A Bird on a Windowsill (3 page)

“Aah,” he breathes out. “A gift from a girl.”

“It wasn’t a gift,” I shoot back. “She just found it and said that I could have it.”

“Aah, son,” he breathes out again, pushin’ his thick glasses back up the bridge of his nose. “When a girl gives you somethin’, it’s special.”

I wrinkle my nose in disgust. Grandpa’s talking crazy again. He does that sometimes. I go to fiddlin’ with a string that’s come lose on my shirt—just to pass the time. Mom says it ain’t right to walk away when someone’s talking—even when you don’t want to hear what they’re talking about.

“Girls are treasures, son.” He points the key at me while eyeing me from over the top of his glasses. “And when one gives you somethin’, it’s like she’s givin’ you a piece of her treasure.”

“That’s crazy, Grandpa. Girls aren’t treasure.”

“Oh, sure they are.”

I stick my tongue out and roll my eyes to the back of my head.

“Your grandma is.”

I stop and think about it for a second and then shrug.

“Yeah, maybe Grandma,” I admit. “But that’s it.”

“Well, your mother is, too,” Grandpa offers.

I shrug again. “I guess so. But that’s it.”

“Your sister?”

“No way!” I say.

His deep, full laugh fills the air. “Son, all I’m sayin’ is that if a girl gives you somethin’, you hold onto it.” He pauses and then points a crooked finger in my direction. “Better yet,” he says, “you hold onto her.”

I stick my tongue out, resisting the urge to roll my eyes back in my head again. Mom says if I do it too much, my eyes will stay there.

“You’ll find that out the hard way sooner or later.” He gives me his Grandpa look—the one that’s somewhere in between his normal face and a smile. “We all do.”

I push my mouth to one side and lazily shrug my shoulders before turning to find Grandma. She’s always got some kind of chocolate to give me when I see her, and chocolate’s a lot better than whatever Grandpa’s tryin’ to feed me right now.

“Son,” Grandpa says, stopping me. “You forgot your treasure.”

“Aah,” I say, starin’ at the little silver key in his wrinkly hand. “You can keep it, Grandpa. I thought it was to a star tower.”

“A star tower?”

“Yeah,” I say, sounding a little defeated. “It’s a place where you can see the stars up close.”

“Like an observatory?”

I shrug. “Maybe.” I don’t know what that is.

Grandpa just looks at me and then smiles and sets the key onto the edge of the table. “Okay, but I’m still just gonna leave it here for you, son.”

I sigh and venture off to find Grandma, but I don’t even get two steps into the hallway when I hear Grandpa’s old, scratchy voice again.

“Son.”

I stop, but I don’t turn around.

“I’ve been known to be wrong...a time or two,” he says. “That there might very well be a key to a star tower. ...A big one.”

I still don’t turn around, until after I hear the paper rustling behind me. Then slowly, I peek back around the corner. Grandpa’s taken a seat in his big easy chair, and he’s got the paper opened wide in front of his face.

I stare at him for a few seconds, and then carefully, I tiptoe back into the room, quietly grab the key and stuff it deep inside my pocket.

Chapter Two

Salem 

(Eight Years Old)

Day 1,095

“D
illon, go get that shovel. We can scoop it up with that.”

I cup my hands and dig into the powdered woodchips. Dillon and I are trying to see if we can make the biggest sawdust mountain we’ve ever made.

“Dillon,” I shout over my shoulder. “The shovel.”

I don’t hear him move, so I look up to see what he’s doing.

He’s staring off into the distance at something.

“What’s she doing here?” he asks.

I stand up taller and squint my eyes to try and see what he’s looking at. And as soon as I get a good look, I see Vannah, walking across the back field toward us.

I shrug. “I don’t know.” I go and grab the shovel myself and start scooping more sawdust onto our mountain. “Maybe she can help.”

I glance back at him, and he gives me a funny, side-eyed look.

“But she’s a girl.”

I ignore Dillon, and a minute later, Vannah is facing the both of us.

“What are you guys doing?” she asks.

“Makin’ a mountain,” I say.

“Can I help?”

“Yeah,” I say.

Vannah starts scooping the sawdust into her hands. And when her little hands can’t hold anymore, she adds the sawdust to the top of the pile that Dillon and I have already started.

“You love her, don’t you?”

Vannah and I both stop and turn toward Dillon.

“That’s what it is,” Dillon says. “You love her, don’t you, Salem?”

He gives me a devilish smile, and I don’t like it. But I just ignore him and go back to shoveling.

“You looove her,” he sings, drawing out the
L
word.

I stop, quickly turn and face Dillon.

“I don’t love her,” I say to him.

“You do, too. You love Savannah Catesby.”

I can feel my ears getting hot. “I don’t love her,” I say, louder this time.

“Yes, you do,” he shouts.

I stand up straighter and throw the shovel hard to the ground. “I don’t either,” I shout.

“You do, too,” Dillon screams back.

He gets too close, and I shove him backwards.

“She’s just a stupid girl,” I say. “I don’t even like her.”

Both Dillon and Vannah are quiet, as my scream echoes between the two tin buildings, bouncing off the walls as if it’s a dirty word.

I feel bad for what I just said. I look at Vannah. Her eyes are getting red.

“Vannah,” I say, sheepishly.

Her lip starts to quiver, and then her mouth turns down into a frown. I try to think of what to do next, as a tear trickles down her cheek.

My eyes go to Dillon. I can tell he doesn’t know what to do, either. He’s on the ground now, staring at Vannah. He looks just as scared as I feel.

And just like that, Vannah takes off running. And I take off running after her.

“Vannah,” I call to her. But it doesn’t do any good. She doesn’t stop running.

It takes me a minute, but I finally catch up to her.

“Vannah, I didn’t mean it.”

She stops and immediately turns away from me, covering her face.

“Go away.”

I think about going away, but I don’t want to leave her, so I stay.

“Vannah.”

I touch her shoulder. And then I close my eyes and wait for her to slug me. But a few seconds go by, and she doesn’t.

I slowly force my eyelids open, and she’s facing me. Her eyes are puffy and red, and she’s sniffling.

“You said I was a stupid girl.”

“You’re not a stupid girl,” I say.

She keeps her red stare on me. I feel sad, too. I’m sorry for what I said. I’m sorry for making her cry.

“You’re a smart girl,” I say. “I’m a stupid boy.”

My eyes slowly fall to the ground, and I dig my toe into the grass, until the tip of my shoe is covered in dirt.

“You said you didn’t like me.”

I shake my head back and forth. “I lied.”

“So, you do like me?”

I look into her teary eyes, and I nod.

It feels as if two days go by, but eventually, her lips start to turn into a smile.

“Don’t lie again,” she demands.

“I won’t,” I promise.

And before I even realize what’s happening, she wraps her arms around me. She hugs me, and it’s the weirdest feeling in the world—to be hugged by her. My first instinct is to pull away and push her to the ground. That’s what I should do. That’s what Dillon would do. And if she were my sister, that’s what I’d do. But for some reason or another, I don’t. I just stand there, and I let her hug me. I let her hug me because I like her hug. I like the way it feels. But mostly, I like her hug because, out of all the girls I’ve ever met, this one’s my favorite.

Chapter Three

Savannah 

(Thirteen Years Old)

Day 2,920

“T
hree-pointer,” I say.

I’m at Eben’s. My mom and dad are at a parent-teacher conference for my sister. I had three choices: Stay at home and do homework, go with them or come over here. The first one was a definite
no
; the second sounded even more boring than the first. So, this was a no-brainer. Plus, Eben’s mom was making chicken and dumplings tonight. And since I don’t pass up his mom’s chicken and dumplings, I left my house before dinner.

I shoot the little basketball at the goal stuck to Eben’s closet door. It hits the rim and bounces onto Eben.

“Nice shot, V,” he says, catching the ball.

I narrow my eyes at him but still smile.

“Are you ever going to get new sheets?”

He looks at the bed covers surrounding me. I secretly like his Spiderman sheets, but I feel as if it’s my duty to point out the fact that he
is
in junior high now and he
still
has sheets that look like comic books.

“Look who’s talking.”

“What?”

“Vannah, you’ve got purple cats all over your sheets.”

“Cats are cool, though.”

“Yeah, well, so is Spiderman.”

We both look at each other. Neither of us wants to be the first to laugh.

It’s usually him. But this time, it’s me. I laugh first, and then, so does he.

I lie back on his bed and kick my feet up onto his sky-blue wall.

“Do you think we can see it yet?”

He shrugs. “Maybe.”

A second later, he’s crawling over me to get to the window.

“Watch it,” I say. “Your pokey elbows are stabbing my ribs.”

He stops and hovers over me. “My elbows aren’t pokey.”

I notice his eyes on mine, and I stop and look at them. I’ve always taken notice of Eben’s eyes. His eyes are the first thing everyone notices when they see him. They’re this perfect shade of light—almost the color of that sawdust at his dad’s lumberyard—against his almond skin.

But tonight, I don’t just notice his eyes; I feel them. I feel him looking at me—as if he’s not just looking at me, but he’s looking into me. It makes me feel exposed somehow. It makes me feel as if he’s just discovered a secret of mine. And a part of me wonders if he has.

But it’s only a moment. And then it’s gone. And then his eyes drop, and he pushes off of the mattress and goes to the window.

I can’t move. For a few seconds, I just lie there, staring at the white ceiling, wondering what secret he took with him.

“I think it’s dark enough.”

His voice forces my attention to him. He’s standing in the window, still looking out of it. I sit up and watch him.

He’s not the tallest boy in our class. In fact, he’s just my height. But his feet and hands are big, like he’s got more growing to do. And his hair is a little longer than most boys I know, even with its curls.

I smile to myself and watch him stare out that big window. I don’t think of other boys like I think of Eben. Other boys are just boys. But Eben is Eben.

“We should go and look,” he says, turning back toward me.

I jump a little and then quickly clear my throat.

“Yeah,” I say. “We should.”

He looks at me as if he just missed something, which he did. He missed the part where a little thought crossed my mind—a little thought that said I just
might
have a crush on Salem Ebenezer.

I stand and smooth out my hair with my fingers, trying to hide my thoughts. “Well, let’s go,” I say.

He’s wearing a smile, but he gives me a funny look. I just ignore it, as I turn and silently trudge out of his bedroom and to his back door.

It’s dark outside when I push through the door. And until my eyes adjust, it’s hard to see. But I keep walking. I know the path to his trampoline by heart. And soon, I reach the metal steps and easily crawl up them.

The black canvas is cool against my skin. I lay my back against the stretched surface. And seconds later, Eben’s lying down right beside me.

“There it is,” I say, pointing at the night sky.

His eyes follow my finger.

“Yep,” he says, “there it is.”

Hale-Bopp.
It looks like a really big star with a long, glowing tail. The news says it’s one of the brightest comets anyone alive has ever seen. It got here in January, and it’s been here ever since. Eben and I spend every night we get just looking up at it because it won’t be here long—that’s what the news says, anyway. Although, I do hope they’re wrong.

“I hope it stays here forever,” I whisper.

“Maybe it will,” he says, never taking his eyes off the sky.

“I could look at it forever.”

He doesn’t say anything. And for a long time, we just stare off into the black.

“Eben?” I ask, breaking the silence.

“Yeah?”

“Will you always look up at the sky with me—like even when Hale-Bopp’s gone?”

He tilts his face my way and meets my stare.

“Yeah,” he says. A little smile plays on his face.

“Even when we’re old—even when we’re like twenty or thirty?”

He nods. “Even when we’re forty.”

I smile, feeling content.

“Vannah?”

I turn my face his way.

“Why do you like the sky so much?”

I return my attention to Hale-Bopp, as my mind flashes back to my childhood.

“Ever since I met you, you’ve been looking up at that sky,” he says.

I lift my shoulders a little.

“My grandma always said the sky feeds the soul,” I say. “She said, every once in a while, you just have to look up.” I shift my face back in his direction. “When I was little, after my grandpa had passed away, my grandma and my sister and I would go out into the backyard at night and lie in the grass and count the stars. My grandpa was my grandma’s world. And I think after he passed, the moon and the stars became my grandma’s world. We looked up at that sky so much that I guess it just kind of became mine, too. It was like my second home.”

He nods, as if satisfied. And then, slowly, our gazes return to that big comet living up there in my home away from home.