Red at Night

by Katie McGarry

  Another round of cheers drain the blood from my body. I look down expecting to see a puddle of red on the floor.

  “Everyone knows?” I whisper, but my mortification is easy to hear.

  Mom’s eyebrows pull together. “Yes. Is that a problem?”

  The world circles and I push past Dad and suck in air the moment I hit the garage. I grab on to the tool bench and sag, hoping this is a dream. I can’t do it. I can’t go in and discuss James Cohen. I can’t talk about how I did what he asked when no one else would—how I held the hand of a man and talked to him while he bled to death.

  Stella

  Joss bought me a small package of chocolate donuts, a purple glitter pen, a folder with a picture of fluffy white kittens in a basket on the front and a Monster High notebook. The one with the vampire chick, in fact. Her note said the chick’s hair reminded her of mine.

  She must have purchased it at the twenty-four-hour Walmart on her way home from work. I heard her roll in this morning around 4:30 a.m. She smelled of smoke, whisky and that weird combination of body odor and sex. For her sake, I pretended to sleep through her entrance. Joss doesn’t like to talk after a night at the club. She prefers to take a shower then cry in bed.

  With our morning ritual intact and my new presents sitting on my desk in the back corner of class, I have to acknowledge that American Literature seems to have absolutely no point. Joss went to this high school. When she saw my schedule, she admitted to taking the same classes. In other words, American Literature and the picture of Edgar Allen Poe glaring at me from over the white board at the front of class didn’t change the course of her life.

  My stupid stubbornness in clinging to hope appears rather futile.

  A gaggle of girls walk in huddled together as if they are sharing the most important secret in the world. Next period will be better. Victoria’s in there and the two of us get along just fine.

  The girls file in, and a few steps behind, Jonah fills the entire door. His light brown hair is cut close on the sides and is a little longer on the top. I like it. More than I should. The moment his blue eyes catch mine, I direct my gaze down to the kittens falling asleep in the wicker basket.

  The desk to my left screeches against the floor as someone settles into it, and my heart pounds hard when I spot Jonah in the seat gawking at me. I tap the glitter pen against the top of the desk, and the top pops off and bounces onto the floor. Just crap.

  I shift to reach for it, but Jonah’s faster and his massive hand holds the cap to me. “Here.”

  I suck in air and inhale the scent of his cologne. It’s not overwhelming, it’s just right, and it makes my mouth water. I swallow before retrieving the top of the pen. “Thanks.”

  The cap doesn’t move from his grip, and when I pull like I’m playing tug-of-war, my eyes flash to his. Oh heck, those are some beautiful Siberian husky eyes.

  “I’m sorry about yesterday,” he says.

  And he had to go and ruin the moment by speaking. I yank hard and the top slips from his fingers. I snap it back on the pen and fix my line of sight straight ahead. “Okay.”

  “Okay?”

  “Okay.” I glance around the room and note the number of other open seats he could have chosen. More importantly, two guys from his group are doing the same room scan and notice the vacant seat next to them.

  Cooper, a blond who is the bane of my existence, stretches out his arms in a what-the-heck motion. “Jonah, you blind, man? Your seat’s here.”

  “Must have missed you.” But Jonah makes no effort to move.

  The bell rings and they continue to stare at each other through the mass influx of students entering class. A girl eases into the seat meant for Jonah and the redheaded friend from Jonah’s group loses his concentration as he gives the girl a sly smile and leans in like he’s got a shot at asking her out. Cooper keeps his attention trained on us.

  Jonah assesses me and I quickly focus on anything else, not wanting him to think I was interested in him or the interaction with his friends.

  “I am sorry,” says Jonah.

  “You’ve already said that.” Edgar Allen Poe’s eyes are seriously freaky, but if I look away, I’ll be tempted to peek at Jonah and that’ll be bad.

  A second. Then two. I can feel the heat of his gaze and my cheeks redden with each passing moment.

  “Stella.” I feel the rumble of his deep voice down to my toes.

  Don’t respond. Just don’t respond. Cooper is watching and this could be some sort of setup. One that will be a freaking great way to start off my senior year. The goal is to coast through without being noticed. I can’t do that if I talk to the one guy who belongs to an attention-seeking group.

  “Come on, Stella,” he says so only I can hear.

  The kittens on my folder become interesting again and I blow out an unsteady stream of air. “Yeah?”

  “I don’t want to, but I’ll end up back at the cemetery. I was thinking about it last night and I remembered seeing you there before so I know you go often, too.”

  Feeling inadequate, I touch the rose barrette holding up the side of my violet hair. It’s still in place and so are the nerves from this one-sided conversation.

  “I’ll be there again today,” Jonah admits. “And I was hoping you’d be there. I...I need to talk to someone and...you’re the only person I’ve been able to talk to.”

  Joss said people couldn’t change. I shouldn’t agree to this, but there’s an ache in his voice that I can’t deny. “Okay. But will you do me a favor?”

  “Anything,” he answers.

  I glance over at his friends, who are now both lost in conversation with the girl. “Leave me alone for the rest of the day.”

  “What?”

  I risk looking at him. “Take it or leave it.”

  “Why?”

  Do I have to spell it out for him? “You’re best friends with Cooper Higgins.”

  It’s like I told a toddler that snack time doesn’t exist. “So?”

  “As I said, take it or leave it.”

  Jonah mulls it over for longer than I’d like, but he eventually nods. “Okay.”

  And that’s when I spot Cooper scowling at the two of us. I slide down into my seat. Stupid me. Jonah Jacobson wanting to chat is going to make the year of hovering below the radar impossible.

  Jonah

  I haven’t had a decent appetite since the day of the accident. I get hungry and eat, but food doesn’t taste right. It’s bland. So after a few bites, I’m ready to move on to something else—the next activity to fill the day until I can go to the cemetery in an attempt to gain some focus. I feel like a damn jumping flea on crack.

  Stella sits on the opposite side of the cafeteria with her feet propped on an empty chair. Her canvas sneaker bounces to a silent beat. She holds one half of the hot ham and cheese offered in the lunch line in one hand and a ratty paperback in the other. So far, we’ve only had American Lit together, but she’s avoided eye contact with me in the halls.

  Her clothes are simple—a pair of dark blue jeans and a white cotton shirt—but there’s nothing simple about her with that purple hair and rose barrette. Naw, it’s not the hair. It’s just Stella. There’s a sexiness in the way she moves and in her voice. Stuff I never noticed before. Even if all that weren’t true, I’d still stare. One conversation with her and I’m hooked.

  Cooper drops into the seat across from me, sliding his tray onto the table. He blocks my view of Stella. “Welcome home, Jonah.”

  I raise my eyebrows. “What?”

  “You bailed on us the last couple weeks of summer. I was starting to think you found a new group to hang with.”

  “Just needed time.”

  Cooper nods. “I get it. You’re back, so it’s all good. What’s up with you
and Trash Can Girl?”

  A rumble like the front edge of a thunderstorm runs through me. “What did you say?”

  Coop’s face twists as he assesses me. “The chick with the purple hair. The girl who used to root through the trash in elementary school. You were staring at her when I walked over.”

  The other guys at the table stop their conversation and watch. My reaction? I push away the tray that contains my half-eaten food. No one makes a military case out of my non-response. Not answering or giving my opinion—that’s my personality. Just like it’s Cooper’s thing to crack jokes and snag girls. Just like it’s Todd’s thing to talk basketball.

  Todd reaches over and grabs my french fries. “Mind?”

  “No.”

  Cooper glances over his shoulder at Stella and I have the urge to tell him not to look. It’s a weird feeling, a protective one, and I don’t understand the emotion.

  “What type of questions did the reporter ask?” Todd probes with three fries hanging from his mouth.

  I shrug. She asked questions about what it was like to be with James Cohen in his final minutes and what inspired me to do what no one else at the scene would. I couldn’t answer her. Even if I’d wanted to, words would not leave my mouth. I sat in the hot seat my mother had dragged in from the dining room while the reporter sat on the couch across from me. I clasped my hands tightly between my knees and became paralyzed.

  Except for one question: “What are your thoughts on the ambulance response time?”

  For the first time in weeks, the cells within my brain fired. “I think people should have gotten out of the way and let the ambulance pass. A man died because a whole bunch of selfish bastards wouldn’t move out of their lanes because they wanted to get to the mall faster.”

  Mom and Dad ended the interview, informing her that we could reschedule once I’d had time to process my thoughts. No one seemed concerned when I stated that I wasn’t interested in rescheduling. Interview about goodwill and uplifting inspiration, my ass. Everyone craves the same sickening detail: What was it like when he died?

  “Heard the University of Kentucky might be ranked in the top five going into the preseason,” I say. Sports I can discuss. The accident? No go.

  Cooper dips his hamburger into a blob of ketchup. “I’m thinking one or two. Florida State may be in the top three.”

  My best friend since childhood meets my eyes before taking a bite of his burger. This stuff with James Cohen, and Stella, and my sister crushing on Cooper, it has me messed up. Yeah, Coop’s got issues, but he’s the guy who’s had my back in the past and the one watching it now.

  “Is it true?” asks a guy farther down the long table. “Did that guy bleed to death while you were there?”

  Cooper drops his burger. “You’re an ass.”

  I lower my head and rub my eyes, swallowing as if that would loosen the knot in my throat. But closing my eyes was a bad idea, because it’s James Cohen’s face that I see. He was scared when he died. Plain desperate. I can’t erase the fear that pulsated from him. It was nothing like death in the movies and it haunts me.

  I stand so abruptly that the chair beneath me squeaks like nails on a chalkboard. A lot of people stare, but I don’t care. “I’ve gotta go.”

  As I reach the door, I spot Stella. The book’s in her lap, her sandwich on the plate, and her eyes are fixed on me.

  Stella

  Eleven years of education and I’ve never had homework on the first day. Stupid math teacher. Being different in her case is overrated.

  Because it helps Rick feel useful, he checks my Calculus homework and nods every so often, a sure sign I did something right. Rick used to be a genuine professor.

  On the ground, I lean against the grave marker next to his beloved Juliette while he sits in the lawn chair he lugs everyday with him from his rusty ol’ pick-up.

  Rick plucks his straw hat from his head and scratches the white hair behind his ear. He’ll be eighty-nine next month and his kids are threatening to take his truck away simply because of his age. They’re wrong. He’s agile and alert. Even though he grieves for his wife, he’s more alive than most people I know.

  With a smile on his face that makes me wish we were related, Rick hands me back my paper. “You have a brain in there, Miss Stella.”

  “Thanks.” I take it from him and drop it into my folder.

  A breeze blows through the trees, the sound like waves crashing against the beach at the ocean...or at least what I dream the ocean would sound like. Going to the ocean, it’s one of my bucket-list goals. The gust of air is welcome as it cools the sweat forming along the roots of my hair.

  “See how the leaves turn up?” Rick points to the maple near Lydia’s grave. “That means a storm’s coming—a bad one.”

  “A storm’s always coming,” I state. “Some don’t have rain.”

  Nope, some come in the form of my father arriving and leaving. Some come in the form of a boy in my American Lit class.

  “True,” he responds, peering at the white marble that marks the love of his life’s grave. “How true.”

  “Any other signs? Wooly worms moving en masse toward the east? Horses neighing near midnight?” I ask quickly to keep Rick distracted from dwelling on Juliette. He’s a Farmers’ Almanac enthusiast and can talk about superstitious crap all day long.

  “Birds on a telephone wire.” He tilts his head to the row of birds hanging out on the nearest line. “Sure sign of rain. Plus the sky was red this morning.”

  “So?”

  “Red at night, sailor’s delight. Red in the morning, sailors take warning.”

  The sound of a car motor silences both of us and we watch as the black Charger eases over the speed bumps and parks behind Rick’s older-than-me F-150.

  “He’s back,” says Rick.

  “Yep.” I kind of hoped he wouldn’t be. At the same time, a few little green worms weave a little cocoon in my stomach, threatening to morph into butterflies.

  Jonah slips out of his car, rises to his full six feet, and stretches out those beautifully muscled arms of his. Good Lord, he’s got to lift every stinking day of his life. Those dang worms in my stomach sure move out of pupal stage fast as the butterflies take flight.

  “Do you think people can change?” I ask Rick.

  “Yes,” he answers plainly. “There are those who can.”

  That grabs my attention. “So you believe it’s possible?”

  “Miss Stella.” He gives me his teacher-to-pupil stare. “It boils down to choice.”

  Jonah

  With her eyes closed and knees bent, Stella sunbathes on the bench that faces the memorial pool. She changed from the jeans and T-shirt she wore at school to her cutoffs and blue tank. I sit on the concrete with my back against the bench and watch the koi swim in the water.

  Except for the wind blowing through the trees and the trickle of the fountain in the middle of the raised water feature, it’s been silent. That would include both Stella and me. We’ve been here for the past hour and the only words that have been said were my “Hi” and her “Come on.”

  “It’s hot,” I say, breaking the silence. Blistering. Heat index has to be over a hundred. Even though I switched to a pair of athletic shorts, my skin threatens to melt off my body.

  Stella inhales through her nose as if I woke her from a dream, opens her eyes and slowly turns her head to look at me. I’m drawn in by those gray eyes. They’re beautiful, but they appear older than she is. As if she’s seen too much. Knows too much. If she hangs at a place like this, I guess she does. “Then let’s go swimming.”

  Okay. “Where?”

  “Here,” she responds in a duh voice. I lean to the side to allow Stella to swing her legs to the ground. She carefully slips off her canvas sneakers and I grin when I
notice the red-painted toenails.

  “You are such a girl,” I say.

  She wiggles them and I’m captivated by her smile. “I know. It’s a luxury, isn’t it? Painted toes. But I like how it makes me feel.”

  Never thought of it as a luxury. Mom visits the spa for her nails and sometimes she does it herself. How much can a bottle of nail polish cost? A dollar? Two? But I like her smile so I ignore those questions. “How does it make you feel?”

  Who’d ever guess a cocked eyebrow could be so seductive? “Special.”

  With that, she dashes off the bench and splashes into the pool. A few drops hit me and Stella echoes my own thoughts. “Crap, it’s cold.”

  She folds her arms close to her chest and I swear goose bumps rise on her skin. “Are you waiting for an engraved invitation?”

  I scan the area and except for the old man I spotted Stella with earlier, there’s no one around. No one. Never realized how desolate a cemetery is. “What if they catch us?”

  “Who’s ‘they?’”

  Good question. “The cemetery owners.”

  Stella becomes thoughtful, her face pensive. “You know, I never thought about the fact that someone owns this place. It seemed to belong to the dead people.” She pulls out of serious mode. “Okay, so the mysterious ‘they’ show and we’re skinny-dipping in the koi pond. Let’s devise a plan for what we do.”

  My eyes snap straight to hers. Good God, Stella naked. I bet that would be a sight for a weary soul, but I’m not going there. Stella plays with the hem of her tank and does this shimmy shake with her hips that becomes my sole focus.

  I hear her giggle and it’s a beautiful sound. She’s messing with me and I’m falling for it. Maybe we could skinny-dip. Not all the way. Not here. Maybe someplace else. Someplace more secluded.

  “Thinking about it, aren’t you?” she says.