The Sky Above Us

by Natalie Lund

  What was it?

  “Pull up, damn it.”

  Nate was vaguely aware of Brad taking over the controls, of putting them down with a jarring slam of the wheels, of cursing at him loudly. When they came to a stop, Shane reached over the seat and squeezed his shoulder.

  “You all right?” Shane asked.

  “Holy shit, man. You had us scared,” Israel said.

  Nate felt like he was going to throw up. Had he almost killed his best friends? He pushed open the door and tumbled down. The impact made his knee seize and he cried out.

  Israel climbed down and leaned over, his hands on his thighs like he was out of breath. “I really thought we were going to crash.”

  “We’re okay,” Shane said.

  “Did you see it?” Nate asked breathlessly.

  Israel spun to face him. “What? You saw the doorway?”

  He wasn’t sure doorway was the right word. It was like nothing he’d ever seen before. Nate nodded and shook his head at the same time.

  Israel frowned, his thick brows shadowing his eyes. “Where was it?”

  “Right above the runway. It disappeared when Brad took the controls.”

  “What did it look like?”

  An open curtain that promised a silence and darkness so absolute it belonged to another world? Nate couldn’t say that. “Like a tear in the sky,” he said. “Magic.”

  “What’s this about a magic doorway?” Brad was behind them, settling his hat back onto his head.

  “Nothing,” Shane said too quickly.

  Brad pulled down the brim, but tilted his head back so he could squint at Nate. His blue eyes were hard and cold. “You’re damn right it’s nothing. Not when my job is on the line—and, more important: our lives. So next time, do what you’re told. If you’re not going to listen, these lessons are over and you’ll still pay for the full block. You hear?”

  “Yeah, yeah, we got it,” Shane said.

  Nate stopped listening. Even now he could feel the tear, leaking dark and quiet right under his skin. He didn’t understand it, but he knew it was the opposite of everything. The opposite of pain and fear and worthlessness. It would silence the thoughts that were drilling into him. Forever.

  He’d have to find it again.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  ISRAEL

  Five days before

  ISRAEL WOKE UP, gasping and exhausted as always. He pulled his phone off the charger and reread the last messages with OtherPlanes. If he went through this doorway, he’d have to do it alone. Nate, Shane, his sister, his parents—everyone would think he’d died. Even if he left a note, they wouldn’t know who he’d become. He’d have to find them from the next life and try to get them to believe him like he’d tried with Peter. If he even remembered this particular past life.

  Israel pictured his mother—not the beach-bathing socialite she was now—but back when she’d worked as a hospital scheduler and would meet them at the bus stop in her scrubs. She’d throw tater tots in the oven, and the three of them would “ice-skate” sock-footed around the kitchen while the tots baked. Could he risk giving up the memory of being himself?

  But he knew, he could admit, that nostalgia colored the truth. He’d never been that happy boy, smiling and spinning on the kitchen floor. After the tots, he’d always crash, too tired from his nightmares. His mother would scold him for falling asleep and make him do his math homework standing up. He’d snap at his sister, who only wanted him to hurry up so they could play more. And his father, home late from work and tired himself, would yell at them for squabbling.

  These nightmares tainted every memory. They constituted every relationship. He was nothing but them.

  Will I have nightmares and remember this life in my next? he typed.

  OtherPlanes was always online, so it only took him a few moments to respond: Maybe, but that’s part of the power of choice. Better make this end a happy one.

  There were no guarantees that it was worth it, then. And what did he really know about OtherPlanes? The man thought the government was after him because he remembered past lives. If it weren’t for the fact that another user in their group—and now Nate—had seen the doorway, Israel wouldn’t trust him at all.

  He closed the app and climbed out of bed. His sister wasn’t outside his door, but he heard her voice rising angrily, along with their dad’s downstairs.

  His entire family was in the kitchen when he descended, his dad dressed for work and his mom in a knit beach cover-up, her skin already shiny with tanning oil. Her hands were on her waist and she was glaring at Izzy, who squatted beside the fridge, pulling vegetables out of the bin.

  “They got our final report cards,” Izzy said over her shoulder.

  Israel glanced at his dad, hoping for a smile, but his dad’s teeth were visibly clenched. His mustache twitched over downturned lips.

  Israel spotted the torn envelope on the counter, the printouts unfolded beside it. He grabbed his and traced the list of As down the page until he landed on one B+. Econ. Of course. Izzy’s, he saw, was a mixture of Bs and Cs.

  “I thought you were getting all As this semester,” his dad said.

  “Yeah, I thought I was. I didn’t do well on the final.”

  “¿Estudiaste?”

  “Yeah, I studied.”

  “¿Y entonces?”

  So? How was he supposed to respond to that? So, he’d been distracted by his quest to end his dreams? So, he’d been hurt by his friends? So, he wasn’t strong enough to live with this thing even though plenty of others did?

  “No sé,” Israel said. I don’t know.

  His dad’s eyes narrowed and hardened, and there it was—disappointment sharply carved into the lines beside his mouth—just like that day he’d told them about his dream. The resonance rolled into Israel like a boulder.

  “There’s still time,” Israel said weakly. “I’ll do better next year.”

  “It’s all cumulative,” his dad said. “This matters.”

  Izzy fed a carrot into the juicer, and the machine made a loud whine.

  “Coño, Isabela, we’re trying to have a conversation here!” their father shouted over the noise.

  Straight-faced, Izzy fed a cucumber and a piece of ginger into the machine. She grabbed a handful of kale next like she planned to keep juicing until their dad gave up. She winked at Israel, and he backed out of the kitchen. He opened the front door and sat on the steps while Luna galloped down to pee.

  Israel hadn’t been able to keep his grades up second semester—how was he going to do it another whole year? And four more after that? Colleges weren’t going to take econ majors who couldn’t do simple supply and demand problems—and the financial firms weren’t going to hire someone who couldn’t cut it in college.

  If he went through the doorway, he wouldn’t just escape the dreams, he’d escape the weight of these expectations, too. He’d be free—to be whatever, or whomever, he wanted.

  Israel pulled his phone out of his pocket and texted Nate and Shane.

  Can you come over this afternoon? We need to talk.

  * * *

  • • •

  Israel sat cross-legged on his bed, tossing a stuffed basketball at the hoop hanging on his wall—anything to keep his hands moving and his nerves at bay. Shane was on his back on the floor, catching and returning the ball. He’d shaved his own head—a summer heat haircut, he’d said—which exaggerated his large ears and also made him look like a baby-faced military recruit. Nate was in the desk chair, extending his leg with a grimace and curling it back as though doing his PT.

  “I’ve decided to do it soon,” Israel told them. “I don’t know what other choice I have to end these dreams.”

  “Doctors,” Shane said.

  “Mom took me to one when I was little,” Israel said.
<
br />   “Have you been to any lately? Now that you’re older, things might be different.”

  “They’ll just put you on meds,” Nate said.

  “Maybe that’s a good thing,” Shane said. He glanced at Nate when he said it like he wanted Nate to hear this too. “There’s nothing wrong with being on meds.”

  “What if you do this and you can’t come back?” Nate asked.

  Israel didn’t tell them about the conversation he’d had with OtherPlanes. They might try to talk him out of it if they knew what he knew. “Wouldn’t you rather have a life where the most painful thing in it hadn’t happened to you? Honestly?” he asked instead.

  “Yeah,” Shane said with a sigh, clearly thinking of Cass.

  “Yeah,” Nate agreed.

  “Would you give anything for that life?” Israel asked. His friends were silent, but Israel willed certainty into his voice. “I would.”

  “Brad said we need more hours before a solo flight,” Shane said.

  “He just wants more money,” Nate said.

  “It’s also illegal,” Shane pointed out.

  “When has that stopped us before?” Israel asked.

  He saw a flash of a white T-shirt in the hallway. It was his sister, pausing in the shadows outside his door. She was in her pajamas, her hair wrapped in a towel. Israel wondered if by sitting here, making these plans, he’d somehow called out to her with his body.

  He met her eyes, but she ducked away. He heard the click of her door and the familiar sound of documentary narration beginning on the other side of the wall.

  “Look, I’ve decided I have to do this. I just need help getting the plane.” He looked at Shane when he said this. “Please.”

  Shane sat up, folding his long legs underneath him. “Okay. I think we need a few lessons to scope everything out. My parents’ treat.” Shane smiled mischievously. “Plus, you could use more practice.”

  “And you’ll tell me how to find the doorway?” Israel asked Nate.

  “I’ll try,” he replied.

  Israel felt calmer now that his friends were behind him.

  Shane snapped his fingers. “We should do it after that senior party.”

  “What better way to celebrate our ascension than larceny,” Nate said.

  “To new beginnings,” Shane said, raising an imaginary glass.

  Or to saying goodbye with a party—a happy memory, Israel thought.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  NATE

  Four days before

  NATE’S DAD WAS asleep in the recliner, the TV volume on low. A bearded man in an infomercial tested knives that looked like plastic on large blocks of chocolate. Nate stood behind the couch, balancing on his bad leg, holding it longer and longer until he had to lean against the couch back, panting. The pain was so bright, so loud, that it emptied his brain of everything. But his inner voice always returned.

  I have no future. No backup plans.

  I’m a terrible friend and family member.

  I’m worthless.

  I deserve pain.

  He thought of the tear in the sky, darkness so thick that he couldn’t conceive of a light cutting through it. Nothing could. Not even his thoughts.

  Nate’s dad shifted in the recliner and made a grumbling sound but didn’t open his eyes. His mom, who’d been working on a grant in the kitchen, poked her head into the living room and peered at him over her computer glasses. “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “Knee exercises for PT.”

  “You going to get the door?”

  The door? He’d been so buried in his head, he hadn’t even heard the doorbell. “Oh, sorry,” he said. He pointed at the quiet TV as though it were an excuse. His mom shook her head and disappeared back into the kitchen.

  Janie was on the porch in her work uniform, unbraiding her hair. In the porch light, it was blond and brown and red and gold. The braids had left crinkles with little straight tufts at the ends.

  “I need to cut it all off,” she said, gesturing at her hair when she caught him staring. Her upper lip and forehead were beaded with droplets of sweat.

  “I love your hair,” he said, dropping his eyes.

  “I love your hair,” she replied, reaching around to squeeze his bun like it was a clown nose. “You never wear it down.” She pulled his hair tie out, and her hand brushed his neck briefly, accidentally. The touch made him shiver. Goose bumps on the corresponding side of his body rose, and he tried to flatten them by rubbing with his other hand, hoping she hadn’t noticed.

  “Want to watch a movie or something? I brought popcorn.” She held up a black plastic trash bag, bulging with leftover popcorn from the theater.

  “My dad’s asleep,” he said. “Your house?”

  “My dad’s”—she wrinkled her nose—“asleep too. How about the beach again?”

  The word filled him with longing for their first summer together. Racing each other barefoot across the sand. Crashing into the waves. The tightness of salted skin. The freedom. Would he ever have that again?

  No. He didn’t deserve it.

  “Come on,” she said with a playful whine.

  He gave in. Even if it wouldn’t be like it once was, he was glad for the distraction.

  * * *

  • • •

  Janie lit the dark seawall steps with the light on her phone so Nate could navigate down carefully. The beach itself was lit by a half-moon and Adventure Pier in the distance. Every few minutes a chorus of screams erupted from the pirate ship ride.

  They sat in the sand, and she flapped open the plastic bag, wafting the smell of butter toward him. He shoved a fistful of popcorn into his mouth. Janie held some flat on her palm, and tossed the kernels, one by one, onto her tongue. He loved how unselfconscious they could be around each other—how easy it was to listen to her openmouthed crunch of kernels and the sound of waves and to say nothing at all.

  “I caught most of that new Marvel movie tonight,” she said.

  He unlaced his shoes, bending his hurt knee uncomfortably, and then worked the shoes off with his toes. “Is that all you do? Watch movies?”

  “Well, all you do is watch TV.”

  “Touché. But I go to parties sometimes too.” It felt good to talk about normal things again, to pretend like everything was as it had been. “There’s one this weekend. You should come let loose for once.”

  “Yeah?” Her cheeks were flushed and her lips were flecked with salt. He imagined her fingers slick with butter, and he had an urge to take one and put it in his mouth.

  “Yeah,” he said, meaning it. On a moonlit beach, it was easy to forget about the wall he’d built between their school and home lives.

  “I’ll think about it.” She tilted her head back and looked up at the sky.

  He followed her gaze. “Do you think you’d leave Earth—if you had the chance?” he asked.

  “Hmmm,” she said. “Would I get to come back?”

  He shook his head and swatted a sand fly. “Nope, and because of how long it would take you to get there, everyone you knew at home would be gone.”

  “Could I take someone with me?” she asked.

  “Sure. One person.”

  “Yeah, all right. I’d do it.”

  Despite the pier’s glow, he could make out Orion’s Belt—three stars slung right above them. He’d always thought the other constellations—bears, dogs, and archers—were difficult to decipher, but the belt looked like a belt.

  “Who would you take?” He hadn’t done this much, but he knew that flirting meant dancing around a subject, each person daring the other to get as close as they could before hopping away.

  She flushed again. It had to mean the answer he was hoping for: him.

  She tossed more popcorn into her mouth and spoke with her mouth full: “I
guess it would depend on what year it was. I don’t know who is going to be in my life in the future.”

  “Yeah, okay,” he said with a smile; she hadn’t taken the dare.

  “So what were you up to the past few days?” she asked in a rush, quite obviously eager to change the subject.

  I flew, he wanted to say. I found a hole in the world. Instead he leaned forward and kissed her—went right for those flecks of salt on her mouth. They stung the chapped cracks of his lips. He tasted them on his tongue. His hands were on her face, dusting her cheeks with sand.

  He could tell she was nervous by the way she was breathing through her nose urgently. Her hands seemed unable to find a place to rest. They were on his shoulders, on the back of his neck, on his waist. He trapped them between his own, wound his fingers in hers. He’d never felt his whole body surge into a kiss before; it felt like jumping into a pool.

  He fell backward and pulled her on top of him, her breasts crushed against his chest. There was sand everywhere—plastering his skin, crunching beneath him, even stinging between his eyelids. He dragged his teeth against her lower lip and squared his hips below hers. His body ached to move more, to pull at buttons and shove aside fabric.

  Nate slid his hands under her shirt, working one up her spine and the other up her side. Janie shivered and straightened her back. Her eyes were wide—almost surprised. It was the same face she’d made that day they met, when they dropped their bikes and stood on the seawall, expectant, like anything could happen.

  I don’t deserve her.

  I don’t deserve this joy.

  The thoughts filled his head until it felt like a frenzied bat nest.

  There’s no way she’ll stick around.

  Not after how selfish I’ve been. Not after the pain I’ve caused her.

  There’s nothing for her here.

  Nothing worthwhile.

  No one worthwhile.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked.