Night Sky (15 page)

It probably had something to do with the fact that the fishy, garlic, burning-plastic smell was piercing my nostrils, now more than ever.

Every face I saw, every set of eyes, every pursed set of lips, seemed sinister and invasive. I held on to Calvin's shoulder. He was afraid to press forward, for fear he would roll over someone's toes. Downtown Harrisburg had turned into a flash mob minus the cool dance routine, and we were in the center of it.

“Sky?” Cal hollered, yelling over the din of the crowd, craning his neck to look up at me.

“I'm right here,” I said, squeezing his shoulder, heart pounding. I could still see Dana and Milo, but they were way down the street.

I took a deep breath, but it felt like barely enough air entered my lungs. I needed space.

Everybody was pointing at us, moving closer and closer. Faces loomed above us, leaning over, the air thick and pungent with their foul breath.

“Calvin,” I said, and I felt my face heat up as someone bumped into me, pushing me back and down onto my butt in the street. I had let go of Calvin as I fell, and we were immediately separated, the teeming humanity pushing forward and putting more distance between us.

“Where're Dana and Milo?” I thought I heard Cal say, although now I couldn't see him. I couldn't see anything except for faces and their shadows.

“Calvin!” I shouted, but he didn't hear me. A woman clutching a large bouquet of long-dead flowers loomed above me. She tried to tuck a crumbling brown rose into my hair, and I shied away.

“Don't touch me!” I said. But she didn't listen. “I said,
don't TOUCH ME
!”

And then there was water everywhere.

Not just a trickle, but a current of water sloshing and churning from the ground up, soaking everyone in its wake. I gasped, a sheet of the icy liquid slapping my face as I scrambled to my feet.

Everyone else gasped too and immediately shrank away.

“What the…” Cal started, as I lunged for him, grabbing his hand as the crowd vanished down corners and into alleys.

“Whoa.” Dana and Milo stood across the street, gawking.

The source of the water was a fire hydrant. The thing had literally exploded. I grabbed Calvin's chair and dragged him away from the massive geyser of frothing water. Rivulets spilled past my feet, and as I pushed Calvin up onto the sidewalk, my sneakers squeaked wetly.

“Did you…?” Calvin started.

I nodded. “Yeah. I think so.”

Dana started to clap. “Way to clear the area, Bubble Gum.” It was clear she was frustrated. “Dammit, we were
so
close.”

“Close?” I repeated.

As Dana and Milo crossed to our sidewalk, Milo stared at the fire hydrant as if he wanted to ask it some questions.

“Close,” Dana said.

“As in, someone you talked to said they saw him?” I was frustrated too. “Because absolutely no one we showed our pictures to knew anything about anyone. Of course, they would've denied that the sky was blue if I'd asked them about it.”

“No, no one admitted to seeing Edmund. That's not what I meant,” Dana told me as Milo bit at a nail. I hadn't pegged him as a nail-biter, but he was really going at it.

“You okay?” I looked at him.

He stopped, mid-chew, and popped another piece of gum into his mouth. This time, I knew enough not to ask him for a piece.

Dana took a sudden deep breath, almost like a gasp. “We've got to stay put for a sec,” she said, and closed her eyes.

Calvin looked around. “What's wrong now?”

I spotted sets of eyes peeking around corners and from alleys. The mob may have been temporarily spooked by my exploding fire-hydrant trick, but they were all still hovering close by.

“What is it?” I asked Dana. She stood with her chin tilted up slightly. Her eyes were still closed.

“We've got to stay put for a sec,” Dana repeated.

Milo glanced at Dana, then waited. He didn't seem worried.

But she was standing there like she was waiting for a message from above or something. It was very strange.

Finally, she turned to me. “Over there,” she said, pointing to an alley.

“What?”

“A boy over there. Wait for him.”

I looked where she was pointing. A little boy peeked his head around the corner. He was probably only eight or nine, and scrawny. There was dirt on his face.

“He knows something.”

Calvin scoffed. “Seriously?”

“Shut up, Boyfriend,” Dana said, concentrating. “This doesn't happen very often, but when it does, I
do
take it
very
seriously.” She closed her eyes again.

Dana seemed to imply that it was my move, so I walked toward the little guy. His eyes were wide and white against his sunburned skin. As I approached him, he cowered slightly.

“Hey,” I whispered. “I'm not gonna hurt you.”

“Yeah,” he said. “I know. You got some food?”

I shook my head sadly and took the picture of the Rodriguez family from my pocket. It was soggy and the colors were starting to run, but Edmund's face was still clear. “Have you seen…?”

The boy nodded. “Yeah. He was here,” he said, and tapped his tiny finger on the image of Edmund. “Why'd you make that fire thing explode?” He took his finger off the photo and pointed to the hydrant. The water coming out of it was down to a trickle now.

“I was angry,” I said. “People were bothering me.”

“Oh,” the boy said, and nodded as if he understood. “Yeah. People bother me too sometimes. I wish I could make things explode like you do.”

I thought about what Dana had said…how I couldn't ever tell anybody about my powers. “Well,” I explained, “I think it might have just been a coincidence. I didn't really…”

The boy raised an eyebrow. It made him look much older, like a miniature grown man. “Uh-huh,” he said.

“When did you see this man?” I asked, changing the subject. I unpeeled my wet shirt from my back where it was sticking to me like tape.

“Last week. He came here. He was crying. No one would talk to him. Then the old lady came in that van and gave him medicine.”

I shuddered, and looked back at Milo, Dana, and Calvin. They were all huddled back a ways, staring expectantly at us. I turned back around and looked at the boy.

“What old lady?” I asked.

“The one with the really red eyes,” the boy said, and scratched his head. “She gave him medicine,” he replied again.

“What kind of…” I started to ask.

But a man came around the corner then, bellowing “Jeremy, get back inside, you little shit!”

And the boy sprinted away before I could ask him anything more.

“I need a Valium,” Calvin said as we drove toward Coconut Key.

“We need to go back,” I said, shaking my head.

Calvin looked at me like I'd gone completely crazy. “We practically got stampeded by a mob of hobos. We are
not
going back! Besides, I gotta get home. I know you think my mom is the queen of permissiveness, but I know when I'm pushing it, and I've got to do the family dinner thing tonight.”

I sighed. The scenery outside became much more pleasant as we left the slums of Harrisburg and reentered Touristville USA. I felt sick inside, as if by leaving I was somehow physically abandoning Sasha. “But that little boy knew something important.”

“And that's why Dana and Milo stayed back there to look for him.” Cal tapped his fingers nervously on the steering wheel. “Seriously, Sky? I think it's awesome that we're trying to bring justice to whoever killed Sasha. But there's a point where you just have to trust that the police will do their jobs.”

“Listen,” I said, biting a nail. “If this is too much for you, then just say it. I can do this alone if that's what you really want. If all this scares you, then you can bail, and I won't blame you.”

“Yeah, you will,” Cal said, gripping the steering wheel as he took the Coconut Key exit and headed for the bridge. “And for what it's worth, I'll tell you right now that I
am
one hundred percent crap-my-pants terrified. I'd be as crazy as those people back there in Harrisburg if I wasn't.”

I looked at him. His face was grim.

“But if you think that I'm going to let you go at this alone,” he continued, “then you're crazy too.”

I reached over and squeezed Cal's shoulder. “Thank you.”

—

Calvin dropped me off around the corner from my house before going back to his place to lie down. I expected Momzilla to be home and waiting anxiously for me—my phone had been shut off the entire time, after all—but when I got there, Mom's car was gone again.

I went inside and turned my phone back on before changing into dry clothes and plopping onto my bed. It was only five o'clock, but our trip to Harrisburg had worn me out.

Popping my earbuds in, I set my iPod to shuffle and leaned back, zoning out as the music lulled me to sleep.

The dream was different this time.

It started in that same field, and the sun was shining so brightly that my head started to hurt, right behind my eyes. I lifted a hand to my face to shield it from the glare.

Birds chirped in trees overhead, and I looked for them, but all I saw were leaves dancing in the breeze. That, and monarch butterflies weaving through the air. I sighed and sat down.

The grass was as green as emeralds and soft like a plush rug. I ran the palm of my hand over it and felt relaxed for the first time in a while.

The feeling of peace only lasted for a moment, because a dark shadow moved swiftly across the sky, blocking the sun. The horizon turned a bruised color.

I looked around me, and the field was gone. The birds were silent, their cheerful trilling replaced by the chirp of a hospital's heart monitor. I smelled rubbing alcohol.

And backed-up sewage.

“Don't look,” a voice whispered, and I inhaled sharply.

“Don't look,” another voice repeated.

I turned, and the highway was in front of me, stretching as far as I could see. The white dotted line dividing the lanes seemed to extend toward infinity.

Sasha was there.

Sasha
was
alive!
She was standing there, clear as day, on the dotted white line, her back to me. Her hair was stuck to the nape of her neck, and her white-and-blue dress flowed urgently in the wind, pressing against her body and outlining her fragile legs.

“Sasha!” I called out, but she didn't turn around.

I tried to run toward her, but each time I took a step forward, she seemed farther and farther away.

When I woke up, my sheets were soaked with sweat, and when I reached up to touch my face, I felt tears on my cheeks.

But I brushed them away, my heart beating hard as I remembered the rush of relief, the sense of certainty that had filled me because I knew—I
knew
—that Sasha was alive.

What if the conviction I'd felt in my dream was real, and Sasha truly was still alive?

I reached for my phone, intending to call Calvin, but then I stopped. He wouldn't believe that Sasha wasn't dead. He was my best friend, and I loved him, but right now I needed someone to say, “Hell, yeah, Sky, you could be right.”

Dana wasn't that person, either. It didn't take much to imagine her harsh,
Get
a
grip, Bubble Gum. The girl is gone
.

But Milo…

I found myself wishing I could talk to Milo, which was kind of weird because I didn't really know him—plus he'd made a point not to share his gum with me.

Of course, maybe my sense that Milo would offer the right kind of encouragement was as crazy as the idea that I should know—from a dream—that Sasha wasn't dead.

So instead of calling anyone, I had dinner with my mom—who didn't say a word about my phone being off, thank God. I did my homework, watched a little TV, and “celebrated” the end of the weekend by going to bed early.

—

I was starting to get really sick of Mr. Jenkins.

Monday was like jumping headfirst into the world of mediocrity, and band was proving to be the worst of it.

“Let's start again on the fourth measure of page nine,” Jenkins said, patting the top of his head gently, no doubt double-checking that his comb-over wasn't too unkempt.

I still couldn't get over the fact that my mother and Jenkins had actually gotten coffee together. I prayed it had been a one-time deal, because the implications of their relationship being something serious were nauseating. Jenkins at dinner, Jenkins in our TV room, Jenkins at breakfast…

But sitting in the practice room with my triangle in my lap, I knew there were so many more important things to focus on, like finding Edmund Rodriguez. I hadn't heard a thing from Dana or Milo since yesterday—which made sense since neither of them had a cell phone, and if I wanted to talk to them, all I had to do was wish for it. Or something.

Yeah, and so far
that
hadn't worked.

I turned my sheet music to page nine and found the fourth measure. Fat, black rectangles dangled beneath the lines. Great. I had whole rests for at least three pages.

Kim Riley stood next to her bass drum and shrugged sympathetically at me.

I shrugged back.

Mr. Jenkins counted the class in with his usual
Let's Polka!
fervor, and everyone who wasn't me or Kim started to play the Beethoven piece we'd been working on for the past month. It would have been okay, even with Beethoven's trademark intensity, if Jenkins hadn't been a musical moron.

I looked over at Cal, who was concentrating as he played his trumpet. Garrett wasn't concentrating quite as much. When he spotted me looking in their direction, he smiled.

I looked away quickly.

I hadn't seen him since Saturday, but apparently he'd decided that we were on good terms. Maybe he was just excited that I hadn't told the whole school about beating him in that race—or the fact that he'd puked his guts out all over the beach.

Garrett turned and whispered something into Cal's ear. Cal glanced up at me and then looked down at his music and scowled. I wondered why Garrett was always so chatty with Cal in band practice…and why Calvin never told me what their conversations were about. It was pretty weird, considering Cal usually told me everything.

But then I thought about yesterday's dream and how I still hadn't mentioned it to Calvin, despite the fact that he'd driven me to school.

As I watched, Garrett slapped Cal congenially on the back and whispered something else, before Calvin hit Garrett on the shoulder. His smack didn't look quite as friendly.

Mr. Jenkins tapped his pencil on the side of his music stand and the band fizzled out. “Is there a problem?” he asked the two boys.

“Absolutely not, sir,” Garrett said in a tone that was dripping with mockery.

Cal didn't answer.

“Well, then let's pay attention, please.”

“Will do!” Garrett exclaimed enthusiastically. He was such a dick.

Jenkins squinted at both of them suspiciously before launching into a discussion of the Beethoven piece and what we all had to do to improve it.

I watched Calvin's jaw clench as he struggled to focus on what Mr. Jenkins was saying. There was something really wrong.

Finally, the bell rang, which meant it was time for Jenkins to shut up until tomorrow. I raced out of there as fast as I could, and then waited in the hallway for Calvin.

Two minutes went by, and he didn't show up.

The rest of the kids from band practice slid by me, laughing and talking with each other. Kim Riley waved silently on her way past.

I poked my head into the practice room, but it was empty.

That was beyond weird.

Cal never exited through the back, partly because he always walked me to the next class, but also because there was nothing outside the east band doors except the soccer field and some reserved parking spots for teachers and other faculty.

I walked through the practice room and peeked out through the windows of the east doors.

I spotted Cal's trumpet case on the sidewalk.

Quietly, I opened the door and stepped outside.

I heard voices and peeked around the corner. Sure enough, Calvin and Garrett were out there, but neither one of them had spotted me.

“…if you really think about it,” Garrett was saying.

I heard Cal laugh a little, although the shake in his voice implied that he didn't think whatever Garrett was talking about was so funny. “I think I intimidate you,” Calvin replied.

“You intimidate
me
?” Garrett scoffed. “Come on, man. You're black
and
you're crippled. I've pretty much got the upper hand.”

I gasped, quickly drawing my hand to my mouth so I wouldn't make a noise.

“See, that's funny, because last time I checked, my skin color didn't really have much to do with anything. But it's cool. I know you can't help being an ignorant redneck.”

Go
Calvin.

Garrett laughed like that was the funniest thing he'd ever heard. “Man, my family's from New York. How am
I
a redneck?”

“
Man
,” Calvin said, mocking Garrett's tone, “you don't have to be from the South to be ignorant. These days, rednecks are everywhere. It's a state of mind.”

“Well, if I'm ignorant, you're a little…bitch,” Garrett exclaimed.

The bell rang. I didn't move.

“All right, Garrett. You win. Call me whatever you need to so that you can feel better about yourself and I can get the hell to class.”

“Bro, I don't have to feel better about myself. I'm just grateful that I'm not stuck in a chair all day, and that I get to actually stand up to take a piss like a real man.” Garrett chuckled cruelly. “Only bitches sit on the pot to piss. You know, maybe you should think about a sex change, considering you're already halfway there—because your dick is as limp as your legs.”

Calvin didn't respond. For a moment, there was complete silence.

I realized in that instant that I'd never really thought about it. Could Calvin even…? I honestly didn't know. I was aware, just from reading, that some people who'd been paralyzed didn't have control over those parts of their bodies and sometimes even needed to wear an adult diaper.

But surely if that was the case with Calvin, I would have heard about it.

Or maybe not.

Garrett didn't seem to realize that he'd crossed a terrible line, because he laughed and said, “For all I know, it already got cut off in the accident. You know,
Calvina
, with enough estrogen, you could grow a really nice set of tits. Give you something to play with. Bigger than your girlfriend's, although that wouldn't take much, would it?”

“Are you done?” Calvin said, his voice tight.

“You know I screwed her,” Garrett said. “She came to me, begging, because she wasn't getting it from you.”

Calvin laughed. “It really pisses you off, doesn't it?” he said. “When I don't rise to your bait? I know exactly what happened when you took Skylar to the beach. She kicked your ass. Made you vomit like a little girl—”

“Fuck you!”

What I heard then sounded like Calvin's wheelchair clanking up against the side of the building, as if Garrett had actually
pushed
him.

I grabbed the door and flung it open so that it hit the outside wall with a crash, calling, “Calvin, are you out here?” as if I'd just come racing through the band room, and hadn't heard the last five minutes of Garrett's disgusting insults.

“I've got your trumpet case,” I called as gaily as I could, as I grabbed the boxy thing by its handle. “Hurry up, we're already late to lunch and I'm hungry!”

Garrett must've lit out, escaping around the side of the building, because when I rounded the corner, Calvin was sitting there alone.

“You okay?” I asked him, mostly because it would've been weird not to say anything.

“Yeah,” he said, forcing a smile. “I just needed to take a moment after, um, Jenkins's attempt to deafen Beethoven's ghost.”

I made myself laugh at his joke, even though my stomach hurt. It was clear he wasn't going to tell me about Garrett's abuse as he followed me back inside. “Yeah, old Ludwig was definitely thrashing around in his grave today,” I said as I wondered how long Garrett's bullying had been going on. I seriously doubted that today was the first time he'd been cruel to Calvin.