Sourcewell Academy

by S T G Hill

  “No,” he said.

  “Why not?”

  “Because it costs money and I’m not giving you any,” he replied. He then stood up and wiped at his mouth with the front page of that day’s Times, before crumpling it into a ball and tossing that into the sink.

  “Then I’m going out,” she said, also standing.

  “No.”

  “Why not?” she said, “It doesn’t cost you anything.”

  She stared up at him, even while one of her hands went unconsciously to her jeans pocket, where the now neatly folded letter rested.

  “Because I told you so,” he said.

  “Then I’ll just go anyway.”

  With that, she turned and started for the door. Then he grabbed her by the wrist. He may have been a skeleton of a man, but he was strong.

  His bony fingers dug into her and she hissed through clenched teeth. It was her left wrist that he’d grabbed.

  Immediately, he wrenched it back and forced her to splay her fingers out. Her pinky was shorter than it should’ve been. Because there was no fingernail on it, no fingertip. Only a smooth bit of skin after the last knuckle.

  Ellie usually hid it. Shoved her hand in her pocket, wore gloves even if it was too warm for them. Really just doing her best to keep from calling attention to it.

  But Mr. Fichtner, once he discovered it, loved to make her look at it.

  “Because you don’t want the rest of your fingers to end up like this, do you? Mean people live out there, girlie.”

  And in here, she thought. She didn’t say it out loud because she didn’t want him to squeeze any harder.

  “I can take care of myself!” she said.

  He smiled. For how little he cared about personal hygiene, his teeth were straight and white. But small, very small. So much like his eyes. Mousy or rat-like.

  “Good one,” he said.

  She felt all hot. Not like sweltering summer heat, but like an actual fire smoked and sputtered, its flaming licking against her ribs.

  “Let go!” she said, and wrenched at his grip.

  She wished her wrist was like the handle of a hot skillet left on the stove too long.

  Mr. Fichtner was strong, and she didn’t actually expect it to work.

  But it did.

  He sucked in a breath through his tiny teeth and yanked his hand back, staring at it like he’d just grabbed the handle of a hot skillet by accident.

  Ellie didn’t care. Ellie ran.

  She got almost all the way down all those steep steps before Mr. Fichtner stumbled his way after her, bellowing for her to get back inside.

  She lost him a block up Brooklyn Ave, just past Prospect.

  Free now, she decided that she wanted to go to the theater anyway. Maybe grab an old ticket stub out of the trash and hope the usher didn’t look too closely at it.

  Most of all she wanted to get away from that cramped apartment.

  About a block later she also realized she wanted more to eat. She had a few singles in her back pocket, enough for a Butterfinger or something similar up at the 7-Eleven.

  The closest one was just off Atlantic, and she had to pass beneath the tracks. On the way, she read that weird letter a couple more times, thinking about the way that Mr. Fichtner had insisted that the paper was blank.

  Had that been another joke? He liked to laugh at his own jokes, and he certainly hadn’t then.

  The 7-Eleven was a corner place, the sort with gas pumps out front. It smelled like burned coffee and old hotdogs.

  She went inside and squinted against the buzzing fluorescent light. Instinctively, she pushed her left hand into a pocket.

  The clerk, a chubby young guy whose face looked all shiny and oily beneath the light, watched her as she went over to the rack with all the chocolate bars on it.

  Ellie was so aware of that stare that she thought she and the clerk were the only ones in the store.

  Then the doorbell dinged again. A scruffy guy in a torn-up army surplus jacket came in. Ellie recognized him as one of the homeless guys who hung around the area.

  A pretty harmless one, too. Once she’d dropped a book out of her bag walking to school and he had run up to her to give it back.

  “This look like the food bank to you?” the cashier said.

  Ellie knew that tone well. That instinctive dislike and dismissal.

  “I have money…” the hobo said. He pulled out a wad of wrinkly singles. A few pennies fell out of his fist and scattered across the shiny floor.

  He dropped to his hands and knees right away and snatched at them.

  “I don’t care. It’s time for you to leave,” the cashier said, “So go on. Go find an alley or something for the night.”

  “Just let me get my money!” the hobo said. He reached beneath a stack of magazines to grab an errant penny and when he shifted back his shoulder connected with one of the legs. The whole thing threatened to topple over, but didn’t.

  The cashier came out from behind the counter, “That’s enough! Just get out; you’re not welcome in here!”

  Ellie sneered. Why did people have to be like that to each other? That man didn’t deserve to be treated that way.

  The cashier went over to the glass door and held it open, shooing the hobo out with his free hand.

  While he did that, Ellie grabbed a Butterfinger and a Twix and shoved them into her pocket, watching the cashier the whole while.

  Then she turned back to the shelf and saw him.

  A guy stood in the next aisle. A tall, dark-haired guy maybe a year or two older than Ellie.

  He’d seen what she’d done.

  She froze.

  Then the guy winked at her and turned away. For a couple moments, Ellie was still too stunned to figure out what had just happened.

  “Can I help you with something?” the cashier said to her, walking back over to the register.

  “Actually, I have a question,” the mystery guy said. He came out from the aisle to stand in front of the wicket.

  Then he waved at her, his hand hidden below the level of the counter. Get out now, that wave said.

  Ellie got out.

  Back on the street, she caught up to the hobo as he limped his way down Atlantic.

  “Hey! Wait up, I think you dropped something,” she said.

  “Dropped?” he replied, squinting down at her.

  She pulled the Twix out of her pocket and offered it to him. His frown flipped to a smile and he accepted the Twix from her.

  “Thank you,” he said.

  She watched him walk away before turning around. She wanted to get a few blocks closer to the parkway before starting over towards the theater.

  But not before pulling the Butterfinger from her pocket and tearing the wrapper open. She bit into it, feeling triumphant and celebratory.

  Someone fell in beside her, his thumbs hooked casually into the loops of his khakis.

  “So half that’s mine, right?”

  It was her co-conspirator from the 7-Eleven. The tall, dark-haired guy.

  He smiled when she looked at him and her heart lurched against her ribs. Normally, Ellie didn’t really care about guys. They usually didn’t care much about her, either.

  She shoved her left hand safely into her jeans pocket and out of his view.

  But this guy was different. He looked totally at home with himself, totally at ease. There was mischief in his eyes and in his grin.

  He has nice cheekbones, she found herself thinking.

  Then she snapped herself out of it.

  “Why? For not snitching on me?” she said.

  His smile became more of a lopsided grin. “I prefer to think of it less as not snitching and more as helping out.”

  She raised an eyebrow at him, “The only reason I may have needed any help, which I’m not saying I did, is because you distracted me in the first place.”

  He shrugged and held up his hands in a defeated gesture, “So let’s go with not snitching, then.” He kept one
hand upturned and held it out to her.

  Ellie looked at it and considered. Finally, she took one last, large bite of the Butterfinger and then handed the remainder over, the wrapper crinkling as it went from her fingers to his.

  Their hands brushed and a tingle went down Ellie’s spine. She found she couldn’t help but look at him and notice that goofy but charming grin. And that jaw and those cheekbones.

  When the touch ended that weird fixation faded as well. Not totally, but enough for her to have to blink and shake her head.

  “Do I know you? Do we go to the same school or something?” she said.

  “No to both,” he replied. Almost daintily, he pulled the rest of the Butterfinger out of its wrapper and turned it around to reveal the un-chewed end. He took a bite out of this and didn’t speak again until he’d swallowed.

  “You got a letter today, didn’t you?” he said.

  Her breath caught. She actually stopped walking for a second, lagging behind him. Her hand went to the folded letter.

  “You’re from…” she started, then, and she wasn’t certain why, she lowered her voice, “You’re from that Sourcewell place?”

  His grin turned to a smirk, “I’m Caspian by the way.”

  “Ellie,” she said, irritated that he wouldn’t answer her right away, “So you’re from there?”

  They’d walked about three blocks at this point. Caspian stopped in front of an old pawn shop, its window display full of glittering fake watches and a dozen different TVs each showing a different talking head.

  “No. Somewhere better. More suitable,” Caspian said.

  He took another bite of the Butterfinger and then offered the remaining nub to her.

  Ellie waved it away. Her heart felt like it wanted to escape her chest and her knees had this weird, watery feeling to them.

  “More suitable? What does that mean?”

  “Better for you than Sourcewell. Look, Ellie, I know this is all really weird and confusing…” he leaned back casually against the glass and pushed his hands into his pockets. He reminded Ellie of a cocky tomcat, relaxing wherever he pleased.

  He looked up and down the street like he was bored and wanted to get out of there. “Just come with me.”

  “Where?” Ellie said.

  Part of her wondered why she hadn’t already left this guy. She didn’t like hanging out with other people. She didn’t like guys who walked around like they owned the place.

  And yet… there was still some of that tingling running up and down her spine. It felt good. Being around Caspian felt good.

  But it also didn’t.

  She shook her head again, but the fuzziness in her mind didn’t clear away.

  “You’ll find out when we get there, trust me. This is the easy way,” he said.

  Ellie blinked hard. It was like waking up in a dream and then trying to wake up for real, but being unable to.

  She rubbed her face with both hands.

  “What?” she said.

  But Caspian didn’t reply at first. When she looked at him again, she saw him staring at her hands.

  Her breath caught. He can’t see it!

  She started dropping her hands, but he reached out and caught her left one.

  Right away that weird tingling came back. Redoubled, more like it. She felt drawn to Caspian. Couldn’t take her eyes off him, even.

  He held her left hand in his upturned right. His thumb ran slowly up and down the length of her pinky, brushing against the smooth skin that marked the abrupt end of that finger.

  “What happened here?” he said.

  “I… I don’t…” she said. She never told anyone about it. Hated talking about it.

  But she wanted to tell him. Or thought she wanted to, anyway. It was like she’d run into a huge spider’s web, and the more she pulled back against it the more it stretched, but she couldn’t break free.

  “Just come with me. It’ll be fun. You’ll like it there,” Caspian said.

  “Where?” Ellie replied. Her voice sounded foggy and far away.

  And now that she observed that, her vision also seemed distant. Like looking the wrong way through a telescope.

  “With me. You’ll see,” Caspian said.

  His palm burned against hers. The sort of heat that should’ve hurt but didn’t. Ellie frowned down at their hands. They almost seemed to glow.

  Not almost. They did glow, as with some inner light.

  At least, she thought they did. Why can’t I see right?

  “I shouldn’t,” Ellie said. Even getting those two words out took so much effort that her knees shook.

  Some small voice told her that just saying yes would feel much easier. That everything would be nice and easy if she just went willingly with Caspian.

  “Ellie… Come with me. We both know you want to,” Caspian said.

  That weird heat in their hands grew hotter. The kind of hot that burned and lit things on fire.

  Say yes. It’s so easy. Just three letters. Y-E-S. One syllable, that inner voice cajoled.

  She blinked and gave her head a little shake, but it did nothing. Then she looked up from their glowing hands to Caspian’s face.

  He looked even better than before. Clear eyes. High cheeks. A mischievous smile that promised endless fun.

  Her lips parted. She pulled in a little breath.

  Just one syllable, she thought.

  Then a guy wearing a gray business suit, black leather briefcase gripped in one hand, ran into her.

  He’d been walking down the sidewalk talking to someone on his cellphone, looking over his shoulder for a cab. Not paying any attention.

  Caspian and Ellie’s hands parted. Something snapped with a sound like thunder. Except the sound wasn’t outside but in.

  “Hey, watch where you’re going!” the businessman said, waving his briefcase at her while she stumbled a few steps away.

  “Sorry,” Ellie muttered.

  “Ellie! Come on,” Caspian said.

  “I can’t. I… I have to go,” Ellie said. Her stomach twisted itself into knots. She wanted to leave. She had to leave. “Sorry, I can’t.”

  She turned and stumbled her way down the sidewalk.

  Caspian continued to lean against the pawn shop window. He put his hands into his pockets. Before it slipped in, his right hand glowed faintly.

  Though no one but he and Ellie could see it.

  ***

  The nearest theater was over on Linden. Even though Ellie walked quickly, it would’ve still taken her more than an hour to get there.

  Some great time to just get lost in herself after running away like that.

  But then she hadn’t expected to be stumbling her way down Atlantic with one hand pressed to her stomach.

  She kept glancing over her shoulder, eyes wide and darting about, searching for Caspian.

  If he was around, he wasn’t showing himself.

  Our hands glowed! What was even happening?

  She ducked into the mouth of an alley so that she could lean against the wall. The bricks, choked with loose mortar, poked into her back.

  Her hand didn’t look any different. She held it up and turned it slowly. Flexed her fingers until the knuckles cracked.

  That tingle in her spine also disappeared.

  Two deep and shuddering breaths later Ellie told herself that nothing weird had really happened. That she’d simply imagined the light and the heat.

  And in spite of it all, she still wanted to know where Caspian wanted her to go with him. Why was he so insistent?

  Then Ellie even considered going back to the apartment at the top of the crappy old brownstone. Mr. Fichtner would yell at her, yeah. But then he’d settle down and she’d be in a familiar place.

  Instead she got on a city bus and stayed on it until she got within a few blocks of the theater.

  By the time she stepped off onto the sidewalk, the sun had sunk so low that long shadows stretched down the boulevard.

  But in the
theater the smell of warm popcorn revived her. The kernels popped in their baths of hot oil until they pushed at the steel plates holding them in and the cashiers dumped the fresh popcorn into the display cases.

  That and the long lines of people waiting at the concession stands.

  Long lines were good. It meant lots of ticket tearing by the ushers. Not too much inspection.

  She went over to the closest bin, already overflowing with straw wrappers, mostly empty popcorn bags, and plastic nacho trays crusted with an orange, cheese-like substance.

  A quick glance around showed that no one seemed particularly interested in the mousey girl standing with her hands shoved into her pockets by the garbage.

  Ellie grabbed a handful of crinkled tickets and turned towards the big LCD TVs that made up the menu and show times above the concessions.

  The trick was to find a ticket for a show that was either still going on or had just ended.

  With so many people she figured it wouldn’t take too long.

  Her luck held on the third handful of tickets extricated from the garbage. There was a ticket stub for a showing of some horror flick that had ended about 10 minutes earlier.

  Ellie rubbed at her eyes a bit to make them puff up.

  Then she went over to the usher, who stood by his little podium, and got in the line. He tore the tickets for a couple in front of her.

  He was a young guy, shocks of sandy hair poking out from beneath his baseball cap. He looked bored.

  Bored was good.

  “Next,” he said.

  Ellie swallowed hard and sniffled a little as she took little, uncertain steps towards him.

  The usher took the ticket from her outstretched hand. He frowned down at it.

  “Uh, this just ended.”

  “I know! I forgot my phone in there. Can I please go look?” Ellie said.

  She hoped her eyes looked good and wide and innocent.

  “What’s it look like? I can get someone to check for it while they clean for the next show,” he said.

  He grabbed the radio from the podium. It chirped about Auditorium 3 being clean.

  A line started to form behind her. Someone juggling three different fountain drinks and a large popcorn grumbled about the hold up.

  “I can just run in and look. I know where I was sitting,” Ellie said.