabi. They can’t call the shots forever, and letting Lucas down is something you’ll regret for the rest of your life. Buy the plane ticket and go do this thing.”
“Uh, with what money?” Brent makes it sound so easy. And for him, it would be. “As of today I’ve made $264.78 bagging groceries at the commissary, which will hardly be enough for last-minute airfare, let alone train tickets, hostels, food . . . .”
Beneath Wandering Stars Page 4
