A Bird on a Windowsill (4 page)

Chapter Four

Salem 

(Fourteen Years Old)

Day 3,285

“V
annah, you have two choices.”

“Just two?”

“Yes, just two.”

She leans back against her beanbag and kicks up her feet onto the belly of a stair. Every day at three o’clock, we meet under the stairs in the school’s new addition. No one ever comes back here. In fact, I’m convinced people got so used to not having the extra space that they plum forgot it was even here altogether.

But anyway, me and Vannah meet here every day at the same time—have been for almost a year now.

“Okay, what are they?” she asks.

I smile because I like that she likes to play my games.

“Okay, you could live your entire life in the middle of nowhere, completely alone—no family and no friends or...” I pause to think up the next part. I never really think any of this through. “Or,” I start again, “you could live in just one, little room with ten other people for the rest of your life.”

I finish, and I look over at her. She’s staring at her white and gray Nikes and pulling on her bright pink shoe laces.

“Can I leave the room?”

“No,” I say.

She settles more into her beanbag. About six months ago, she showed up here with that ugly, meatloaf-colored bag of beans. And when I looked at her, wondering where she had gotten it, she only shrugged and said Mr. Comb-over had enough and wouldn’t miss it. I shrugged then, too. She was probably right. And either way, I knew that beanbag was staying here. And lucky for us, no one from Mr. Comb-over’s office has ever said a word about it.

“Do I have to live in a room in the first one?” she asks.

I bite the inside of my cheek and think for a second. “No, you can go anywhere in the world. There’s just no one in the world, I guess.”

“And in the second one, I have to live in the same room...forever?”

“Yep,” I confirm. “Forever.”

“The whole world with no one or one room with ten people...forever?” she asks.

“Right.”

“Easy,” she says. “The first one.”

“But you won’t have anyone to talk to.”

She shrugs her shoulders, still playing with her shoe laces, endlessly tying big, pink double knots. “I think I’d rather be free to go anywhere I want than be confined to one, little room for the rest of my life.”

“But who will you talk to?”

She cocks her head in my direction and smiles. “The birds.”

I give her a disbelieving look. “You’ll go crazy talking to birds.”

“Or maybe I’ll turn into one,” she says, letting her foot dramatically fall from the stair and land on the floor with a thud.

She’s looking at me with a scrunched-up nose and a silly, sideways smile. Her smile is distracting me so much that I forget what we’re even talking about.

“Or maybe you could turn into a bird and sing to me,” she says.

I smile, too, and instantly drop my gaze. It’s a funny thought, but I like it all the same.

And when I look up again, our eyes lock.

This has happened once before—when we were in my room, on my bed, about a year ago. I didn’t know what to do then. And I still don’t know what to do now.

She keeps her eyes in mine. I can feel my heart start to race. I’m not sure what’s going on, but I’m pretty sure I don’t hate it. And soon, I feel my chest rise and fall, as every breath starts becoming necessary all of a sudden—as if someone just took away one of my lungs.

There’s something about her eyes, something about her look. It makes me excited, nervous, uncomfortable—but a good uncomfortable.

I panic—just like I did the first time, and I drop my gaze first.

And after a moment, I notice her leaning back into her beanbag.

“Do you think they ever wonder where we go?”

I suck in a bunch of air and then force it all back out.

“What?” I ask, secretly trying to catch my breath.

She laughs easily. She could always laugh easily, no matter what firestorm was brewing around her. Laughing to Vannah was like breathing.

“Every day we disappear for the first fifteen minutes, and no one ever questions it,” she says.

I shrug. We’re supposed to be at Science Olympiad. It’s an after-school program where you make things like paper airplanes and noodle bridges. And at the end of the year, all these schools get together and judge who made the best paper plane or who glued together the strongest noodle bridge. It sounds kind of nerdy, and it probably is, but there isn’t much else to do out here in Wyandot County. So, Vannah builds airplanes, and I build bridges.

“What time is it?” she asks, interrupting my thoughts.

I hesitate for a second before I look at my watch.

“It’s 3:15.”

“You think we should surface?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

She stands up, and then I watch her kick the beanbag a couple times until it’s propped up against the wall and out of sight to any passers-by.

“See you tomorrow?” she asks.

“Same place. Same time,” I echo, out of habit.

She makes her way out from underneath the stairs, staying partially bent until she gets to the end and can stand up straight again.

“Vannah,” I say, stopping her.

She turns and faces me. “Yeah?”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Yeah.”

I don’t say anything at first, and quickly, the silent moments turn awkward.

“What’s wrong with you?” she asks.

Her eyes go to examining me right away, but she doesn’t look worried. She looks more amused than anything.

“I, um,” I stutter.

I feel my courage evaporating, as she narrows her eyes at me.

“Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like I’m that little, scared, stupid boy that wandered up to you that first day.”

Her face softens, and she laughs.

“I’m glad that you wandered up to me that day.”

Her laughter melts into the concrete walls, making the air feel comfortable again.

I smile and fiddle with the pencil I always keep behind my ear.

“You were my first best friend,” she says.

My smile grows a little wider.

“We’ll always be best friends, right?” she asks.

Slowly, my grin starts to fade. I was kind of hoping she’d say we’re something more than friends.

“Yeah,” I mumble.

“Now, what were you going to ask me?”

“Oh,” I say, averting my eyes. “Uh, I was wondering if...if you thought we were going to get a snow day tomorrow.”

Vannah looks lost, almost as if she knew what I was going to say, and it wasn’t that.

She crosses her arms and looks down at her tennis shoes. “Maybe,” she says. “Maybe it’ll snow enough.”

It’s quiet—so quiet, you can hear the voices of kids on the playground outside.

“Eben, is that what you were going to ask me?”

Her question sounds almost sad. I look up, and it happens again—just a moment too long, her eyes in mine.

I shrug. “I was just wondering,” I say, awkwardly examining the gray linoleum tiles at my feet.

“Okay,” she whispers.

I look up. And she keeps her stare on me for a little while longer, and then she smiles at me—just like she does every day, but today, her smile is smaller.

Nevertheless, I smile back—just like I do every day, even though, this time, it’s forced.

And then, she’s gone.

I wait a couple seconds, and then I fill up my lungs with as much air as I can fit into them, and then slowly, I let it all out and feel my head fall back against the wall.

Seconds disappear like raindrops into a pond. I close my eyes. A sigh follows.

“I like you, Savannah Catesby,” I whisper. “I’ve always liked you.”

But when I open my eyes again, there’s only a gray, brick wall staring back at me.

Chapter Five

Salem 

(Fifteen Years Old)

Day 3,650

“Y
ou have two choices.”

She spins around in the padded office chair and faces me.

Strands of her hair come to rest on her chest. Her hair is long now—longer than it’s ever been. And she’s wearing make-up—the kind that makes her eyelashes longer and her eyelids black around their edges. But her eyes haven’t changed. They’re still the same shade of green they’ve always been.

“You can either eat pizza for every meal for the rest of your life or you can eat whatever you want and only drink water for the rest of your life.”

She looks out the window. “Hmm,” she hums, “pizza or water.”

The black and white clock on the wall ticks out a few slow seconds.

“Only water?” she asks, settling her gaze back on me.

I nod. “Only water.”

“Pizza then,” she says, right before she swivels back around and faces the computer screen again.

“Why?” I ask—because her answers have never been more important than her
whys
.

“My grandma’s sweet tea.”

That’s all she says before moving a three of hearts to the two of hearts.

“How much more time?” she asks.

I look up at the clock. “One minute.”

She lets out a puff of air. “Okay, I can beat this game.”

I smile at her determination, even in something as small as a game of solitaire.

In one minute, our time will be over for the day. It used to be that our time was just beginning when that last bell rang. Now, though, since we started high school, it seems as if I only have these few stolen moments with her.

I grab my backpack and sling it over one shoulder just as Vannah puts her last king onto one of the decks and the cards begin cascading down the screen.

“See, told ya,” she says, spinning around.

She’s got a big smile on her face.

“You are quite the gamer.”

She laughs and reaches for her bag, just as the bell echoes its shrill siren out in the hallway.

“See you Wednesday, Eben.”

“Same time, same place,” I say, watching her as she makes her way out of the room.

She’ll head to the gym, just like she does every day at three o’clock now. She plays volleyball on the school’s varsity team. She’s tall and strong, which makes for a pretty good athlete.
Me?
I’m not that tall, and I’m not that strong, and I’m definitely not much of an athlete, yet. My dad says he grew five inches in high school. I kept that in the back of my mind when I signed up for basketball this year. I want to be a basketball star, just like my dad. He holds the third-best scoring record here at this very high school.

But just in case I never hit that growth spurt, I have a backup plan. I play the drums in the school’s band. I like to think that I’m a cool drum player because I have the beginnings of a garage band. Well, it’s really just me; Dillon, who can sort of play the guitar; and Josh, who can only play one scale on the bass—so I’m not really sure that counts—but we call it a band, nonetheless.

But anyway, just like every day, Vannah looks back right before she escapes into the hallway, and she gives me her smile that I’ve come to expect.

I smile back, and then just like every day, I follow after her. But I don’t get three steps into the hall when I look up and see her. And instantly, I realize that today isn’t going to be
just
like every day.

She’s stopped at the gym doors, and she’s talking to a guy.

Is that Rylan Tennessee?

I watch them. She tilts her head back—almost as if she’s laughing at something he said. Then she tucks her hair behind her ear.
Vannah doesn’t do that.
I keep watching her. She touches his arm.

What is she doing? And what in the hell is Rylan Tennessee doing?

He’s so close to her face.

Is he whispering something in her ear?

I stop right there in the middle of the hallway. And right there, my blood starts to boil. I never knew what that expression meant. I never could make hide nor hair out of it...until now.

People walk by me. Some brush up against me. Others just stop and stare at me. But I don’t care because I’m watching someone else get way too close to Savannah Catesby.

My Savannah Catesby.

My Vannah.