Dear Blue Sky (7 page)

CHAPTER 13

WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TODAY TO WIN IRAQI HEARTS AND MINDS?

 

To: Blue Sky

From: Cassie

Subject: hi from USA

 

Dear Blue Sky,

I like your blog name. What does it mean? There's a song called “Good-bye Blue Sky.” Do you know it? I read all your blogs. I'm sorry the war has made things so bad for you and your family. It's hard to imagine bombs falling and snipers shooting on the way to school. I have a brother in Iraq. You said you didn't like the American soldiers, but he is trying to make things better. He really is. I didn't want him to go, but he said he had to. He wants to make a difference.

I hope it's OK to ask you this. When your neighbor got shot, you said that you couldn't breathe or speak or do anything. This happens to me sometimes. I can't breathe, and my heart beats so fast I feel like I'm going to suffocate or drown. It's so scary. I don't know what it means, do you? (I haven't told anyone about this before!)

I hope you write back.

Cassie

 

To: Mom, Dad, Van, Cassie

From: Sef

Subject: I'm here!

 

Hi Mom, Dad, Van, Cass, and Jack,

Can't believe I'm really here. I haven't even showered yet. I heard it'll happen about once a week (yup, I'm going to stink, Mom). At least the rest of Iraq smells worse than I do. It stinks of sewage and trash and smoke, and the streets are piled with garbage.

I'm carrying about 60 lbs every day between rifles, ammo, grenades, knives, the works. Better not tell Jack about that or he'll go out and find 60 lbs of water guns to carry around. Hope you're taking care of everyone, Jack, buddy! And, Cass, are you running? Van, I hope you're doing good. I really miss you guys. I put a picture of us inside my helmet for good luck. Cass is even smiling! Remember that pic?

Not all the guys are the same as in training, but a lot of them are. Remember Hurricane, Mark, and Tim? Hurricane brought
Calvin and Hobbes
with him and a bunch of movies. He's watched
The Champ
36 times or something. I guess he used to be a boxer. Tim has all these Metallica and AC/DC CDs that he plays all the time on his crappy little box. Mark has about a hundred bottles of hand sanitizer that his mom packed. Anyway, we're all helping each other out, watching out for each other.

There's a sign on the entrance of the compound that says, “What have you done today to win Iraqi hearts and minds?” We haven't done too much yet. Just starting to get familiar with our area of Baghdad.

My new drink of choice is Mountain Dew. We drink it all day. How's that for excitement? Better go. Hang in there. That's what we say around here. I'll write as soon as I can.

Love,

Sef

I couldn't remember which photo I was smiling in. Whichever one it was, it made me feel good that Sef had it inside his helmet for luck. I held on to my blue stone and read his email again and again.

 

To: Sef

From: Cassie

Subject: Re: I'm here!

 

Hey Sef,

Thanks for writing! Jack's definitely in a competition with you for no showers, though he may not know it. He's been wearing his camouflage every day. It's pretty gross. And just so you know, he's taken over your room. It's really weird around here without you.

Mom seems OK. Dad's been working late. Van's still going out with Finn. Surprise, surprise. He gave us a ride to school the other day. If you ask me, HE's weird. I'm good. I've been hanging out with Don Love's sister Kim. She's pretty cool.

How are you? Is your friend from boot camp there, Cali? What's it been like?

I've been listening to your Pink Floyd CD. And Kim sent me a link to a blog by this girl in Iraq, Blue Sky, so I sorta feel like I know where you are. That's all. Did you ever read
The Giver
? Write again when you can. It was great to hear from you.

Love,

Cass

CHAPTER 14

SLEDDING INTO WHITE

AT LUNCH,
Kristen Adams was at the next table over. She and her friends were laughing. One of them was pointing in my direction. Kim called me over. She was sitting with some eighth-graders who were studying for a test. “Want to sit down?” she asked.

“Sure,” I said. “Thanks.”

Kim popped a piece of fresh ginger in to her mouth. “Did you see the way Dave Swanson looked at you in social studies?”

This morning we had gone around the room telling everyone what blog we'd chosen. I said, “I chose to learn about Blue Sky, an Iraqi girl. My objective is to learn about Iraq, where my brother Sef is fighting in the war.”

“I'm not sure if it was you or the war, but he was really looking at you weird. He was sort of leering,” Kim said. “I mean, he almost fell off his chair.”

I remembered only that my face had gone hot. “Sometimes he looks at me like that in math too. He's a little weird.”

“Yeah, but he seems harmless. Maybe he wants to do math problems together.”

“Can we change the subject now?” I groaned. “Thanks for sending the blogs.”

“Yup. So, have you heard from Blue Sky?”

“I emailed her, but I haven't heard back.”

“She probably doesn't have electricity.” Kim picked up a piece of sushi with her chopsticks. “Want to try a piece?”

“I've never had it before.”

She laughed. “My mom makes it all the time. Here.”

“Is it, uh, raw?”

“This one's vegetable. Don't worry, it doesn't swim.”

It was tangy and crispy. “It's good.”

We ate for a while without saying anything. Even though Kim was big, all her gestures were slow and delicate as she ate. Her chopsticks moved like wands dancing in the air.

“I see what you mean about
The Giver
now,” I said. “Imagine holding all the memories of the world? Just last week's memories were enough.”

“It gets worse.”

“Don't tell me.”

“Have you gotten to the part where he starts receiving the memories?”

“The first ones.”

“There's one about war. Just thought you'd want to know.”

“Thanks for the warning.”

When Kim and I got up to toss our trash, one of Kristen's friends intercepted me. “Did you really jump on Kristen Adams's little brother and almost kill their cat?”

“Not exactly.”

“That's what I heard.”

Kim said, “Didn't anyone ever tell you that you shouldn't believe everything you hear? It's a sign of low intelligence.”

“Yeah, whatever.” The girl spun around and left.

“I always think of the right thing to say when it's too late,” I said. “Then I never end up saying anything.”

“Well,
you're
not called Big Mouth Cass, are you?” she said. “I'll see you in English.”

Michaela cornered me at my locker. Her shirt read
DON'T TOUCH THE MERCHANDISE.
It was such a bright neon green that my eyes blurred when I looked at it. “Why do you sit with Kim? She's so weird.”

“She's not that weird. She thinks you're weird.”

Michaela burst out laughing. “That's a good one. Speaking of weird, you've been really strange lately. When are you going to snap out of it?”

“Maybe tomorrow.” As if I had a choice.

“Good, because I really need help with my math.”

“That'll be the first thing on my list of things to do,” I said.

Meg and Lisa waved to Michaela as they walked by. I glanced down the hallway. A girl's camouflage backpack caught my eye. I thought of Sef in Iraq carrying his sixty pounds of ammo, and suddenly the whole world tilted. I could see him in his uniform. I felt dizzy. My stomach rose into my chest, and I couldn't breathe right.

“I have to go,” I told Michaela.

“Nice hoodie,” she yelled after me. “Is it your boyfriend's?”

“Yeah, right.” Sef's hoodie went all the way to my thighs.

“Maybe Dave Swanson's?” She laughed.

“Very funny, Michaela.” I ran down the hallway and ducked into the entrance of the computer lab and pressed myself into the cool wall. As if I could become part of it.

• • •

I was late to English. Mr. Giraldi had written on the board, “No color, no winter, no sun, no hills, no change, everything controlled.” He sat at his desk without saying anything. We sat at our desks and looked at him and each other.

“Mr. G, aren't you going to do anything?” someone asked.

Someone else whistled, which made a few others laugh.

Mr. G still didn't say anything. He rolled the orange ball across his desk.

“Mr. G, why aren't you throwing anyone the ball today?” Jesse asked.

“Yeah, this is weird,” Sonia said.

“Really weird,” Michaela said.

“See how used to having things a certain way we are?” Mr. G finally said as he picked up the ball. “Is it possible to forget memories? Do they ever totally leave a person as they do in Jonas's community? Let's talk.”

“I have something to say,” Kim said.

Mr. Giraldi threw her the orange ball.

“I wonder how much freedom we really have. I mean, I have to get up every day and go to school. I have to take certain classes and then I have to do my homework. Then get up and do the same thing the next day.”

“You have a choice. You could drop out,” Rob said.

“Don't think so. No one's going to drop out of my class,” Mr. Giraldi said. “How much freedom do we have? Do we all give up something for the collective good? Let's write about that tonight. One page.”

There were groans across the room.

“That's what I call a collective whine,” Mr. Giraldi said. He put his hand up. “Now, let's talk about the first memories Jonas receives.”

The first memory Jonas received was of sledding. For the first time, he felt the cold snow on his face and the speed of the sled as he flew down the hill.

I remembered sledding with Sef when I was little. I was in the front of the toboggan, and Sef was behind me. The snow blew up in my face as we flew down the hill. The light in the sky was white behind the trees flashing by. We were sailing toward this brightness. It seemed to last forever. Either I didn't know enough to be scared then or I thought that nothing could happen to me. I wondered if that was what it was like to be Jack.

I asked Sef once what was wrong with Jack. He said, “Nothing. He's just a little slow, but he'll be able to do everything. Just you wait and see.” After Jack was born, Sef was different. He used to carry Jack around in a backpack for hours every day. It was like something wasn't fair in the world and he was going to fix it. Make it better. The summer after Jack almost drowned, Sef decided he was going to teach him to swim. Every day he took him to the pond and made him paddle his legs and kick his arms. It was like he owed it to Jack. Maybe that was why Sef thought he had to go to Iraq—he felt like he owed it to someone.

While the rest of English class was talking about first memories, I opened
The Giver
and read the scene where Jonas learned about war. It was a memory of a boy soldier with matted blond hair crying out for water. He was just a boy, probably younger than Sef, and he was dying. Bleeding to death.

I stopped reading. I didn't want to know any more. When the bell rang, I sat in my chair after everyone got up and left. When Mr. Giraldi asked if anything was the matter, I said, “I can't read this book anymore. It's not fair.”

“Life's not fair, is it? Just do what you can, Cassie. That's all.” He put his hand on my back. Sef did that sometimes.

I ran down the hallway before I started to cry.

• • •

The next day, I told Kim that I wasn't going to finish
The Giver
.

All she said was, “Imagine having no color?”

I noticed almost everyone at Sonia's table had on some fluorescent color saying, “Look at me!” The thing about Kim was that she didn't care what I wore or if my hair and nails were done. When she took off her glasses, I thought how pretty she was. I'd never thought that before. It was strange not seeing what was right in front of me until I really looked. I told her about seeing Van and Finn.

She said, “Can you talk to her?”

“No, not really.”

“Well, you can talk to me whenever you need to.” She waved her chopsticks in the air. “My mom takes pills to relax. After work sometimes.”

I knew I shouldn't say anything, but I did. “Mine does too. All the time since Sef left.”

“I feel like I'm the adult half the time.” Kim laughed. “My mother would kill me if she knew I said anything.”

“Ditto. I won't say anything,” I said.

“Promise?”

Big Mouth Kim was asking me not to say anything—how funny was that?

“Of course,” I said.

“Well, things always get better, right?” Kim smiled.

“That's the plan.” I smiled back at her. Something in my chest lifted and made me feel lighter.

CHAPTER 15

THE DEEP FREEZE

WHEN JACK AND
I got home from school, Mom wasn't there. There was no message or note. I played “Good-bye Blue Sky,” singing along loud. Jack sang louder, “Did did did you hear the falling bombs.” I started a list of Important Things to Tell Sef because Mom said we shouldn't email him too much because he wouldn't have time to answer. I wrote:

 

1. I borrowed your hoodie (sorry, I'm wearing it out).
   
2. Do you remember sledding?
   
3. What are we going to do about Jack's outfit?
   
4. Don't bother reading
   The Giver
   .
   
5. What do you need there?
   

I realized right then that I could set up a donation table and send a package to Sef's team. I decided I'd ask our principal, Miss Pat, in the morning.

• • •

Mom still wasn't home at suppertime, and Jack was hungry, so I made spaghetti with butter. We were eating and watching
Tom and Jerry
when she came in. She turned off our show, put on CNN, and stood there watching in her short sweater dress and knee-high black boots, swaying side to side.

“Where were you, Mom?” I asked.

“Out with some friends.” She finally turned her glassy eyes to me and Jack. “Having a good time. Is that all right with you?”

“You could have told us,” I said. “We were waiting for you.”

She spun around, bracing herself in the doorway, and then headed up the stairs.

“Don't you want to know if Sef called?” I yelled after her.

She stopped and turned around. “Did he?” she said, and her face went pale.

“No.”

She went up to her room and didn't come back.

When Dad got home, he asked, “Where's Mom?”

“Upstairs.”

“I'm starving. What'd you have for supper?” He turned on the kitchen faucet and splashed water on his face.

“Spaghetti. Want me to heat some up for you?”

“Sure. Thanks, Cass.”

“With mushrooms?”

“Throw in whatever's in there.”

I heated some sauce, added mushrooms, and poured it over a pile of spaghetti. I gave him a piece of baguette, and he ate and I did my homework. I liked that he didn't ask me a lot of questions that I didn't want to answer. He sopped up the last of the sauce with some bread and slumped in his chair. He glanced up at his 1994 Red Sox Championship banner and said, “Life is good, Cassie. Don't forget that.”

I didn't want to tell him about Mom, but I had to. “Can I say something, Dad?”

“Shoot.”

I said, “Mom's been really weird.”

He leaned toward me. “Weird how?”

“We didn't even know where she was. She used to make supper every night when Sef was here. Now I don't know. It's like none of us matter or something.”

Dad looked at me for a long time. Then he said, “I'm glad you told me. She's having a hard time.”

“Dad,” I asked, “what's the matter with her?”

“Don't worry,” he said.

“I wish she'd be like she used to.”

He nodded. “I know.”

It wasn't fair. I pulled on my sneakers and Sef's hoodie. I needed to wash it, but it would lose the last smell of Sef if I did. I took off outside, running, gulping the cool air. I wanted to find Sef out there like I did the night I had to apologize to Ben Adams. I wanted to hear him laughing and I wanted him to fill up all that empty space inside me. But all I heard was the pounding of my own feet.

• • •

When I got back, Mom was in her bathrobe in the kitchen. Her makeup had been scrubbed off and her hair combed out. “Hi, Cassie.” Her voice was cold and hard.

“Hi, Mom.” I held my breath.

“Listen, I will take care of telling your father what I do. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, Mom.”

“Good.”

A Deep Freeze had begun. The next day she said good morning and then she buttoned up her lips for most of the day until she needed someone to watch Jack and then to chop some onions. Jack asked if I could take him to Dana Park. “Ask Mom,” I told him. “She's not talking to me.”

He frowned and marched over to Mom. “Why aren't you talking to my friend Cass?”

“Because,” she said, “I'm not feeling talkative. Now go to the park.”

Jack came back. “She's not feeling talkative. I think she's gonna talk to you tomorrow, Cass.”

But she didn't. Not tomorrow and not the next day or the day after that.