Night Sky (26 page)

I thought about the dream I'd had, and the way I'd felt when I had seen Sasha and all that blood. And I let myself get upset.

Her face, with those wide, little girl eyes looking to me for help. But I'd been able to do nothing.
Nothing
. Those little arms. She'd been waving for me, imploring me. And I couldn't save her.

My heart pounded. I thought about Sasha and stared at that stupid toilet and thought about the water turning around and going back down, taking whatever was blocking the pipe with it. And I let my heart beat really fast.

And then…

…eff me if the toilet didn't make a huge burping sound before it just sucked all the water down, flushing it quietly and efficiently, as if it had never been clogged.

“Ha!” I exclaimed.

Okay, so Dana probably wasn't talking about fixing the plumbing when she'd told me that my
gift
would come in handy. But it was a pretty convenient bonus.

“Skylar?” Mom called again.

“Fixed the toilet,” I called back, still breathing heavily.

“What?” Mom yelled.

“Nothing,” I hollered. And then I smoothed down my hair in the mirror, grabbed my backpack, and raced out the front door.

—

Of course, I'd forgotten that track tryouts were today.

But the oversized orange-and-black banner stapled across the front of the school gym was more than happy to remind me that not only did I have a mother who was insane, but that I too was not normal, and would never be normal again.

Girls
Winter
Track
Tryouts! Bring sneakers and a smile! 3–5 p.m.

GOOOO, TORNADOES!

I scowled at the banner as I passed it yet another time after science class.

“Hey, what's your problem?” Cal said, speeding up to match my pace.

“Sorry,” I said as I turned around and waited for him. “I'm pissed off.” I fussed with my ponytail and nodded toward the banner. “Track tryouts are today.”

Calvin didn't need to take more than a few seconds to do the math. He said, “No way can you join track. Your life would be in danger.”

“I know.” I sighed dramatically.

“That sucks,” he said sincerely. “I'm really sorry.”

I looked at him.

Like me, Calvin would never be able to join track. But unlike me, he couldn't run record-breaking speeds or move his boom box without touching it or read Milo's mind. Unlike me, he was stuck sitting in a wheelchair, destined for an early grave.
And
unlike me, he was not complaining.

“This morning, your mom called my mom about that cooking thing,” Calvin told me. “I'm signing up to take a class with you.”

“Oh my God.” I winced. “I'm so sorry.”

“No, it's actually really great,” he said. “My mom talked yours into letting us take a class called Twentieth Century Film, instead. It's held over at the community college, in their auditorium.”

I must have still looked blank, like I didn't understand the really-greatness of what he was telling me, because he added, “Their really large auditorium where they don't take attendance, so they don't know who shows up, and they screen really long movies that we can stream and watch online at a more convenient time so no one will know we're cutting class? And the first class is Friday—tomorrow night—and my mother not only negotiated us an extra two hours to go out for ice cream to celebrate your birthday after the class ends at ten thirty, but she got your mom to give permission for me to drive you there and back.”

I had to repeat it because it was just too amazing. “So, tomorrow night, I can not only get into your car with you without having to hide, but I don't have to be home until twelve thirty?”

“Double bonus: first movie on their list is
Rear
Window
,” Cal told me with a grin. It was a movie we'd already seen—one of Hitchcock's thrillers, with a hero who was in a wheelchair. “So when you get home and your mom goes,
How
was
the
film?
”

“I can tell her that it rocked,” I finished for him, and we high-fived. “I am so buying your mother flowers.”

“She likes tulips,” Calvin told me.

“Oh, by the way? We need to get back in touch with Dana and Milo,” I told Calvin. “I had another dream last night.” I glanced at him. “And? I fixed my toilet this morning.”

Calvin looked at me like I had just grown a second nose. “Um, that's cool?”

“No, I mean, I fixed it with telekinesis. Isn't that kind of ridiculous?”

Calvin scratched his chin and stared at me. “More than kind of,” he said, “but I guess I should start getting used to it. It seems like you and Dana both come with buckets of ridiculous. I'm talking craploads of ridiculosity.”

I raised an eyebrow.

“It's a word,” Calvin assured me.

“Anyway,” I said as we walked to band practice, “I was thinking about it, and I figured it might be really important. I mean, if I can move both solids
and
liquids—that's a really cool gift to have.”

“Yeah,” Cal replied. “You should work on moving gases too. Take the oxygen out of the killer's room or something. That'd be awesome.”

“Wow!” I exclaimed. “I hadn't even
thought
about that!”

Calvin frowned. “Girl, I was kidding.”

“I'm not!” I said, clapping my hands. “Consider the possibilities!”

“Okay, don't go all mad scientist on my ass, pretty please,” Calvin said, and his words stopped me. “Maybe you should consult with the boss before you start any experiments. Call me crazy, but I actually enjoy respiration.”

He was still laughing, but I felt a little sick. “You don't really think I would…” I couldn't say it.

“Whoa,” Cal said, and his tone shifted so quickly that I touched his shoulder, concerned.

“What is it?” I asked.

“Whoa,” Calvin said again, even more quietly. “Check it out.” He pointed at the entrance to the band practice room.

At first, all I saw was a group of faculty and teachers, including Diaprollo and Jenkins. The principal and vice principal were also standing there, as well as a few other staff members I didn't recognize.

I almost asked Cal what he was talking about, but then Mrs. Diaprollo took a step to the side.

“Holy crap!” I exclaimed.

“Holy crap is right,” Cal murmured, his mouth hanging open.

Holy crap indeed.

Garrett Hathaway was in the middle of the circle. The teachers were bending down to talk to him.

And the reason why they were bending down was because Garrett was seated. He made eye contact with Calvin for a very brief second, and then quickly looked away. But Cal didn't stop staring.

The teachers stepped back, and then Garrett pushed himself toward the band room, just in time for Cal to catch up.

“Hey, Garrett,” Cal said, nodding to the quarterback as he rolled by. “Nice wheelchair.”

The rest of the school day was basically a blur.

And understandably so. It was pretty freaking difficult to concentrate after seeing Garrett Hathaway, of all people, in a wheelchair.

I do remember the color of Garrett's face when Mr. Jenkins worked to clear a larger space for the quarterback in the front row of band practice. Moving everybody's music stands three feet to the left was a tedious process—and it involved a lot of stares and whispers from the rest of the class.

Of course, I was equally focused on my menstrual cramps—which were back in full force today, which was beyond annoying.

As Chinese culture class—my last of the day—dragged on, I looked at the clock. The bell was going to ring any second, which was a good thing, because I needed a tampon switch soon.
Sooner
than soon.

The bell finally rang, and I grabbed my backpack and booked it out of class, speed-walking toward the nearest girls' room.

Was it possible for anything to go right these days? A little reprieve from the relentless drama and mishaps would have been heaven. But that was apparently just a pipe dream at this point in my life.

I went into a stall and slammed the door shut and inspected the damage.

It was bad.

I thought about tying my sweatshirt around my waist, which would have been great if I hadn't left my hoodie at home that morning.

I dug into my backpack for a tampon—and came up empty.

And, of course, I didn't even have a lousy dollar to feed to the community dispenser, and the old-fashioned machine didn't take debit cards. Only coins.

“No!” I wailed miserably.

I heard the bathroom door open. Peering under the crack at the bottom of the stall, I caught a glimpse of familiar white sneakers. Kim Riley. Had to be.

I heard Kim cross to one of the sinks and turn the faucet on.

“Hey,” I called out impulsively. “Is that you, Kim?”

She turned off the water, listening and no doubt wary of who might be calling her name. There were a lot of mean girls in our school.

“It's me,” I told her. “Skylar. From band? Hey. I'm in a little bit of a bind here…” I yanked my pants back up before opening the stall and poking my head out to offer her an embarrassed and toothy smile.

She knew exactly what had happened. “Bummer,” Kim mumbled as she tossed her paper towel into the trash can with rather extraordinary aim.

“Yeah,” I said. “You wouldn't happen to have an extra tampon…?”

Kim shook her head. But she dug in her baggy, ripped jeans and pulled out a tiny Yoda-shaped change purse. She extracted a dollar coin from its open mouth, stuck it into one of the slots of the dispenser, and turned the knob.
Clunk
. It was the sound of salvation.

“Oh my gosh, you're a lifesaver,” I said as she handed the tampon to me. I grabbed it and shuffled back into the stall.

“Here,” Kim said, digging into her backpack before I closed the door. “Take these.” She tossed me a pair of old, wrinkly gym shorts.

“Oh, thank you!” I exclaimed. “I'll get them back to you, A-SAP.”

“Eh,” Kim said, slinging her backpack over her shoulder and trudging out of the bathroom. “They're too small. Keep 'em.”

With that, she was gone.

Okay, so sometimes life didn't completely suck.

I tugged Kim's shorts on, grateful that I'd chosen to wear sneakers today. Platform sandals and gym clothes would've been quite the fashion statement. I carefully rolled up my jeans and stashed them in my bag.

Then I jogged out of the bathroom and into the hallway, throwing my backpack over one shoulder. I picked up my pace as I rounded the corner—and collided straight into an extremely distraught-looking Jenkins.

“Skylar!” Jenkins said, adjusting his tie as I took a step—more like a leap—back from his chest.

“Sorry, sir,” I replied. “I didn't mean to bump into you.”

“No, it's all right,” he said, glancing uncomfortably at my outfit. “Will you… Is that… Are you really…?”

Jenkins didn't provide a verb or otherwise end his sentence. I waited for a moment, because he didn't make a move to get out of my way, either. But he didn't say another word.

Awkward.

“Ooo-kay,” I said, glancing around him anxiously. “Well, I guess I'd better get going…”

Hopefully Cal was still waiting for me in the parking lot. But I'd disappeared as soon as school had ended, and it had taken me at least twenty minutes to clean up. He probably thought I'd taken off for more training with Dana. Which meant I was doomed to walk home.

“Where are you headed in such a hurry?” Jenkins finally asked, his tone just a bit strained. He stared at my sneakers as if they could answer his question, before looking up into my eyes. “Going for a run, it looks like…?”

Where I was going was none of his business. “I've got some stuff to take care of. Is that a problem? I mean, school's over and all.”

“Calvin is looking for you!” Jenkins blurted out. “He says it's incredibly urgent. You mustn't waste time!”

“What?”

Jenkins nodded adamantly. “It's imperative that you find him now!”

Calvin? Urgent? That didn't sound good.

“Where is he?” I asked.

Jenkins looked absolutely miserable. “I'm not entirely sure, but he left in a huge hurry, and I think it would be best if you were expedient in finding him.”

I turned and started to run toward the parking lot.

“Not
that
expedient,” Jenkins called out as I left. “Don't run in the school!”

“I'm just walking fast,” I hollered back, even though I didn't slow down.

—

When I got to the parking lot, Cal's car was nowhere in sight, as I'd expected.

“Crap,” I said, and pulled my cell phone out of the front pocket of my backpack. I swung my bag over my shoulders again and began to jog as I dialed Cal's number.

It went straight to voice mail.

“Crap. Crap!” I picked up my pace. Coconut Key Academy wasn't too far from our neighborhood, but I didn't want to waste a moment.

I tried his phone again. Voice mail.

It wasn't like Cal to shut his phone off. With a growing sense of urgency, I began running.

I picked up my pace. My backpack bumped irritatingly against my back with every step I took, but I chose to ignore it. I needed to get to Calvin's house fast.

In a few minutes, I'd made it onto Peachtree Lane, which meant I was close to Cal's. I tried his number again.

“Quit blowing up my phone!” Cal exclaimed after the first ring.

I stopped running. “Cal? Oh my God, are you all right?”

“Girl, I'm trying to download a movie on my phone right now, and you're messing up the connection!”

My breathing was ragged as I choked back impending tears. Dammit. These days I always felt as though I was about to cry.

But he was okay! He was okay!

“Sky, what's going on?” Cal said. “Where did you go after school? I looked for you, but you were ninja-stealth after band ended.”

“Calvin!” I couldn't help it. I lost it again and burst into tears. “I love you!”

There was a pause. “Sky, you're freaking me out.”

“I just… You're my best friend, and if something happened to you, I don't know how I could live with myself!”

“I'm fine,” Cal said. “What made you think I wasn't?”

“Jenkins,” I said, walking as I talked. “He told me that you needed to talk to me, and that it was urgent. He made it sound like you were in danger.”

Cal made a scoffing sound. “Man, Jenkins? I haven't talked to him about anything.” He laughed a little bit. “I mean, yeah, I asked him if he'd seen you, but… Dude, the way you sounded, I thought there was some serious emergency. Are
you
all right?”

“I'm fine,” I said, rubbing my eyes. “These, um, allergies are getting to me.”

“Pollen's really bad this year.” Like a good friend, Calvin politely cosigned my BS. “Come on over. We'll watch a movie.”

“Okay,” I replied quietly. “I'm almost there anyway.”

“Hey,” Cal added, “have you heard anything from Milo or Dana?”

“Nothing yet,” I said.

“After you get here, if they haven't appeared—if you're up for it—we can see if your homing skills are working today.”

“Okay,” I agreed.

I sniffled back the last of my stupid tears as I pushed the cell phone back into the pocket of my backpack. Embarrassed, I glanced around to see if anyone had witnessed my little outburst. A few cars drove by. An elderly lady watered some plants. A little old man walked toward me with his dachshund. The dog's bedazzled collar shone in the sunlight.

I smiled politely as I walked past them, hoping that I didn't look as if I'd been crying. I worked to slow my heartbeat by breathing deeply…

And just as I turned onto Cal's street, I caught a giant whiff of that sewage smell.

“Oh,” I said, the odor hitting me like a right hook to the nose. I covered my mouth as my stomach churned, looking around wildly. But I was alone.

Except, all of a sudden, I
did
see someone. He was at least twenty feet away, and he'd been hidden behind the bushes in Mr. McMahon's yard. But as I watched, he pushed himself to his feet and began stumbling toward me.

He was bald, with a head that seemed almost to shine in the afternoon sunlight, the pale crown contrasting with the weathered tan of his face, as if, until recently, it had been covered with thick hair. He was also wearing clothes that were filthy and stained with what looked like…blood?

“Oh my God,” I managed. And just as quickly, the sewage smell vanished.

But the man didn't. He was still trudging in my direction. “Hey!” I called out as the man continued to stagger down the road. He lifted his head at the sound of my voice.

And, even with the newly shaved head and the ragged clothes, even from so far away, I knew exactly who he was.

I stopped in my tracks and held out my hands in a gesture that I hoped was nonthreatening. “Don't run! Please, don't go anywhere! It's going to be okay!” I tried to keep my voice steady. “Everything is going to be okay, Edmund.”

I've heard people talk about experiences that seemed like a whirlwind because they happened so fast, and I never really knew what they meant until that moment when Edmund Rodriguez looked up at me with those blurry eyes and that bloodstained face. Because I didn't get the chance to spit out one more word before five cop cars rounded the corner with sirens blaring and loudspeakers booming.

“Down on the ground! Don't move! On the ground! NOW!”

I hit the ground
fast
, my hands sprawled out on either side of me. The street looked curious so close to my cheek, and I spit out bits of sand that had gotten stuck to my mouth when I'd landed.

But someone scooped me up in their arms as effortlessly as if I were made of feathers and carried me to the side of the street. I looked up and saw a cop in full uniform staring down at me. “You're okay, miss,” he said.

I wanted to tell him that I knew that already—that I was much more worried about Edmund—but once again there was no time for words.

Because Edmund wasn't listening to the cops. He was still lingering, as if in a trance, in the middle of the street with his hands raised slightly, while the cops continued to holler through their crackling speakers.

“Down on the ground! NOW!”

And then the policeman who'd carried me to the sidewalk set me down abruptly. He joined the other nine officers, who all drew their weapons and pointed them directly at Edmund.

“You've got to listen to them, Edmund,” I whispered. And there's no way he could have heard me, because the cacophony from the cars' sirens and the numbing feedback from the speakers was so overwhelming. But he did raise his hands a little bit higher before bending down and landing on one knee, and then the other.

The policemen rushed him all at once, taking him down to the ground where he landed on his face with a
thunk
.

And I hit the sidewalk too, my face again against the concrete, and it was the weirdest thing—as if my bones had turned to mush or as if my muscles had completely ceased to work. I couldn't have pushed myself up off the ground if my life depended on it. And yet I wasn't afraid. I was watching Edmund, who was looking back at me, his eyes hollow and empty. It was like his soul had completely died.

And I knew this was my chance to ask him about the old lady in the white van, to ask him who'd killed his daughter, and I also knew that I wouldn't have a chance to ask him more than one question before the police took him away.

But when I opened my mouth, it was like back in the car when I'd said “Diner,” or after the accident in the school parking lot, when I'd rattled off that list of Garrett's injuries. And the words I spoke were “Where's Sasha?”

As I heard what I said, as a part of me thought
No, what a waste of this chance to get answers
, I was hit by the briefest flash of a vision—of Sasha clutching the very teddy bear that was missing from her bedroom. Unlike my other recent visions, her face wasn't bloody, and she wasn't terrified. Instead, she was sleeping, exhausted, her eyelashes long and dark against the softness of her tear-streaked cheeks.

As my vision cleared, Edmund let out an exhausted breath, his body like a lax piece of plastic as the cops molded his hands behind his back and clipped cuffs onto his wrists.

Still, I waited with almost unbearable excitement, certain that he was going to tell me something important, something vital, something that would prove that I wasn't crazy or naive or even just guilty of wishful thinking, and that Sasha was unquestioningly still alive and out there, somewhere. Somehow…