Looks Over(Gives Light Series) (20 page)

"Shove this in the closet," Rafael said, and stuffed a broken lamp into my arms.

I opened the closet door and found a heap of unwashed bed linens, ancient packages of candy, Rafael's gray regalia, and a bicycle.

I showed Rafael my disapproval with a slow shake of my head.

A knock sounded on the bedroom door.  I stuffed the broken lamp in the closet and snapped it closed.  Gabriel stuck his head in the doorway.

"Hey," he said, "can I talk to you two for a second?"

A leaden weight settled in my stomach.  Rafael looked at me before he followed his uncle out the door.

I followed the two of them to the living room, and we sat at the long window facing the badlands: blue-gray and dreamlike, misty by sunset.

Here it comes, I thought.  I steeled myself.

"Would the two of you like to join this year's sun dance?"

What?  I stirred.

"Uh," Rafael said.

Gabriel gave us an easygoing, matter-of-fact sort of look.  "You're not children anymore," he said.  "You're young men now.  That means you're old enough for the sun dance.  Of course, Skylar, you'd have to clear it with your grandmother, but I thought I should take the time to explain to you what happens during the sun dance.  It's not for everyone, so think seriously about this.  And remember, it's up to you.  Nobody can force you to participate."

I nodded.  Rafael shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

"Now," Gabriel said.  "A long, long time ago, our ancestors lived on the plains and hunted buffalo.  But the buffalo wasn't just a food source.  Its skin was used to make clothes and houses.  Its bones were used for weapons and fortifications.  So you can see how vital the buffalo were to the Plains People's existence."

I sat up, interested.

"There's a balance to the universe," Gabriel said.  "The planet is generous when it provides for us.  The earliest Plains People recognized that generosity.  In their eyes, the buffalo gave itself to us in order for us to survive.  It was considered the ultimate act of generosity."

"Is that why we pray whenever we go hunting?" Rafael asked.  "I mean, there aren't any buffalo around here, but still."

"Yes, exactly.  When we pray just before the hunt, we're thanking the planet for its generosity and promising to honor its sacrifice--and to return it."

Return it?  That sounded foreboding.

"The sun dance," Gabriel said, "is how we return the blood we took from the planet.  It's how we maintain universal balance.  Most importantly, it's how we say 'Thank you.' "

"Blood?" Rafael asked. 

"The dancers pierce their chests and backs to draw blood.  Very light blood," Gabriel said quickly.  "You hardly even feel it.  I should know, I've been doing it for fourteen years.  We dance in the direction of the sun.  The ceremony takes up to a week.  We don't eat at all during that time, and we drink very little.  We sleep in turns and dance while we're awake.  The shaman oversees us to make sure nobody hurts himself.  But it's completely optional--so don't feel like you have to participate if you don't want to.  You don't have to.  Okay?"

"I want to," Rafael said.

I looked at him with surprise.

"What?" he said.  "I take from the planet all the time.  We all do."

"Skylar?"

The sun dance sure didn't sound like a walk in the park.  On the other hand, it was a part of our culture.  There was no part of our culture I didn't want to experience.

I nodded my assent.  I could always ask Dad about it later on.  Maybe he was planning on participating, too.

Rafael nudged me and caught my eye.  "I won't let anyone hurt you," he promised.  "If you start freaking out, I'll get you out of there."

I grinned widely and nudged him back.  When had he ever known me to freak out?  I wasn't the one with the explosive temper and the flying fists.

"Shut up," Rafael said, a shy smile at the corner of his mouth.

Gabriel cleared his throat.  The grin faded from my face.

"Raf, did you finish cleaning your room?"

"Um, yeah," Rafael muttered.

Gabriel nodded.  "Then you should walk Skylar home," he said.  "I don't know about you kids, but that's how we did things when I was your age."

Only Rafael's complexion kept him from blushing.

Rafael walked me home just before dusk.  My hands swung at my sides, my eyes navigating the dark ground.  I half-expected Balto to jump out at us from the trees.

"He's a good guy," Rafael said.  "Uncle Gabe."

I smiled at Rafael, though he probably couldn't see it in the low light.  I was glad to hear he had reconciled with his uncle.  I squeezed his hand and dropped it.

"I mean, he raised me and Mary when Mom died.  He didn't have to; he could have dumped us off on someone else's doorstep...  You know what?" Rafael said with dawning.  "I love him.  And Mary.  Even Rosa.  I'm lucky to have all of them.  They love me.  They actually love me.  Can you believe that?  I'm so lucky."

Me, too, I thought tremulously.  I love you, too.  You don't even know it.  I'll never tell you. 

That was my shortcoming: tricking myself into forgetting, even for a second, that Rafael always knew what it was I couldn't say.

In the low light I saw his expression change; his mouth opening, his eyes, blue, widening.  My nerves were on fire, and I felt sick, sort of like I could throw up on the spot.  I just hoped I didn't throw up on him.

"Sky--"

I don't know what he would have said next.  I don't know how I would have responded.  Because I saw movement over his shoulder, coming from the direction of my house; and I realized there were two police officers standing on my porch.

I broke free from Rafael's side and ran home, my heart hammering.

Granny and Mrs. Red Clay were on the porch.  Granny looked angrier than I had ever seen her.  And as I drew near, I heard her yelling at the cops:  "This is outrageous! 
I
am the boy's custodian!"

I felt like my stomach was inside-out and rising through my throat.  I felt like the reservation was swimming, distorting, in front of my eyes.

I felt Rafael's hand on my wrist and realized he had followed me.

One of the cops had noticed me.  He turned toward me, his hand on the holster at his waist.  "You're Skylar?"

I couldn't even nod.

"I would like to know the specific reason you've decided to reassign my client," Nola said.

"Complaint from his social worker," the officer said.  "You guys took him to Idaho in January?  He's a ward of the state.  You're not allowed to take him to another state without permission."

Oh, God, I thought numbly.  Even without a voice, I'd gone and run my mouth off.

"Prove that I took him anywhere!" Granny challenged.

"I don't need to," the cop replied.

"Skylar," said the other cop, "go get your stuff, buddy."

I couldn't have moved my legs even if I'd wanted to.  By some unknown force, I found the will to move my head.  I shook my head.  It wasn't like they could handcuff me.

I saw the taller cop reach for the handcuffs at his waist and realized:
Yes, they can.

My legs felt like slabs of ice when I went inside the house.  The two cops came in after me, and I think Granny did, too, but I didn't check to see.  I was half-delirious with disbelief.  This was my home.  Why were they taking me from my home?  I climbed the staircase to my bedroom.  My knees felt like they were shackled to the floor.  The cops didn't follow me.

I threw open my bedroom door.  I ran my hands through my hair.  Okay, I told myself.  Calm down and think.

If I climbed out the window, maybe I could evade the police.  But Granny had broken some kind of law by taking me with her to Nevada and Idaho.  If I ran and hid, would they arrest Granny?  Just the thought of Granny in handcuffs filled me with rage.  Calm down, I told myself again.  That's not going to happen.  You'll just have to cooperate.

Cooperate.  And get chucked into some stranger's house for who-knows-how-long?  I had Mrs. Red Clay as my guardian ad litem.  Mrs. Red Clay was one slick lady.  Slick enough to help my dad get away with murder.  Slick enough to bring me back to Nettlebush?  Not slick enough to toss Ms. Whitler off our backs.  No.  She may have had the upper hand over the FBI, but social services were another story.

So that was it, then.  I had to leave Nettlebush, whether I wanted to or not.

I got my duffel bag out of the closet.  I packed my cash, my clothes, and my schoolbooks.  Maybe whoever got saddled with me would let me keep going to school on the reservation.  I had a sudden, wild daydream that Mr. Red Clay or Ms. Siomme would sign on as a foster parent and take me in.  I immediately felt ashamed for thinking something so selfish.

I stuffed some of Rafael's drawings into the duffel bag.  My plains flute, too--no way was I leaving without that.  I hesitated.  There was something else I should take with me--something I hadn't even looked at in half a year.

I pulled open the drawer underneath my bedside table.  I dug out my dad's beeper and tossed it into the duffel bag.

No use postponing the inevitable, I thought.  I swung my bag over my shoulder and turned toward the door.

Dad was in the doorway.  The foreign resolve in his immutable eyes scared me.

"This isn't permanent," he promised me.  "I'll come get you, and I'll bring you back here."

I shook my head rigorously.  I strode across the room and grabbed Dad's shoulders.  The minute he left the reservation, he was in bigger trouble than any of us.  He couldn't leave.  Not for anything.

"Yes, I will," he said.  "Don't you tell me what to do, Skylar.  I'm the father."

He only ever called me Skylar if it was a really serious situation.  Like that time I'd tried to blow up a drinking fountain in fifth grade.

I used to be an angry kid.

"I love you," Dad said.  "You remember that."

I loved him, too.  I loved him no matter how many secrets he kept, no matter how many people he killed.  I guess that's the problem with love.  You can't turn it off.

I left Dad in my room and took the stairs two at a time, praying, hoping against hope that he wouldn't come looking for me.

Balto padded out of the kitchen and whimpered.  It's amazes me how animals can always pick up on the tension in the air.  I knelt down and stroked underneath his muzzle.  He liked that best.

"Let's go already," said the cop at the front door.

With one last pat to Balto's head, I stood up.  I slipped out the door.  Granny stood in the porchlight with the most crestfallen expression I had ever seen on her face.  It was so unlike my fearsome Granny that I checked at the sight of it.  I squeezed her shoulder.  I wrapped my arm around her in a hug.  I felt her hand at the nape of my neck, disconsolate.

I trudged down the porch steps and onto the lawn.

"Atta boy," said one of the police officers, his hand on my shoulder.  I felt strangely like a convict walking to the gallows. 

Something possessed me to look over my shoulder at Nettlebush one last time.  I tried to convince myself that it wasn't the last time, that this was just a big misunderstanding and I'd be home in time for spring finals.

My eyes met Rafael's.  He stood stock-still, reminding me of an onlooker at the site of a car crash; like someone who can't move away from the wreckage in time because he hasn't finished registering the danger.  I don't think I can even name the look I saw on his face.  It wasn't an angry look.  It wasn't even sad.  I think it was lost.  He looked lost.  He made me think of all those times I'd ventured into the forest and forgotten which way was east and which was west.

I smiled at him.  I didn't particularly feel up to smiling, but it wouldn't do to have the two of us looking like wretches.

It felt surreal when I followed the cops to their squad car and climbed into the sticky back seat.  The doors on my left and right didn't have handles.  The taller of the two cops picked up the radio at the dashboard and spoke into it.  I don't remember what he said.  Soon--too soon--we were leaving Nettlebush behind, the squeal of tires on asphalt inconceivably cruel.

I guessed I was going to miss the sun dance.

14

Girls Don't Dance with Girls

I climbed the faux marble staircase to the fourth floor.  The apartment building had one elevator--I was pretty sure that violated some kind of safety code--and it was broken. 

The policemen followed me to Apartment 4B.  Tentative, I knocked on the door.

A woman in a bathrobe and curling pins opened the door, her mouth wide open in a yawn.  I shifted my duffel bag over my shoulder.

"You're the kid who can't talk," said the woman.  "I've had you before."

I remembered her, too.  Janet, I thought her name was. 

"We'll be in touch," said one of the officers.

Both officers left us pretty quickly after that.  I guess they didn't care whether I made a run for it.  And I was tempted to try--but then Janet stepped back from the doorway, and she gave me a funny look, and I figured I had better follow her in.