Breaking Sky

by Cori McCarthy

  Maybe it was time to talk about their feelings or whatever Pippin had tried to make her agree to a few days ago. She sat on the edge of his bunk. “Out with it. What’s bugging you? It’s the Phoenix team, isn’t it? Everything has felt off since they got here.”

  “You’re projecting.”

  “You’re dodging,” she snapped.

  He shut his notebook and shoved it in the only drawer that locked. Chase heard it bolt when it closed. She reached deep for something to tell him, something that might make him open up. There was so much to choose from. Chase hoarded truth like it was jet fuel.

  “I’m sorry I killed you in the simulation,” she tried.

  “You killed both of us,” he corrected. “But it was just a game. That wouldn’t happen in the air. I’d tell you before we hit the limit.” Pippin was tying his bootlaces. The bow turned into a knot that fell apart as his fingers took a few wrong turns. Chase slipped to the floor and tied them for him. Pippin might have been able to speak four languages and draw the exact shape of every river in the world, but menial tasks sometimes stumped him. It was something she loved about him.

  “Tristan knows about my father,” she finally said.

  He held his hands up, palms out. “I didn’t say anything.”

  “He overheard me and Kale talking after the debriefing.” Chase finished tying his boots, and he used her forearm to pull her up. They were standing close, and although Pippin had looked moody and sad for days, he now wore a smirk.

  “Tristan won’t say anything. That guy has got the warm squishies for you.”

  “No, he doesn’t,” she said. “He’s trying to be my friend. It’s…awkward.”

  “You didn’t see him bust into the centrifuge when you blinked out. He got his head right on your chest to listen to your heart. I pointed out that the wrist has a pulse, but he seemed rather driven. Come to think of it, he might have been sneaking a feelsky.” Pippin mimed grabbing a pair of boobs.

  “Pippin!” She hit his arm hard enough to make his humor sour.

  “Don’t act surprised, Chase. Everyone gets into you at some point. You’re a beautiful disaster, and apparently that’s irresistible.” He crossed the room and held the door open. “I’ll never understand my sex’s obsession with inaccessible love.” A strong feeling backfired in his words, and he stared at the ground.

  “Love is pointless, Pip.”

  “Should I go tell Riot how pointless his mangled hand is?”

  “Hey.”

  He scrubbed his wavy hair. “I’m sorry. But you kind of ask for it, you know?”

  This was her chance to find out what was plaguing him. “What do you…” It took her so long to put the words together that he arched an eyebrow at her. “If you’re so…” This wasn’t working.

  “We always ate together,” she managed. “Until the Canadians arrived, and now you eat with them or in the room. Are you mad at me about something?”

  Pippin’s face was a blank wall. “My problems have nothing to do with you.”

  Chase couldn’t stop herself from comparing this exchange to opening up to Tristan in the locker room—the way they’d traded their feelings until it felt, well, good. This felt terrible. The more Chase spoke, the more closed down Pippin became.

  “I need more space than usual,” he finally said. “You know how that is.”

  He left, and the slam of the door made her jump backward.

  20

  UP TO SPEED

  What’s at Stake

  Chase headed to the chow hall alone. She swallowed hard, but the feelings wouldn’t go down. Pippin was…upset about something. Did it have anything to do with the Canadians?

  With Chase?

  She caught herself searching the crowded cafeteria for Pippin. She watched for him in the food line, swathed in loud conversations and moving toward the buffet a few steps at a time.

  Until Sylph stepped in front of her.

  Instinct kicked in. Chase held her tray before her face.

  “You’ve finally done it. You’ve broken my RIO. His hand at least.” The blonde sighed and pushed down her shield.

  “Are you going to kill me?” Chase watched Sylph’s expression morph into an assassin’s smirk. “Oh God, you really are going to kill me.”

  “I should,” she said. “But I’ve been making a study of you, and I think you can’t help it. You’re drawn to people only to push them away. It’s like a disease.”

  “Better step back, Sylph. I might cough on you.”

  “There was even a moment freshman year when we could have been friends, but you had to be so bizarre.”

  “You mean the forty-two seconds you were my roommate before you demanded to switch?”

  “I don’t remember it that way.” Sylph plucked a few grapes off the fruit bar and popped them in her mouth. The chow line moved forward, and Chase elbowed Sylph out of the way. Sylph didn’t seem bothered, though, and her calm was a lot more frightening that her usual fervor. “Nyx, I’ve decided you should use your unhealthy skill set on our new enemy.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You should slay Arrow. It’s obvious he likes you.”

  “You want me to seduce him? On purpose?” Like Pippin, Sylph must have read into the way Tristan pulled her out of the centrifuge. “You’ve got the wrong idea, Sylph. Nyx was the Daughter of Chaos. Not the goddess of lust.”

  “Like you even have to try. Just do that thing you do. Lead him on…and then…” She lifted the corner of Chase’s tray and let go so that it slapped down on the food-serving cart like a gunshot. Three people in line spun around until they saw it was Sylph—which made them turn back even faster.

  “Why do you hate them so much?” Chase asked. “I’ve never seen you so motivated. Except when you were trying to beat me during the pilot ranking.” Sylph had been merciless in those days. They hadn’t known then that there was more than one Streaker, and Sylph wanted it so badly that she did everything outside of poison Chase. When Kale revealed that the top two pilots would be chosen, Sylph had backed off like a tiger receding into the jungle.

  Something clicked. “Sylph, why don’t I go ask Kale if they’re going to cut one of us? Then you don’t have to do this ‘snake in the grass’ thing.”

  “Maybe I like being a snake.” Sylph’s face was sly and leaning in. “So what do you think about seducing the Canadian?”

  “I think you’ve finally started drinking your peroxide shampoo.”

  “I’m not the one getting summoned by the shrink. Kale asked me to pass this on.” Sylph tucked a slip of paper in the front of Chase’s uniform and stole her tray, hip-checking her out of the line. “Oh, and Kale said no ducking out if you want to fly the hop tomorrow.”

  “We’re flying tomorrow?” Chase flooded with relief. “Thank God.”

  “You better thank Dr. Ritz if you want to fly. And bring her a cake. That woman has wanted to put you on the Down List since the moment you arrived.”

  “That’s because I don’t take her crap.” Chase headed to the psychiatrist’s office. Without flight in her veins, she was all wound up, and spinning her wheels against Crackers actually sounded like fun.

  • • •

  Chase banged her way into Dr. Ritz’s office without knocking. The psychiatrist sat at a small table with Tanner of all people. He looked shirtless for a hot minute, but that was only Chase’s memories making a cruel play.

  “Crackers. You wanted to see me?”

  Dr. Ritz touched her forehead like it pained her. “Wait in the hall please.”

  Tanner picked up his bag. “I’m okay.” He caught Chase’s eye. “I’m done here.” He shut the door right before she remembered his love vampire reference. She should have snapped her teeth at him.

  Ritz stood by her desk. “Chase Harcourt, you get your way once again. Have a se
at.” This was always the tricky start to Crackers’s system. There were only two spots in her office: a couch with a box of tissues on the armrest where the psychiatrist could sit beside her or the small table where Crackers could stare her down, eyeball to eyeball.

  Chase chose the chair at the table where Tanner had been.

  Ritz sat opposite her. “I’ve called you in because I spoke with Garret Powers in the infirmary earlier.”

  “Who?” Chase asked.

  “Your boyfriend.”

  “Try again.”

  “Your ex-boyfriend then. The one who will bear scars from you for the rest of his life.”

  “Yikes.” The woman had a gold star in melodrama. “You mean Riot. We were never dating. Just friends. With some benefits.”

  “There are no call signs here, Chase Harcourt. In this room, we use our birth names.”

  “Wrong again, Ritz. I wasn’t born with this name.” In her excitement to show up the shrink, the truth had slipped out.

  The tiny woman sat up and rifled through Chase’s file. Christ. Did she keep it on hand at all times? “Your last name was Tourn until you were twelve. Let’s talk about that.”

  “Oh, let’s.”

  “I should remind you, Chase Harcourt, that you need my approval to keep your wings.”

  “Bully,” Chase murmured. She relented with a breath big enough to let the truth out fast. “Janice thought it would be easier to get money from my dad if I had his last name. What she didn’t factor in is that after their one-night mambo, he’d all but disappear.” Chase laughed emptily. “When she finally tracked him down and learned who he was…let’s just say she spat a few choice four-letter words.”

  Chase debated telling Ritz about the look on Janice’s face when she had watched Tourn on TV, confirming to the whole world that he had dropped the nuclear bomb on the Philippines.

  “Tell me about your father,” Ritz said.

  “Nothing to tell. I knew him for one summer when I was twelve, and I haven’t seen him since. It was his decision to change my last name to my mother’s, and it was the best parenting move he ever made.”

  “Because your father has a reputation.” Ritz clicked her pen. “He wanted to help you avoid that.”

  “Crackers, I have a reputation. My father has a body count.”

  “Interesting.” She lifted her fine wire glasses to the top of her head. “Let’s talk about your reputation.”

  Chase’s seat was still warm from Tanner’s butt. “Tanner was complaining?”

  “What is it you think he might be complaining about?”

  “I used to like him. I changed my mind. He didn’t take it so well.” Chase crossed her legs. Uncrossed them. Folded them beneath her.

  “And this has happened with several other boys. At least four I’m aware of.”

  “Don’t forget the girl,” Chase half-joked. “Curiosity and all.” Ritz’s frown bent severely, and Chase felt the demarcation line of dangerous territory. “Are you patterning my love life?”

  “Do you see a pattern?” Ritz asked. Chase had admitted that much to Tristan, but like hell would she give Ritz the same clearance level. She played with the front point of her hair while the psychiatrist continued. “Have you felt any deep connection to the boys—the people you’ve become intimate with?”

  Chase cringed. Intimate was the word adults used to make her feel guilty. “I say, ‘kiss me.’ They kiss me. It’s that deep. And I only kiss, no matter what Riot says. I’m no skank.” Crackers’s face went canvas at the word. “I get a little skin to scatter heavy thoughts and—” She cut herself off.

  “So it’s about escape,” Ritz said, and Chase hated how close she’d flown to the mark. “And you feel guilty about hurting these boys. That’s good. That’s the burden of caring.”

  Chase opened her mouth to say that she couldn’t care less, but that’s not what came out.

  “I’m careless.”

  “With whom you date?”

  Chase really didn’t want to talk about this, but she was cornered now. “I don’t date. I sidle up to someone. Wait to see if they like me. Then when I don’t feel the same, I go my own way. That’s normal teenage stuff.”

  The psychiatrist grimaced. “There is no normal when it comes to teenagers. That’s what I’ve learned working here.”

  Chase rubbed her face and switched tactics. “You know what I need? Speed.” Ritz’s eyes got huge. “Not drugs, Crackers. I need to get up in the air. It…centers me. I haven’t been skyward since the Canadians party-crashed.”

  “We should talk about this new addition to the academy. How do you feel about them?”

  “I feel like they’re here,” Chase said. “And I feel bad they lost their academy. If that happened to me…”

  Ritz seemed pleased. “The makeup of this school is very much like a family, and the introduction of this team changes things. Like when a parent remarries or has another child.”

  “Might want to choose a different metaphor,” Chase said. “I don’t have parents.”

  The psychiatrist squinted at Chase’s file. “You do have parents. Your mother—”

  “Oh no. Janice is a mother, but she’s no parent. One of the first times I came in here, you said, ‘You give birth to become a mother, but you have to raise a person to become a parent.’” It had been one of the things that made Chase want to trust Dr. Ritz. Badmouthing Janice was the fastest way to Chase’s heart.

  “You listened to me?” Crackers looked entirely too touched.

  “Well, it’s true, isn’t it? I don’t have parents. I have the Star. Kale. Dragon.” Pippin. For whatever reason, her RIO’s name stuck in her throat.

  “Have you thought about what the Star will be like after the trials?” Ritz asked. Chase stared as the doctor continued. “If the Streaker project fails, the jets will be scrapped and you will fly the older models.”

  Chase closed her eyes. The older fighters sucked. “The Streakers aren’t going to fail.” They had to pass. They had as much to prove as Chase did. It was one of the reasons she loved her prototype jet so much.

  Ritz continued. “If they pass, there will be dozens of Streaker pilots. You’ll be one of many. Of a fleet. Have you thought about that?”

  Chase scowled big-time, turning over a new question. Would Kale still care about her when there were dozens of Streaker pilots? Would he still find her antics clever? Not likely.

  “Let’s switch gears.” Ritz produced a piece of paper and drew a shape. “This is the heart’s circle.”

  “Is it made by leprechauns?” Chase asked. Ritz gave her a cool eye and pointed to the drawing. It reminded Chase of an engine—a gaping hole that stole wind and spat scorching vapor in its wake. “I stopped putting stock in love when I was a kid, Ritz.”

  “Think of it as a trust circle then. Ask yourself: ‘Who is in my circle? Who is close and important to me? Who do I trust with my secrets?’ Write these people in, and I promise you’ll realize that those you don’t seem connected to are already central in your life.”

  Chase surprised herself by being angry. No. Furious. “That is the craziest thing you’ve ever said, Crackers! You think I should write down some names and people will magically matter to me? I do know how to care, you know. I care about flying. About the trials. If I don’t win, they’ll scrap Dragon, so believe me, I care.”

  Dr. Ritz was quiet for a long moment. “Your flying is not a matter of winning or losing. I keep having this conversation with Leah Grenadine—you teenagers need to put everything in terms of competition. These trials are about improving national security, Chase Harcourt. They’re for the future of the Air Force.”

  Chase rubbed her neck. “Never pegged you as a patriot, Crackers.” The woman gave Chase a sharp look. “I mean, Doctor.”

  “Keeping your eye on the real ball might be what yo
u need. Especially if you can’t see what’s festering at your core.”

  Chase winced. That sounded graphic. “Right. I’ll keep doing what I always do. Talk about a freakin’ circle.” She didn’t wait to be dismissed. She headed toward the Green, taking a few minutes in one of the glass tunnels that connected all the buildings at the Star.

  High above, the yellow-green northern lights writhed against a black sky. Chase blew hot breath on the glass and drew a circle in the fog. Then she wrote Pippin in its center.

  It didn’t work.

  It didn’t make her realize that she trusted him. That he was “central in her life.” It only reminded her of his distant-blank expression—and his recent demand for space.

  Chase smeared the circle and name away a little too forcefully, making the glass wobble in protest. If she were being honest with herself, these days Pippin felt more like a stranger than her best friend.

  21

  PLAYMATES

  Friends for the Mission

  Chase strode into the hangar with her helmet under her arm, all but jumping to get into the air. The rest of the Streaker teams were standing before the brigadier general, and she fell in line with nothing more than an annoyed look from Sylph.

  Kale touched Phoenix’s wing while he spoke. “The original plan was to have the American Streaker teams dogfight with Phoenix. The Canadian pilots had the advantage of having studied Harcourt and Grenadine’s flying patterns. Should the Streakers pass the military trials, it will only be a matter of time before the New Eastern Bloc either steals or duplicates the technology. We need to understand how the jets perform against similar machines.”

  He looked from Tristan to Chase. “But since you have all had a taste of each other’s styles, we’ve seen fit to change the trials. You’ll be facing a different sort of combative test. Not even I know what it will entail”—he shot a look at Chase—“so don’t pester me.”

  Kale continued. “One element of the trials will be based on your maneuverability at high speeds. This might be the most important factor in determining whether or not the Streakers will be accepted as a large-scale military investment, particularly because we still don’t know the redlining speed of the drones.”