This Is Where It Ends

by Marieke Nijkamp

  I shrug. “It’s fine. I’m fine.”

  She’d never understand. No one does.

  I’m counting down the minutes to seventh period, when the music room behind the stage is dark and deserted. In the shadows, I’ll be alone.

  I’ll be safe.

  Sylv opens her mouth, but before she can say anything, a girl from her class appears at her elbow—Asha, I think. She used to get into arguments with my brother before he dropped out. I can’t—I don’t want to keep up with all of them. They will only bind me to this place, and it hurts so much to care.

  Asha clings to her AP U.S. History textbook. Under strands of rainbow-colored hair, her mouth quirks up in a half smile. She whispers something. Sylv tenses before she laughs, her voice rising above the crowd. “Contrary to popular opinion, I’m not looking forward to midterms.”

  Asha rolls her eyes. “You have nothing to worry about.”

  Sylv blushes, but Asha’s right: Sylv’s a straight-A student. The teachers adore her. She couldn’t flunk an exam if she tried.

  Asha turns to me, and that’s my cue. I plaster on a fake smile. “Midterms aren’t until next week. And I had better things to do than study over break.”

  “Philistine.” Sylv sighs. “How do I put up with you?”

  Because I’m yours.

  The buttons on Asha’s bag clink against each other. She flicks a purple lock of hair out of her face. “No stress? Lucky you.”

  Lucky me. Before I can say anything, Sylv beats me to it.

  “So what did you do?”

  “Nothing.”

  Around us, the drone of voices becomes louder, more agitated. The first few moments after Trenton’s speeches are always a mess, with everyone tumbling over each other trying to get out, but this is far more chaotic than usual.

  A teacher pushes through. Probably to see what the holdup is.

  Asha grins. “All of break? Absolutely nothing? C’mon, spill.”

  Sylv’s eyes are soft and questioning, and I nibble on my lip. I don’t want to let her down. “I found an old video recording of my mother’s first Swan Lake in the attic this weekend. It was her audition for the Royal Ballet. She wasn’t much older than me.”

  It’s not salacious news, so I expect Asha to be disappointed, but she leans in closer. “Was it good?”

  This surprises a smile out of me.

  Opportunity High is a county high school, with students from all the small surrounding towns. Asha isn’t one of us. She isn’t Opportunity, where everyone knows everything about Mom and me. She isn’t part of our home turf of familiar street names, churches, and shared secrets.

  In Opportunity, everyone knows Mom danced around the world at every great company: London, Moscow, New York. She saw more countries than all of us combined. She told me about her travels and made me restless. For how much that memory of her hurts, watching her dance never does. “She was amazing.”

  Sylv’s shoulder touches mine. Her warm smile anchors me. It’s as if all of Opportunity falls away. We’re lost between making a home and escaping one. It won’t be long before our secrets choke us, before she finally realizes I don’t deserve her and she leaves me too.

  • • •

  CLAIRE

  After another lap, the crisp air becomes refreshing, though I’d never admit that to Coach. Winter ought to stick to December, to Christmas, and leave us be. We need as many hours as we can find to prepare for our next meet if we want to keep up our winning streak.

  My JROTC drill team will start practice again soon too. It’s only the youngest cadets’ second year of training, and they’re still finding their stride. I have enough on my mind without the frost.

  I glance sideways to find Chris grinning at me. “What?”

  “You’re brooding.”

  “Am not.”

  He snorts.

  “How was your break?” We ask the same question at the same time, and I laugh.

  “It was weird not having Trace home for Matt’s birthday, even though he’s, quote, a high school student and all grown up, so why do we worry so much?” My baby brother tries not to show how much this cold weather is hurting his joints or how much he misses our sister, who is far away in a foreign desert. All three of us, we’ve lost our flow. “We had a few minutes of video chat after you left.”

  “How is deployment treating her?”

  I tread carefully. “Her patrols are uneventful. Just the way I like it.”

  Chris nods. His father, Lieutenant Colonel West, is preparing for his seventh tour. We both know what it’s like to have part of your mind on the other side of the world, wondering what’s happening in the sand and unforgiving heat. It’s for the pride—and expectation—of our families that we serve.

  Even me. And I would. If only I could be like Tracy, who is everything I want to be, everything I should be—brave, resilient, certain of herself. Everything I’m not.

  “At least Matt hasn’t had any fevers,” I say after half a lap. It was the highlight of our winter break. Ever since Matt started at Opportunity, he’s been doing better. The lupus still affects his joints, and most days he needs his crutches. But he’s disguised them as lightsabers and claims they’re for dueling. Jedi against JROTC. “He loves having his friends here. It made the start of the new year less daunting.” For all of us, I add silently. It’s good to know Matt’s not alone.

  “Will you talk to him about joining our cadets next year?” Chris asks. “To keep up tradition?”

  “Of course.” This conversation is another familiar rhythm, and I settle into it.

  “Good. He still has three years. Opportunity wouldn’t be the same without one of you in JROTC.”

  I muster a smile, though it probably resembles a grimace. Next year. When I’m gone. When Chris is far away. When everything will be different, regardless of whether there’s a Morgan in Opportunity’s JROTC.

  “Are you looking forward to visiting West Point?” I ask after we turn to the long side of the track.

  Chris shrugs. He was always a no-brainer for any military academy. We celebrated when he got his letter of assurance and his congressional nomination. It’s everything he ever dreamed about.

  But today he seems preoccupied too. On this first day of our last semester, the entire senior class is counting down to graduation. One school break left. One more summer before adulthood. Before we broke up, Tyler told me the best part of high school was getting out ASAP. Still, I wish it didn’t have to end yet. It’ll be hard to say good-bye to our team, to our cadets, to each other. Life will be grayer without seeing Chris all day, every day.

  So we run. Not just in circles around the track. We run toward all that is waiting for us. We run together while we still can.

  • • •

  SYLV

  Autumn lingers. Her gray-and-blue eyes are conflicted, but those rare moments when she talks about her mother are like the dawn, and when she opens up, she is the sun. I don’t want to see her hurt, but it’s still better than watching her erect walls around herself.

  My hand twitches by my side, itching to hold Autumn’s. But I remain motionless so I won’t spook her.

  “She performed ‘The Dying Swan,’ which seems ironic now. She was young and careless and so…so fragile. I don’t remember her like that. She always seemed so strong to me.”

  Only a few years after that audition, Joni Browne became principal dancer at the Royal Ballet. She was unconquerable, like Autumn was when she and her mother were together.

  Around us, people grumble and wonder why we’re not outside yet, but I want to hold on to this moment between classes a little longer.

  “Do you know what you’ll dance yet?” I prompt.

  Asha perks up. “Oh, you’re a dancer too! Are you auditioning already?”

  Autumn glances at me sharply. She rar
ely talks about dancing anymore.

  Don’t worry, I mouth. Asha’ll understand. She’s good people.

  Autumn’s been training in the music room for months—and I’ve been sending out her applications. Her father may hate her for it, but I’d be a lousy girlfriend if I didn’t see how much it meant to her. It’s her chance out of here, and she deserves to be happy. Even though she can audition at schools closer to home or wait until she’s a senior, she has her sights set on New York.

  We both did once.

  I stuff my hand in my pocket, and my fingers curl around the letter of admittance I’ve been carrying around for almost two weeks now.

  “I’m auditioning for Juilliard,” Autumn says quietly. “But I’m still deciding on my solo.”

  “My piano teacher always says there’s no truer music than feeling,” Asha shares.

  She told me she wants to travel the world before she majors in music. She and Autumn could be friends if they only knew each other a little better. If only Autumn knew a lot of people a little better, maybe she wouldn’t always be alone.

  “He says music should have heartbreak and happiness, storm clouds and stars, as long as there’s emotion. I think that’s true for dance too.”

  Autumn lowers her guard and smiles in slow motion. “I’ve been thinking about dancing an original composition instead of something that’s been choreographed for others. Before—when I still had lessons—Mom and I talked about it.”

  She never told me that. It’s like the two of them are in their own universe, where everything around them glistens with the possibility of creation. And I’m left with bleak Opportunity and nothing more.

  I inch toward the aisle. “There you go. You show them who you are and they can’t say no.”

  Autumn half turns and grins, sending butterflies through my chest. “Tease.” She sobers. “Have you heard from Brown yet?”

  A freshman bumps into my elbow, and I let go of the letter. “No, not yet.”

  Because what can I tell her? That I have the ticket out of town she’s been longing for? That I don’t even know what to do with it? Before Mamá fell ill, I would’ve leaped at this chance. But how can I leave now?

  Autumn would never understand.

  She winces in sympathy. Asha grimaces.

  In the row below ours, a flock of freshman girls giggle. Beside them, a boy frantically flips through a textbook while one of his friends rolls his eyes. All around us, people chatter about their breaks, classes, midterms.

  If anyone wants to understand Opportunity—truly understand it—this moment between Principal Trenton’s speech and class is the right time. The week has started, and there’s no escaping it, but we start it together.

  And soon—hopefully—we’ll have fresh air to breathe.

  Except we’re all moving, but no one gets out.

  To: Sis

  I know you’re at practice, but don’t worry so much, okay? :) I like going to school. And I’m a lot tougher than I look.

  To: Sis

  (PS: The speech was totally the same. You could do it and no one would know the difference.)

  Chapter Three

  10:04–10:05 A.M.

  AUTUMN

  Asha got under my skin. Sylv doesn’t understand dancing is more than a dream, more than a career path—it’s my heartbeat. Asha gets it.

  I wish I knew more about her, about her music. Before I can ask, we reach the aisle. The mass of students surrounds me and huddles closer with every step. Backpacks bump into me, shoulders touch. I’m not sure why no one is leaving the auditorium. There are too many people here.

  My fingers curl around the charms on my bracelet: a silver ballet shoe and the handmade Venetian mask Mom brought back from Italy one year. The green paint on the mask has faded and the edges are worn off, but the familiar shapes are soothing and help me find my balance.

  It’s fleeting.

  Asha gives me a shrug and a smile. “Good luck with your auditions,” she calls, squeezing through the crowd. And she walks away.

  Everyone does in the end.

  I take a step back and wait for the crowd to pass me.

  I have no friends here but Sylv, no family but a brother who disappears on me and a father who despises me. Only dancing keeps me alive. It will free me. And I can’t let anything get in the way of that.

  • • •

  CLAIRE

  The track opens up before us. After another lap, Chris’s mood brightens. He’s always been able to do that—throw off his worries like a winter coat. “Time to run. Have fun, Sarge.”

  I smirk. “Commander.”

  He winks and, as if he didn’t just run a mile, pulls ahead, leaving me to stare at his back. Sure, he’s a long-distance runner, so he’s not even halfway through his rounds. But it only hammers home how ridiculously slow I am today.

  That changes right now.

  When I pass Coach again, I give him a small nod, and he punches the buttons on his stopwatch. I pick up the pace.

  We’ve been working on this strategy since last season—build up my schedule so I can keep a stable pace through the better part of the race and still have enough left in me for a final half-track sprint.

  Everything around me disappears. Every thought of Matt and Tracy. The burning pain in my calves. The nagging worry of managing drill meets and JROTC. My three teammates, who are each on their own stretch of the track, working on their own personal records.

  Everything disappears but the cadence of my feet and the cold air on my cheeks.

  When I’m running, I can finally breathe.

  I sprint across the finish line and look over to see Coach grin.

  The bleachers beside the track are covered in a white haze. At the steps near the finish line, someone has scratched WE MAKE HISTORY into the wood.

  A smile tugs at my lips. Those three words are Coach Lindt’s take on our school motto. His Any Given Sunday motivational speech. And it works because we have made history, and I don’t doubt we’ll be competing in the state championships for the seventh year in a row.

  This is my team. This is where I belong.

  Here and now, we are everyone.

  • • •

  TOMÁS

  When the file doesn’t give me any answers, I shove it back and slam the drawer shut for good measure. Pointless. Ridiculous. Just plain stupid. Tyler’s reenrolling and my sister’s terrified, but I do not know why. There’s absolutely nothing I can do to make her feel better.

  “How about we skip the rest of the day?” Fareed leans against the door frame, one foot propped up on a visitor’s chair. He uses the tip of his folder to push a strand of hair out of his face. “I hate Mondays.”

  I drop the role of protective brother and shrug back into my guise as Opportunity High’s most infamous student. It fits me like a well-worn glove. “Dude, we all do. Mondays are the worst. But I’m working on my tough-guy image. If I don’t suffer with the rest of you, it’d ruin my rep.”

  “C’mon, admit it. You’re just afraid Trenton will tell your grandfather. What’s the worst he can do? Beat you up for cutting? You know the old man doesn’t mind.”

  I stretch. “I guess.”

  The thing is, I am afraid. When Fareed moved here, I was Opportunity’s favorite bad boy. No one actually told me that, but I can only assume they were blinded by my brilliance.

  This year, we share that dubious honor, and only Far knows I’ve been tiptoeing the lines. Admittedly, a day without detention is like a day without sunshine. Or rainbows or kittens or that sort of crap. But I do my homework. I maintain shockingly decent grades. Principal Trenton and I have come to an agreement: I don’t break the rules too much and don’t skip my classes. I don’t get caught pulling stunts, like breaking into school records—even for my sis, though she’s worth the risk. I behav
e and Trenton won’t call home to Granddad.

  Not because I’m worried about his anger or his disappointment. Hell, I’m head and shoulders taller than he is; he’s not that intimidating.

  I’m afraid he’ll tell Mamá. And I don’t want her to remember me like this.

  • • •

  SYLV

  My hand grazes Autumn’s wrist as I move down the row of seats to try to see what’s going on at the back of the auditorium. She hates it when we touch in public, but these past couple of months, she’s been the only one keeping me standing. She’s so set on leaving Opportunity that I think she’ll tear me in two when she does.

  I wish I could leave too. I wish I could stay.

  The students around me are motionless, and the buzz has deepened to a murmur of unease. Something’s wrong. What’s happening? Locked. The doors are locked.

  One of the cheerleaders grumbles that this isn’t the time for jokes. A few seats away from her, a freshman laughs nervously. At the end of every aisle, students crowd around the double doors that would normally swing open but today don’t budge. Near the stage, someone shouts that the emergency exit is locked too. We’re locked in.

  The bell rings.

  One set of doors to my left opens. Fluorescent light filters in around a lone figure. For a moment, I think it’s my twin brother, finding yet another way to prove he is the least interested, most interesting student at Opportunity. It’s the kind of prank he’d pull, locking us all in. It’s something I’d have done with him. Once.

  But blond locks peek out from under a black knit cap. Strangely, that’s the first thing I notice—the unruly blond hair that frames that too-familiar face. And with it come the memories. A wild grin. A dangerous hunger. The nervous whispers around me may as well come from my own mind. Not now. Not today. Not yet.

  No, please.

  It takes me a second to process his raised arm.

  At the top of the aisles, everyone pauses and all eyes turn toward the shadow in the doorway. The word “gun” floats all around me before the crowd silences, stills. I don’t feel panic or shock. There’s just a sense of defeat.