Starlight & Shadows: A Limited Edition Academy Collection by Laura Greenwood, Arizona Tape, Juliana Haygert, Kat Parrish, Ashley McLeo, L.C. Mawson, Leigh Kelsey, Bre Lockhart, Zelda Knight

by Laura Greenwood

  He nods. “You were quite lucky today. Two feet further over and you’d be buried under the rubble. The other guy had to go straight to the ER.” He holds up a decent sized chunk of broken rock with red smears. “Did you want to keep the evidence? Bit of a lucky charm?”

  The last half hour feels cloudy, but I remember walking to get drinks and the rain. Then falling and the sound of the railing breaking—a searing ache lances through my head and a strange burning erupts at my sternum. I wince with a grunt of pain.

  “Don’t overdo it. Are you sure you don’t want to head to the hospital to get checked out?” The way he words his question makes it obvious this isn’t the first time he’s asked, but I don’t remember.

  Nonetheless, my urge to leave is overriding sense. “No, I’d rather just go home.”

  He looks disappointed, but replies, “Ok. Your buddies have been bugging the firefighters to see you. Are you ok if I send them?”

  I nod but feel only confusion.

  After a minute or two of me looking for my phone, Josh rounds the corner with his football bros in tow. “Nova! What the fuck? Are you ok?”

  I nod again as I find my phone sitting nearby in the ambulance.

  “They wouldn’t let me over here. What happened? They said the balcony on the second floor crumbled like it was hit by lightning or something. Were you under it?”

  “I’m not sure.” I catch sight of the bloody rock the paramedic might be a good luck charm. “I think I was at least near it.” I point at the offending object.

  “Holy shit. You took a boulder to the head?”

  My shoulders lift in a shrug. I’m not really controlling my responses at this point.

  As if trained to sense a need, the paramedic is in front of me once more. “The cops think she was hit by some falling debris, not the actual balcony. What’s most important is that your friend may have a concussion. She’s declined additional medical care.”

  Josh takes the man’s moment of breath to interject with “girlfriend,” but appears otherwise unconcerned with his statement.

  The paramedic looks at him. “Ok, your girlfriend most likely has a concussion.” He shines a light at my eyes, and I blink. “You need to watch for any abnormal behavior. Vomiting, confusion, blacking out, ringing in the ears, light sensitivity, etc. If any of those present, she needs to go to the emergency room.

  “I feel hot here.” I rub my chest. A tingling sensation runs across my palms, almost familiar.

  The medic feels my head with his hand, very official-like, and says, “you feel a little warm.” He turns back to Josh. “Probably adrenaline. Just keep an eye on her. She’s over eighteen, so the police probably didn’t call her parents, but she needs to be monitored through the night.” Josh stands up straight and nods in understanding.

  “I’m free to go?” My brain, through the haze of confusion, is still pushing me to escape this place as quickly as I can.

  “Yes. I can’t keep you here if you don’t want to go to the hospital. Take some Tylenol for the headache as needed. If you need anything more, you’ll have to see your doctor and you really should anyway, just to be safe.”

  “Thanks again.” After snatching up my phone, I hop down from the open ambulance. My vision swims a bit and I sway. Josh is at my side like the doting boyfriend he sometimes pretends to be.

  “You ok, babe?”

  I rub my temples as the paramedic watches me closely. Forcing a smile, I stiffen my spine. “Never better. Let’s get the hell out of here.”

  Chapter Two

  “You got hit by a what?” My mom looks as confused as I feel.

  “A piece of the building… I think. It’s a little fuzzy T-B-H.”

  She moves from her position in the kitchen to my side and proceeds to inspect the bandage on my head. “This looks bad. You probably should’ve gone to the hospital, Nova.”

  “You sound like the paramedic.”

  Her expression cools. “Hold on. Paramedic?”

  “Oh, did I leave that part out?” She nods and if we’re later in court for my attempted murder, I’ll swear to the fact that a darkness swept over her face in this moment. Reluctantly, I continue. “So, the building kinda collapsed. Or, uh, like a piece of it or whatever. The balcony by the union. Freak accident.” My laugh is awkward and defuses no tension at all, so I clear my throat and continue. “I was just on my way to get a soda. It missed me, but they said some other guy had to go to the hospital. I, uh… they just checked me out because they came to help him. Everything was fine.” She does not look convinced. “Seriously.” I’m also not convinced.

  Her eyes narrow when she says, “Nothing else happened?”

  That’s a weird question, but better than a death threat. “I don’t think so. They said I probably have a concussion and to take some Tylenol. Josh brought me home and here we are.”

  “Who was the other guy?”

  “What other guy?”

  She takes a step back. “Didn’t you just say that another person had to be taken to the hospital?”

  “Oh, right. Yeah, I dunno. I didn’t even see him.”

  “You both got his by the same balcony and you didn’t see him?”

  That does seem odd when she puts it like that. “Yeah, maybe he was behind me or something. I barely remember it. One minute I’m walking… wait, no running, because it was raining. And the next minute, I’m in the back of an ambulance with some dude shining a light into my eyeballs.”

  Her phone is in her hand, but she looks me in the eyes when she says, “So you don’t remember getting hit in the head?”

  I take a quick breath and internally replay the pieces I can see for the tenth time. “No, not really.” With a shrug, I say, “Maybe I got knocked out for a bit. I probably never even saw the rock and I was several feet away from the awning slash balcony when it fell.”

  Her cell receives a notification that illuminates the screen. Without looking at me she asks, “Do you have any other symptoms? Nausea, ringing in your ears, blurry vision, tingling limbs, abnormal warmth in any area of your body.” She makes direct eye contact with her last words. She’s engaged in full forensic archaeologist mode.

  I’m not sure why, but my instincts are telling me to lie about the warmth in my chest that still lingers, even if it just leftover adrenaline or whatever the paramedic said. “Just a wicked headache.”

  She seems pacified by my reply and continues typing on her phone but doesn’t move. With a pause that I interpret as her reading a reply to whatever message she’s just sent, she says, “And you are sure you didn’t experience any bright light or tingling or heat?”

  “Are those really signs of a concussion? The medic didn’t mention that.”

  Her expression is cold steel. “Did you?”

  “No and thank fuck for that.”

  More cold steel. “Watch your language, Nova. You may be eighteen, but you are more intelligent than to rely on four letter words to convey emotion. Now, I have some business to take care of at the office. I’ll be home late. Please keep your phone on.” With a sigh that expresses more concern than all of her recent words combined, she leans forward and pulls me toward her—the closest we get to hugging. “Please be careful. I worry about your well-being a great deal.”

  We’ve never been very affectionate as a family. The curse of having an adoptive mother who’s a scientist first is that her emotions are very controlled. I’m caught off guard with this brief expression. It isn’t until the front door closes shut behind her retreating form, that I manage to whisper, “I love you, too, mom.”

  The box in my arms is bulky, but I shimmy through the doorway at an angle, huffing along the way. From the kitchen, Josh shuffles more boxes and I hear Ashley yell, “moving day!”

  A smile lights my face. I’ve needed this, needed to start my life, needed to get away from my mom’s house, even if she’s hardly ever there.

  I let the box fall next to my mattress in my mostly bare room that is only
big enough to hold the dresser, bed, and one nightstand from my teenage bedroom. I’ll probably skip the band posters here—not very grown up for my first apartment.

  My first apartment.

  The thought is almost too hard to comprehend. Almost. An excited squeal, seemingly leaking from my body, reverberates throughout the room. This moment calls for jumping on the bed. Bingo. We have a winner.

  I’m panting and smiling, watching my hair lift up and down, when Josh enters the room. He flashes that signature smirk and rushes me. In an instant, I’ve been tackled onto my random pillows. We’re both laughing as we wrestle around in the haphazard sheets and blankets that I hadn’t had a chance to fit to the bed yet.

  Our laughter subsides, replaced by a gentle tone he rarely uses. “It’s good to see you happy, Nova.”

  My content sigh is the only answer I have for him. I’ve been questioning this high school relationship for months now. I always thought college would be our time to explore options, and I’m still surprised those options haven’t come up yet since the fall semester is rapidly approaching.

  He rests his head near mine when he says, “You wanna come with me to campus and pick up some stuff coach left for me after camp yesterday?”

  “I still have a hard time not picturing s’mores and canoeing when you talk about going to ‘summer camp.’ And no, I don’t really want to come to campus.”

  His bulky frame takes up most of the available space. I shift to watch him when he says, “It’s exactly like regular summer camp, except we live in boring dorms with a bunch of other huge dudes”—he flexes—“and for fun outdoor activities, we get to run until we puke, get yelled at by grown-ass men, and get shoved around by sweaty linebackers.” When he makes eye contact, I can already sense his sarcasm before he continues. “But sometimes we do sit around a campfire and sing happy little songs.”

  I move to stand, but he pulls me back down onto him. “Come with me to campus. I know you hate that place now, but I’ll buy you tacos after.” With a hip thrust for full effect, he continues, “That or we stay here and break in your new chick pad.”

  I shake my head, stand, and reply, “Tacos before bros, bro. Always.”

  His mouth curves down in a pout and he groans. “I should not have mentioned tacos.”

  I hear him pushing up from the bed, but I’m already several steps into the hallway. Back in the living room, Ashley’s channel surfing.

  “Welcome home, dearest,” she says with a bright grin.

  I plop down next to her on the couch and say, “hallelujah” before a deep intake of air.

  “Did you happen to chat with your mom before you bounced?”

  “Nope, she’s on some contract in Asia somewhere. The time zones are all screwy. I never could get a hold of her.”

  She turns her attention fully to me. “So she’s just going to come home one day and find that her daughter moved out while she was gone?”

  I shrug. “I left a voicemail!” After a deep breath, I manage a few more words. “It’s not like I haven’t tried talking to her about all of this. She’s been really distant since before my dad even left, but once I told her I was planning to take a year off instead of heading straight into a four year university, it was ten times worse. It’s like she thought I was throwing away my future and she took it way harder than I thought.”

  Shit, I took it way harder than I thought. I’d planned to go to the big college in town for as long as I could remember. After the tour, I dunno… the university just didn’t feel like the right choice anymore.

  “Hey babe, your parents are dicks.” Josh leans his shoulder against the frame of the entrance to the hallway.

  “Aye, aye!” I raise an imaginary glass to toast the sentiment.

  Ashley returns to her channel surfing as she says, “Screw them. Truthfully, I’m just glad I found my new favorite roomie at that lame tour and you didn’t die in that crazy building thing. Eww.”

  “Don’t remind me about that. Ugh. That’s the day my mom got looney tunes level calm and disappeared to her office for an entire weekend. When she got back, it felt like she just clocked out. Later, she told me she was disappointed in my decisions and suddenly she had this new contract in god-knows-where. I honestly have no idea why two workaholics adopted a baby to begin with. Clearly that status symbol got old fast.”

  “Oh, dang! Hang on. I just remembered.” Josh walks across the room without finishing his thought and opens a bag sitting against the wall that I hadn’t noticed before now. As he takes the few steps to stand in front of me, I see the large square object in his hands. “I had the dude at the frame store help me mount it.” He pauses when I take the wooden case from him and rubs his hand across the back of his neck, a nervous habit. “Coach is all about good luck charms. I thought this could maybe be yours, but if its super weird, just forget about it.” More nervous neck rubbing.

  I stare at it for a beat too long before I set in on my lap and pop open the top hatch of the glass enclosure. It’s familiar, but not entirely. I reach my hand toward the chunk of concrete as I say, “What is it?” When my hand connects, a searing heat singes my fingertips and I pull away as though burned while muttering “shit, shit, shit.”

  Ashley and Josh are hyper focused on my face when I look up, but Ashely speaks first. “You ok? Is it a rock or something? Is it sharp or something?” Her gaze drops down into the container, searching for an explanation or something.

  I shake my hand and listen as Josh speaks again. “It’s the chunk of building that hit you in the head on campus. The paramedic said you were lucky you weren’t under the balcony when it fell. See, lucky charm!” He’s preening, clearly proud of his efforts. While rubbing my fingers together, concerned about the heat emanating from the item in my lap, I start to respond to convey my confused gratitude when he continues. “Plus, if you look really close, it’s still got a little of your blood on it—how badass!”

  So not badass.

  “But why is it hot though?”

  Josh reaches inside where the cement is nestled into a wooden case with glass on one end. After he pulls his hand back out, he says, “Doesn’t feel hot to me,” and shrugs.

  “But it…” When I touch the chunk of debris once more, there’s nothing but cold, hard concrete. “Weird.” My life seems to be a series of weird lately.

  Ashley reaches for it, allowing her knuckles to graze the surface. Instead of a normal response, she simply narrows her eyes at me, but then quickly schools her features.

  Josh shrugs and says, “Hey, babe, let’s head up to campus and get some tacos. Ash, you wanna come?”

  If the hallway smells like damp gym socks, I can only imagine what the actual locker room smells like.

  Gag.

  The door swings open and out wafts something closer to damp gym socks drizzled with sweaty pee and cheap aftershave.

  Actual gag.

  As if completely oblivious or acclimated to the smell—not sure which is worse—Josh waltzes toward me with a smile on his face and his arm around a second huge slab of college freshman.

  “Hey, Nova. Ready?”

  No, I’d rather stay here and bathe in dude funk for another twenty minutes.

  “Yep, just waiting on you.” Hopefully those words were infused with the right amount of sincerity and cheery bubbles.

  “Hey, Joe’s gonna go with us to get food, cool?”

  “Super cool.” Extra cheery.

  I fall in step with the hulking brutes as we make our way into the sunny afternoon. Once, these paths on campus used to generate an almost innate longing to attend, to be included in this atmosphere. Now, I feel something like an aversion, a discomfort as though I’ve put on jeans that are a bit too snug and I can’t wait to get home to undo the top button for relief. Something changed, but what, I don’t know. What I do know is that this place feels different. It feels mildly itchy. If I’m being honest, everything has felt different the last few months.

  I told Ashley,
but she just grilled me for two minutes, then asked if shock therapy was still a thing. My therapist was not amused. When I mentioned these feelings to Josh, he mumbled something about taking supplements and changed the subject. And what do I even call this? Boredom? Growing up? Transitional phase? Allergic reaction to a physical location?

  After a few minutes’ walk, we hop in Josh’s Jeep, where I’m relegated to the back seat. On our way to my favorite taco shop, the scenery quickly changes from parking lot to a neighborhood of larger houses and I allow my thoughts to wander.

  The SUV jerks to a halt as the horn blares, one short then one long and very upset reply to something. I look up to see Josh waving his arms around and cursing. Our car and the one in front of us are both stopped. When the noise from the horn ceases, I hear the chanting.

  College-aged dudes in various stages of undress or comical attire, swarm from the right. I can’t understand what’s being said, but if their matching yells are any indication, they’ve rehearsed whatever it is. This time, when I let my thoughts wander, I make the conscious decision to take in the fresh scenery everywhere but the front seat of the car I’m currently in. He’s too busy being pissed at their shenanigans to notice.

  Because the top’s off of Josh’s Jeep, my view is unobstructed. Unfortunately, theirs is also and we quickly receive some whistles, which only makes Josh yell louder as his buddy attempts to keep him from exiting the car into the chaos of forty frat brothers covered in body paint and is that…glitter?

  I laugh.

  Calm down big guy.

  As if responding to my unspoken request, Josh does seem to settle in his seat, at least marginally, and his friend eases back down as well.

  Odd.

  Unable to ponder their abrupt change in reaction, my attention is quickly brought back to our situation when the sea of tanned bodies parts a few feet away and a handful of males wearing only tiny loin cloth-like bits become visible in their center. I’m certain they’re being herded closer to the cars as if on display. I have no clue what’s happening, but I’m simultaneously sad for them and doubled over in laughter. As they walk near my side of the vehicle in the middle of the street, I catch sight of one specimen in particular. The intensely-dark eyes with lashes that women would kill for are magnetic and his perfectly-styled hair begs to be tousled; something about him is familiar, but I can’t place it. Or maybe I just want it to be familiar. I smirk at the thoughts rolling around in my head. His eyes snap to mine, his smile drops, and he glares.