chapter seventeen
Chris’s neighborhood started celebrating the Fourth early. The people up the street were blasting mariachi music, and every now and then, there’d be the whine and fizzle of fireworks from the middle of the street. The air smelled like barbecue and sulfur and the kind of wild abandon you can only have on holidays. It wasn’t completely dark yet, but it had finally cooled down enough for us to be outside for extended periods of time. Dylan, Chris, and I were in his backyard lying on the trampoline, which floated on a sea of discarded toys and failed gardening attempts. I was in the middle, wishing I could bottle up the feel of their warmth, a thereness I wouldn’t have come September. Dylan’s long hair was tickling my arm, and every time Chris laughed, his foot would knock into mine. We elbowed and slapped each other, snorted with laughter. It was hard to imagine I could have this with new college friends. Already these moments were few and far between, now that Dylan was a mom.
She looked over at us. “Do you remember when we saw that shooting star?”
“It was awesome,” I said.
Chris nodded. “True that.”
Sixth grade, Halloween. I was Van Gogh (which nobody got and everyone thought was weird), Dylan was a sexy witch, and Chris was a ninja. We’d been lying on the trampoline, just like we were now, but holding hands because we’d heard a freaky noise in the neighbor’s backyard. Then we saw it—the flash, a yellow-whiteness that streaked across the sky like it was trying not to be seen. As if we’d caught angels playing tag.
Now we lay there, older but maybe not wiser, staring up at the sky and watching dusk crawl in for the night shift.
“Haven’t seen one since,” Dylan said, her voice flat.
I closed my eyes. “Nope.”
We lay there, that memory and all the years that followed hovering above us.
Chris sat up. “Speaking of falling stars: did I tell you guys I’m taking an astronomy class next semester? It’s gonna be so badass. There’s actually a ton of math, which most people don’t know—they think it’s just stargazing, but there’s this whole lab component where we—”
Dylan held up her hand. “Is this going to involve big, scientific words? Because if it is, I’m gonna go pee.”
I was tempted to join her. Every time Chris mentioned school, I felt like I was outside the window of a toy shop, looking in at all the stuff I couldn’t have.
He stood and started jumping, soft at first, then harder. “What’s that? Your bladder’s full? You have to pee? Wow, you must be really uncomfortable right now.”
“Christopher! What the hell?” Dylan yelled. “Grow up. Jesus.” But she was smiling as she reached out and tried to grip the side of the trampoline.
Chris laughed and spun in the air as he lifted himself higher and higher. Our bodies jolted off the trampoline’s thick net, and I gasped, spreading my arms wide, like Chris could catapult me into the sky. I closed my eyes, for once loving the sweet terror of not knowing where I would land. Floating in the air, crashing back down, Dylan beside me, the net always under me. I gave myself up to the free fall. No rules or boundaries or barriers. The three of us let go and flew.
There was a thunk, barely heard over the squeaking of the springs, as Dylan’s oversized purse slipped over the edge of the trampoline. Makeup, loose change, and a few of Sean’s pacifiers spilled onto the grass beneath us, breaking the spell.
“My bag!” Dylan shrieked.
“Chill,” Chris said. He stopped his jumping and landed on the grass. “Damn. You carry this much crap around all the time?”
Dylan looked over at me, and I held up my hands. “You guys leave me out of it.”
She scooted over to the edge of the trampoline and swung off. “I gotta pick up Jesse soon, anyway. You guys coming or what?”
Fireworks at the creek. I used to go with my parents when I was little, sitting on my dad’s shoulders as the sky exploded all around me. Later, it became an annual thing for Dylan, Chris, and me. It was the one Creek View party I actually liked.
But at one point or another, everyone from town would wind up there—which was exactly why I wouldn’t be going tonight.
I shook my head, my good mood gone. “You guys go ahead. I should probably get home to check on my mom.” I hoisted myself off the trampoline and slid my feet into my flip-flops.
Dylan grabbed my hand. “She’s just gonna be in her room. Or with Billy. Ugh. Come on. I’m an independent mama tonight! I need me some Skylar time.”
Which was worse: Josh and the redhead or Mom and Billy? Decisions, decisions.
She did a pouty face, and when I sighed, she knew she was winning me over. “Please? You’ll feel better, seeing all those pretty lights.”
“My dad bought a bunch of sparklers,” Chris said. He gave me a semiparental look. “And I distinctly remember you agreeing to one night of fun.”
I stared up at the lavender sky, my stomach pinching at the thought of being cooped up in a trailer that smelled like stale cigarettes and old beer. If Mom even let me in.
“I can’t believe she kicked me out,” I said, the anger flaring up again.
“Dude.” Chris put his hands on my shoulders. “One night of fun.”
Screw her. I didn’t deserve this shit.
“Fine,” I muttered. “But this party doesn’t really qualify as fun.”
Dylan threw her arm around my waist and gave me a viselike hug. “That’s the spirit.”
We drove to the creek after we picked up Jesse at the dairy factory where he worked, filling up gallons of milk for eight to twelve hours a day. Chris and I sat in the back of Dylan’s car, and as we sped along the highway, I’d catch myself watching the way Jesse looked at Dylan. How he’d grab her hand and kiss it when he thought no one was looking, or the way she’d lean into him when he was talking, like he was the only person in the world. It wasn’t like they were perfect—they had epic arguments. Still. It was like I was suddenly aware of this parallel universe made of iridescent bubbles and stardust.
“Disgusting, aren’t they?” muttered Chris. This was our bit, giving Dylan and Jesse shit for acting like an old married couple. Chris called it self-preservation.
I laughed, but my heart wasn’t in it. “Yeah.”
Dylan turned onto a narrow dirt lane bordered by cornfields and parked among the jumble of cars at the edge of a large clearing, her headlights slicing through the sudden darkness. Fields surrounded us on three sides, with the creek at the far end, boxing us in. I could just barely see its inky water, slithering beyond a wall of brush. The only light came from the fireworks people were setting off and a sliver of moon that played hide-and-seek behind a charcoal cloud. Smoke from the fireworks settled over the land like a thick mist. Everything—the moon, the fireworks, the fields—had an otherworldly beauty, and I shivered, greedy for these bits of loveliness the universe was throwing our way tonight.
It was the usual Creek View crowd, and as we got out of the car, people called out to us or raised bottles of beer in greeting. I let Dylan be our official spokesperson and kept my eyes down or unfocused. I wouldn’t let myself look for him. If he was with her, making out in his truck or lighting fireworks, then fine. Whatever.
Chris handed me a sparkler. “Ready?”
I nodded and he brought his lighter close to the tip. It lit and sparks began to fly, kissing the night. I twirled, and the sparkler spit light around me in fire-colored swirls. I heard the sound of my laughter, and for a second, I was ten years old again, running around with my dad.
Dylan and Jesse and Chris lit their own sparklers, and we sort of skipped around until they died out. The air filled with pops and screeches, fire and color coming from all directions. It was magical, those sudden bursts of rainbow light. I longed for my razor blade and shimmery paper. Or maybe colored chalk and black cardboard. I wanted to put this down on paper so it wouldn’t end.
I caught myself scanning the crowd, and I closed my eyes. Pining away got you stuck in a dark bedroom
at the back of a trailer, with a bottle of Prozac and some cheap-ass boxed wine to keep you company. I had friends. A scholarship. A job. I needed to wake the hell up.
Wake. Up.
“Okay, guys, stand back!”
I opened my eyes and watched as Chris set a firecracker on the hard-packed dirt. As soon as he lit it, he darted toward us, like it was about to sting him. The flame sparked, then the firecracker spun on the ground, faster and faster, letting out a high-pitched scream while it shot out hot, bright light. White, yellow, pink. I had to cover my ears, it was so loud.
That’s when I saw Josh, walking away from the field. Alone.
He looked pissed off, his face dark and stony except for the shards of light cut into it, sparks from the fireworks. He stumbled over something but kept going, his back rigid.
And suddenly the redhead and him not kissing me in the rain didn’t matter—I had to make sure he was okay.
“Be right back,” I said to Dylan. I didn’t know if she’d heard me, but I took off after him.
“Josh!” I called.
He seemed to slow for a second, then went on, walking faster. The air filled with the sound of dozens of firecrackers being shot off at once.
Someone grabbed my hand. I turned around.
“Blake, let go—”
He shook his head, his mouth set in a thin line. “He just wants to be alone. Trust me.”
Blake let go of my hand, and I looked back at Josh. All I could see was a dark outline walking into the shadows along the creek.
“But—”
“He’ll be okay. When he’s like this, best thing to do is just let him go off.”
“When he’s like what?”
Blake shoved his hands in his pockets and shrugged. “Like Josh. The new Josh.”
“What happened?”
He threw his hands up. “He said the security here was shit, and we shouldn’t be exposed like this, and I was all, ‘Dude, it’s cool,’ and then he just bolted. I tried to follow him, and he told me to fuck off. His words, not mine.”
How many Joshes were there? I was starting to lose count.
Blake waved at someone in the darkness, then turned back to me. “Alexis is here. Gotta go, or she’ll kill me for talking to a girl that’s not her.”
He gave me a sheepish smile and backed away, and I knew he was thinking of his party and how clingy he’d gotten after one too many beers.
“See you,” he said.
“Yeah.”
I waited for him to leave, then headed off in the direction I’d seen Josh go. It didn’t matter what Blake said; it was almost like I didn’t have a choice.
It must have been hard for Josh—I had two perfectly fine legs, and even I kept stumbling over roots and rocks and whatever else was on the ground. The clouds had shifted, bathing everything in bright moonlight, but it was still difficult to see more than a few feet ahead of me. The creek was to my right—I could hear it—but the path Josh had taken led away from it, toward the train tracks. I’d almost given up when I saw an opening between two large bushes.
I pushed through, and I was suddenly at the edge of a field beside the train tracks. Josh was leaning against a run-down picket fence, staring at the tracks, his arms crossed, his face hard. I could still hear the firecrackers in the distance.
“Josh.”
His head whipped around. “Who’s there?” he asked, his voice harsh.
I took a few steps forward. “It’s Skylar.”
He peered into the darkness, and when he saw me, he looked away. “What are you doing here?”
I couldn’t tell if he was angry or annoyed. Definitely not happy to see me.
“I saw you take off and…” And what?
Following Josh had been an instinct. For weeks, it was like my body was always aware of where he was. But everything about him right then said he didn’t want me around. Probably wished I was the redhead.
He turned and placed both hands on the fence, leaning into it.
“Are you okay?” I asked. Just go. You’re the last person he wants to see.
“I’m fine.”
Another firework went off, and he flinched, just slightly. The only reason I noticed was because I was making a point to. The moonlight was bright enough that I could see the tendons in his arms popping out as he gripped the fence.
I leaned against it, close, but not too close. “What’s wrong?”
Josh shook his head.
“Can I help? I mean, is there something you need or—”
Another firework went off, and he let out a frustrated grunt and hit his fist against the fence. “I’m so fucking tired of this.”
“This?”
He swept his hand over the sky, the fields. Everything. “This.”
I should go. Just … go. Go. But I couldn’t move.
“Why are you here, Sky?” His voice was low, accusatory.
“I don’t know,” I whispered.
Our eyes met and something flickered in his, but before I could figure out what it was, there was a sudden, loud burst of fireworks—the air exploding with sound and light. It was as if everyone in the clearing had thrown their stash into a pile and lit the whole thing. Fear lashed across Josh’s face, just for a second, and he turned away from me, staring out at the dark field on the other side of the fence with the intensity of a German shepherd. I reached out and grabbed his hand.
“It’s okay,” I murmured.
He looked at me, and I kept my eyes locked on his, and we stood like that, facing each other, my hand gripping his or his gripping mine—I didn’t know because I think both of us were terrified at that moment, but for different reasons. When the fireworks finally stopped, he nodded and let go.
“Thanks,” he said. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath. “I’m such a fuckin’ pussy.”
“Right. Because pussies volunteer for the Marines during a war.”
He snorted. “There was a signing bonus.”
“That is so not why you joined.”
Josh turned to me, his eyes searing. “Are you with him?”
It was so unexpected, his question, that all I could do was stand there for a second, stunned.
“With … who? What are you talking about?”
But I knew, of course I knew. Was he jealous? Something fluttered in my chest, and I bit back a wild desire to smile.
“Garcia,” he said. Market. Chris hugging me in his truck.
“No.” I stepped closer. Just a few inches between us now.
A muscle in his jaw twitched, and he crossed his arms, gazed up at the sky. In our silence, I could hear the sound of the rain pounding on the Paradise pavement, his voice close to my ear, singing. Some dance to remember, some dance to forget.
There was another firework, a red one that bled onto the sky, and he stared at it. I could see its fire reflected in his eyes, like dozens of arteries. Then it was quiet. Neither of us said anything for a bit, and then I couldn’t take it anymore. I needed to know.
“That girl outside Market … is she, like, part of your group?”
“Not really.” He ran his hand along the fence. “She’s just this girl I’ve hung out with a few times.”
“Oh.” So this wasn’t the first time. Ouch.
He looked at me and his voice softened. “She’s not … I mean … you know. It’s nothing.”
Relief. Crazy, ridiculous relief flooded through me. Which meant I needed to leave, just get back to Chris and Dylan as fast as I could because it shouldn’t have mattered who he dated. I began edging away, but there was a faint train horn in the distance, and Josh beckoned me closer.
“Come here,” he said.
I followed him over to the train tracks. “Is this the part where you tie me to the tracks like in those old cartoons?”
He shook his head. “You have one twisted mind, Evans.”
I smiled a little, and he leaned over and reached for my hand. “Check this out.”
His skin was warm, a
nd one of his fingers had a Band-Aid wrapped around it. I wanted to know why—like if he’d cut himself or did he have a blister or what? Somehow it mattered.
He put my hand against the metal rail. “Feel that?”
We were only touching for a few seconds, but there was a hum in the pit of my stomach. In the spaces between my ribs. At the tips of my ears.
The metal shivered under my fingers, vibrating from the weight of the train. “Yeah.”
The train sounded its horn again, and the vibrations got stronger as the wheels moved closer. Josh looked in the direction it was coming from, his whole body tense.
“This is the part where we move far away,” I said, my voice tight.
But we didn’t. In the moonlight, I could see the shadows under his eyes, the way he looked ready to spring onto the tracks.
“Josh, you’re freaking me out.”
Maybe I was panicking, I didn’t know, but I hated the way he looked—like he’d gone far away and I wouldn’t be able to reach him. Not then, not ever. I grabbed his arm, and he looked at me, confused, like he’d forgotten I was there.
“I used to jump these all the time. Remember, I told you?” he said.
I nodded.
His eyes slid to the tracks. “The key is to be ready. You step back and let the first couple of cars go by, get the rhythm. Spot an open boxcar with your name on it. Getting in or falling on your ass—it all happens in a matter of seconds.”
I could feel the train in my chest and thought about how dying on these tracks would be the epitome of a small-town death.