Mayday (9 page)

THE THOUGHTS OF C. RAINE

Hell is empty and all the devils are here.

William Shakespeare

I WALKED INTO SCHOOL THINKING ABOUT THE LAWS OF RETALIATION.
Teens master them. I lived by them. I wondered if, in my attempt to put Jude in his place, my note had ratcheted up the stakes for Crow and Adele.

Even in death I was doing damage to myself.

But tonight, all would reverse. I'd make up for everything I'd done.

My few days back at Midway had seen me transitioned from regular courses to extended stays in the special education room. Like Crow, I “struggled” through every subject, stumbled over every word.

“Now Shane, I
know
you can read this.” Ms. Jounquil placed a few lines before me.

I slowly formed the word. “The bot—”

“Boy.”

“The boy and has—”

“His. The word is his.”

“The bot and his toy . . .

Ms. Jounquil threw up her hands. “How is it that a child—”

“Teen.”

“How is it that a teen as verbally literate as yourself—”

“You. As literate as you.”

“This is pure insanity!” She rose, took a cleansing-breath walk around the room, and plunked down across from Kayla, who by all appearances truly could not read.

“We've reached our last day without Crow.” Ms. Hurls, another para with an unfortunate name, pulled up a chair. “It will sure be a lot more interesting when she returns.”

I closed my book. I always liked Hurls. She was a no-nonsense, no-trying-to-save-the-world, punch-in/punch-out, type of assistant.

“Did you know”—she chuckled and folded her arms—“that Crow toppled her desk onto my lap the first day she was here?”

Sure do.

I reached for a pencil and doodled on the blank sheet before me. “Do you recall what you said before she did it?”

Ms. Hurls scrunched her face, and then shook her head. “That was a long time ago.”

“You said, and I quote, ‘Crow, I've heard you were coming. You're Dr. Jude Drayton's daughter. How lucky for you and Adele. To have a man like that work you over? You probably get free personal therapy whenever you need it.”

She stared at me. “I did say something like that. Crow remembered that? She told you?”

“Yeah, but listen.” I set down the pencil and looked her in the eye. “She went home and thought about the whole deal. You couldn't know. She felt bad about the toppling.”

“Sure she felt bad.” Hurls patted my back, paused, and squinted. “Think she did?”

I sighed. “I know it. According to her, you're one of the good ones here. She told me herself. She told me about everyone. Say, I need a pass to the office.”

Hurls, her face aglow, glanced at Ms. Jounquil and slipped me a note. I left the room, clear on what I would do on this, the day before Mayday.

A quick run down the hall brought me to chemistry.

This is going to be painful.

I closed my eyes and pushed into the room. Heads swiveled, and gazes fixed on me.

“Mr. Jenkins?” I stepped in and closed the door behind me. “I come with an apology.”

Jenkins didn't bother to glance up. “You come in the middle of a lab. Find me after class and I'll be much more forgiving.”

“Normally I would, but there may not be time. This apology is from Crow Raine, who is unable to be here today.” A deep hush fell over the room. “Crow is terribly sorry she strapped glass beakers to your chair. Though she did not act alone, she feels bad for her part. The fact that she drew blood makes it worse. It was very unclassy, and she's very sorry.”

I felt a loosening deep inside, as if a painful tether had been cut. I felt lighter. No wonder the world dumped their problems on Lifeless.

Mr. Jenkins frowned and removed his spectacles, placing them carefully on the front lab table. “To my knowledge, I will not be blessed with Crow's presence until next year.”

“Oops. That's right, that's eighth grade.” I backed out of the room. “Just apply that apology to next year and keep your head up, er, rear up, next Halloween, okay?” I slammed the door on a roomful of giggles and headed for phys ed.

If my witness in Lifeless's room did anything, it showed me the healing power of confession. Not the stuck-in-a-box confession to a snoozing priest, but the gut-wrenching kind. Seeking forgiveness runs deeper than words. Forgiveness is supposed to hurt.

It's a fierce act of the will.

I slipped into the girls' bathroom and started a list of my sixth- and seventh-grade sins. As the paper filled, it became harder. My list of major sins stretched beyond fifty, and they involved almost every teacher at Midway. I would omit the kids. I did not have the ream of paper required for those.

I stepped out of the bathroom clear on my goal.

“Shane.” Basil leaned against the wall. “Thought I'd find you here.”

I peeked at the hall clock. “You just did.”

Basil hated closed sentences that left his smooth tongue no room to wriggle.

“And where are you headed now?”

“It's not yours to know. I'm working for Crow.”

He crossed his arms and thought a moment. “Then it is my business.”

Did you hear that? That not-so-subtle claiming? The result of an entitlement mentality run wild.

“She's too good for you.” My words gave me pause.
Is that really true?
“You don't own her, Basil. You'll never own her.”

“I don't want to.”

I exhaled hard and stormed nearer. “Then what do you want from her? You've been a barnacle on her since you met. You must want something. If you could tell her anything . . . If she was standing right in front of you and you could . . . speak into her soul . . . what would you tell her?”

He winced. “So I'm speaking into her soul? Really weird, Shane, but I'll play along. If she was here I'd, um . . .”

I raised my eyebrows.

“Fine. I'd tell her I don't know what the hell is going on inside her brain or inside her house, and I don't know how to ask about it any clearer. And I don't get why she won't let me in. I mean, does she think I invite Mel to my mom's? She knows everything about my parents, and all I know is that hers treat her like garbage. So I worry. And wipe that look off your face, Shane. I worry 'cause . . .

“'Cause what?”

“'Cause she's special, dammit. There, I said it. I know I don't act like it, but there it is.” His breath slowed and evened. “And why I told you that, I have no idea.”

“You know, when I met you, I thought you were an idiot. Now I think you're a bigger idiot.” I smacked him on the shoulder.

He winced and rubbed the tender spot. “That a good thing?”

“Yeah.” I knuckled him on the other shoulder. “A very good thing.”

I pushed by Basil, a smile plastered on my face, and headed for the first stop on my list. Thirty teachers. Sixty major acts of contrition. I had been a middle school beast, but oh, the lightness of coming clean.

Basil followed like a poodle, and when at last I emerged from Mrs. Watson's general music, it was finished. I ripped up my sheet and stuffed it in my pocket.

“Basil, you will never have the courage to do what I just did. You'll always be smooth, and you'll always be an ass.” I stepped nearer. “Here's a suggestion. Open up to Crow, or stay away from her.”

“What about you? Do I need to stay away from you?”

“What is it about guys? So flavor-of-the-month.” I stepped back. “Forget you ever knew me.”

I turned and left the school. I needed to be home early tonight. The day had come.

• • •

“We have trouble.” Crow rocked on her bed. “Mom left for the night.”

“With Jude?”

Crow shook her head. “After you went to school, Mom flipped. She said she needed time to think. She'll be back tomorrow morning.”

That's not how it went down the first time. Mom was here on Mayday. Of all the nights, on
this
night, she needs to be here.

“I have a bad feeling.” Crow stared out her window. A late-afternoon thunderstorm boomed the sky, and the air hung heavy. Either Shane had asthma, or panic—thick and palpable—souped up my lungs.

Adele drew quietly in her sketchbook. “Crow, I think this is turning out pretty good. I'll need a story for this one.”

Crow peeked at me. “I'm coming, Addy.” She hopped down and sat cross-legged by her sister. Addy rested her head on Crow's shoulder, and I cried . . . tears that made no sense. I came back to help Addy, but as I watched the sisters, my heart broke for Crow. She gave up her life—her carefree childhood, her passion to write, her rightful place in this family—all she sacrificed for duty and love. She was more than a hero. I mean, I was. Once again, it was so clear.

I turned, as sappy emotion wouldn't sit well with Crow. Behind me, Crow began.

“That's an impressive boat. Okay, once upon a time there was a ship, sailing on the Endless Sea.”

“Who's on it?” Addy jumped in. “I need the characters.”

“You'll find out. The crew was a bunch of scoundrels. Pirate types. Years ago, in the darkness of night, they attacked the boat, set its rightful captain onto a deserted island, and sailed out into deep waters.

“It was a harsh crew, except for one maiden, beautiful and kind. Truth told, she wasn't a pirate at all, but the child of the captain.”

Addy interrupted. “Make a happy ending, just this once.”

“Happy ending. So young was the maiden that she could not remember her father's fate, and soon her gentleness won over the crew. Even the cruelest man treated her kindly. But of those on board, her closest friend was not one of the pirates, but a troll.

He lived belowdecks with the rats. Only the maiden visited him. Only the maiden spoke to him. Only the maiden loved him.”

Crow paused, and Addy spoke. “Did he love her back?”

“Oh, yes. He loved her back.”

Thunder rumbled in the distance, and Crow looked up. “A storm, furious and violent, swept down from the East, catching the ship unawares. The boat experienced a lashing: the mast broke in two; the hull split; and the men scrambled for lifeboats.

“But not the maiden. She climbed into the hold, where the troll sat, half covered with water. ‘Come! Quickly! I won't leave this ship without you.'

“Coaxed on, the troll rose, and together they climbed onto the deck. But the ship listed, and the two tumbled. They were alone. The lifeboats and crew were gone, and all they had was each other.”

“You said this was going to end up all right,” Addy said.

Crow nodded. “I did promise that. As they huddled together now near death as they had in life, a lightning bolt struck the ship, the hull broke into pieces. They dropped toward the sea, and bounced.”

“Bounced?”

“Bounced. Like we did on the trampoline. Bounced. But not high. They'd fallen into a raft.”

“It's the dad, the captain, right?” Addy squeezed Crow's arm. “The dad came back for them.”

“No, not the father.”

“Then who was it? Who saved them?”

Crow glanced up at me and smiled gently. “I'm not sure. That, perhaps, you'll find out in part two.”

“I'm never . . .” Addy swatted Crow with the sketchbook. “I hate it when you do that.”

Crow rejoined me on the bed.

“A raft?” I asked.

“It fit the story.”

I took Crow's hand as another crack of thunder shook the house. “We need to sleep in the tree house tonight.”

“Addy still gets freaked by storms. She'll never go.” Crow's jaw tightened. “No, the three of us will be okay in here. I've brought food. Nobody leaves the room until morning.” She raised her eyebrows. “Help me set it up.”

We shoved Crow's bed in front of the door, lugged the dresser behind it.

“What are you doing?” Addy asked.

“Uh. Special rearranging for the night.” Crow forced a smile. “We're all going to sleep in your bed.”

Addy eyed her mattress, and then quieted. “It'll be cramped.” She peered toward the window. “But I'm not too excited about this storm.”

“This is why we're going to stay close.” Crow glanced at me, and I tried my best to look confident. “It'll pass. They always do.”

Eight o'clock turned to nine and then ten. Outside, the storm intensified. Rain clanked off the gutters, and peals of thunder rattled the window.

We huddled on Addy's bed. She had long ago fallen asleep between us. Crow looked down at her, then over at me. She reached out her hand. “I'm glad you're here.”

“Me—”

The doorknob clicked and turned.

“This is no good,” I whispered. “There's nobody to hear us.”

“Open the door, girls.” Jude's rough voice pushed in. “The storm is bad. You're welcome to sleep in my room if you're afraid.”