What Happens Next

by Claire Swinarski

  Blair let me hang out with her and Caleb, sometimes. One night, a month before prom, they’d taken me to a movie so we could visit Jade at work. She gave us huge buckets of popcorn for free, because even Jade loved Caleb. Blair hadn’t eaten a bite and reminded us that the movie theater shouldn’t be allowed to call the butter flavoring butter because it’s so fake. But Caleb and I had had competitions during the previews to see how many kernels in a row we could each catch in our mouths, while Blair narrated the entire thing in a sportscaster voice.

  I wondered if he even remembered that.

  “Hi!” I said, surprised. “Blair’s not here.”

  He grinned. “Yeah, I know. I actually came to see you.”

  “Me?” I suddenly realized I hadn’t washed my hair in three days, but whatever. It was fine. No big deal.

  “Yeah, you. Or Jade or your parents. Are they here?”

  I shook my head. “Mom’s grocery shopping and Jade’s with her friends. Dad’s just in the office.”

  “That’s okay. I can talk to you. Can I come in?”

  I opened the door wider and Obi took that golden opportunity to dash outside, practically plowing Caleb over. He laughed. “Dumb dog. I love that dumb dog.”

  We went into the kitchen and sat down. I felt so grown up. Caleb was here to see me. But then I realized that he looked jumpy. He was glancing around a lot and playing with his hands. This wasn’t some visit to ask what color Blair’s prom dress was.

  “What’s going on?” I asked him.

  Caleb leaned forward and stared at me, hard. Those eyes could burn a hole in you.

  “Abby, I want to ask you a few questions, and I need you to tell the truth, okay? It’s super important.”

  “Okay,” I said nervously, like I was on one of those cop shows.

  “Did you eat dinner with Blair last night?”

  I thought of the night before. Dad made pasta; I remembered the spaghetti sauce on Obi’s ear. Jade had argued with Mom about whether or not she could get her belly button pierced. I had extra meatballs.

  “No,” I said. “She said she was having dinner at your house.” She had run out the door, talking on her phone, mouthing Caleb’s to Mom.

  Caleb pressed his hands on the table so hard his fingers turned white. “What about the night before? Monday? Think, Abby.”

  “I don’t remember. . . .”

  “It’s really, really important. It was warm that day, remember?”

  I did. Brats and hot dogs on the grill, dinner on the back porch. Blair going on a date with Caleb and borrowing Mom’s earrings. She had a sweater on even though it was eighty degrees, a miracle for northern Wisconsin in April. She was so cold now, always shivering, putting more and more layers on, and draping a blanket over her shoulders the second she walked through the door.

  “She said you and her were going to Fiorelli’s. Date night, whatever.”

  Caleb stared at me, and I stared back, and there it was—the crashing realization that I had been lied to.

  He put his head in his hands. I was worried he would start crying, but he just sat there for a minute.

  “Crap, Abby,” he said finally. “Crap.”

  When he finally looked back up, Caleb Evers looked sadder than I’d ever seen a person look.

  “I have to talk to your mom, okay?” he said. “You tell her as soon as she gets home that she should call me. She has my phone number, I think. But I’ll give it to you just in case.” He grabbed my cell phone and typed it in. I stared at it when he was done. Caleb Evers, right there in my cell phone. God, Sophie and Lex would lose it.

  I told Mom when she got back, and she went right into her room to call him. She stayed in there for a long time, even after she hung up. I knocked, but she told me she had a headache and needed to rest.

  When Blair came home that night, I wondered if she could tell I had betrayed her. I tried to talk to her, but she was already getting ready for bed at eight o’clock.

  “It’s kind of early,” I pointed out as she brushed her teeth. She shrugged. She was always tired, coming straight home from dance or therapy and curling up into bed. Instead of getting better at ballet, she seemed to be getting worse. I’d spied on her practicing pirouettes in her room, and she would lose her balance, frustrated, before just giving up.

  “Did you get any further on Planet Pirates?” I asked. I was waiting for her next chapter. Princess Stardust was stuck on Mars. She was getting so cold waiting for Captain Moonbeard to save her that her skin was turning blue. Blair’s drawings were getting sadder and sadder. She used to always be happy when she was drawing. It wasn’t like ballet, where the pressure to be the best, get the leading role, and land a company job loomed over her like the Death Star. When she was drawing, she could be exactly who she was in the moment. It was the Blair I loved, not the one Anna Rexia had taken hostage.

  “No, Abby. I don’t have time,” she snapped. “Between school and dance and that stupid shrink I can hardly breathe.”

  “Sorry,” I said.

  She sighed. “It’s not your fault. I’m sorry. I just hate these dumb sessions where they want you to talk about your feelings, blah blah blah.” She waved her hand. “I need to be focused on this competition in July. It could be my last chance. Aleksander said someone from the Royal Ballet will be there. I have to be the best, you know?” She stared at herself in her bathroom mirror. “There’s no room for error. I can’t have another Joffrey meltdown.”

  I told on you to Caleb, I wanted to scream. I was pretty sure she’d have more therapy coming her way.

  “Besides, prom is this weekend,” said Blair. “Which means no weekend rehearsal time. Aleksander is so pissed . . . it’s pretty stupid. Kind of a waste of time.”

  “It’ll be so fun, though,” I said excitedly. “Caleb in a tux, and you guys can slow dance. Maybe you’ll be prom queen.”

  Blair barked out a laugh. I thought she was going to make fun of me, but instead she gave me a hug. I could feel her rib cage, like if I squeezed her too hard she’d shatter.

  “I love you, Abs,” she whispered into my ear. She sounded sad. But maybe a little hopeful, too.

  That Saturday was the big day. Mom’s college friend Amber came over to do Blair’s hair. Originally, she wanted it down; she had it up so often for ballet that we all agreed she should try something new. But her hair was so thin. Amber ran a brush through it and a clump fell out. She glanced at Mom, then back at Blair.

  “Sweetie, I love you, but your hair is brittle as candy,” she said. “It has to go up.”

  Amber was a miracle worker, maneuvering Blair’s hair up in a French twist. Her dress was pink—not Barbie doll pink, but a soft pink—long and flowing with a few sparkles down the skirt. She looked like a princess. She looked like a princess all the time, at a bajillion dance recitals, but this was different. She actually looked happy, not anxious. Like she wasn’t worrying about pointing her toes. Instead of being caked in stage makeup, she just wore a little mascara and lip gloss. We locked Obi in the basement so he wouldn’t jump on her. When Caleb came to pick her up, Mom took so many pictures her phone ran out of memory. Even Jade stuck around for a bit before going to meet up with her friends.

  “You be careful, okay?” Mom said nervously, gripping Blair as if she were sending her off to war.

  “I will, Mom. I promise,” she said.

  We all felt it, watching Blair and Caleb drive off. Hope. The feeling that maybe things were on the upswing. Maybe Blair was getting better. Maybe she could be a normal girl tonight, a fairy princess at the prom, and then she’d dance beautifully at the competition this summer and get offered a spot in the Royal Ballet. Maybe we could all go to London to see her and try to spot Will and Kate.

  That hope: it can wrap you up so tightly. You think it’s giving you a hug when really it’s strangling you.

  Mom and Dad and I watched an old black-and-white movie on TV and went to bed. I hated trying to sleep when Jade wasn’t there, but she
had just gotten her job at the movie theater and had to work more weekends than not.

  I must have drifted off eventually, though, because the next thing I knew, Mom was shaking me.

  “Abigail. Abigail! Wake up!”

  “Geez, what?” I rubbed my eyes and glanced at my phone. It was 12:34. I still remember that.

  “Blair’s been in an accident,” she said. I sat up quickly. I realized Mom had been crying. I’d never seen my mom cry in my entire life, not even at my grandma’s funeral in second grade. Mom didn’t cry. She was our moon, tugging us all into orbit when we spun out of control.

  “What? What happened? Is she okay?”

  “They think so. The doctor’s checking for a concussion. She’s at Memorial Hospital all the way in Cedar Valley. There was a car accident. Daddy and I are going and Jade slept over at Cassidee’s, so you’re by yourself, okay?”

  “By myself?” I asked meekly. Sure, Mom and Dad let me stay home alone. I was twelve. But not in the middle of the night.

  “Obi’s downstairs and wide awake. We’ll lock all the doors and be home in the morning. You’ll be fine. Okay? We need to go. Now.”

  As if Obi was a guard dog. If a robber showed up, Obi would probably lick his feet and turn over for a belly rub. But I just nodded. Mom ran down the stairs and I heard the truck start up and take off.

  Somehow, I managed to fall asleep, even though I was picturing Blair lying mangled in a hospital bed. A few hours later, I woke up to Jade coming in, shutting the door hard behind her. The sun was up.

  “Hey. Mom just called. They’re on the way home.”

  I sat up again, rubbing sleep out of my eyes. “What happened?”

  Tough Jade, Can’t-Hurt-Me Jade, Don’t-Mess-With-Me Jade looked tiny. She sat on my bed and pulled her knees up to her chest. “Caleb was at the hospital, too. He got in a fight with Blair after a party or something, Mom said. Blair wanted to drive home to calm down. Caleb’s car is totally ruined . . . they hit a tree? Or a log? I don’t even know.”

  “Was she drinking?” I mean, please. They teach you not to do that in kindergarten now.

  “No. I think it was dark and she probably hadn’t eaten anything in four days and was an idiot and blacked out,” said Jade.

  “God, Jade! Why do you have to be so mean? She’s in the hospital.”

  “Why do you have to be so stupid? You’re twelve years old. Wake up,” snapped Jade.

  I hated her then. I hated her with everything in me. I didn’t even know it was possible to feel that kind of hate.

  “She’s trying,” I said angrily.

  “Wow, yeah, she’s really trying. Caleb told Mom everything. About how Blair’s been lying about dinner. About how he found those stupid lunches Mom has been packing her to take to dance all stuffed in her closet! She’s throwing her entire life away and you’re like, la-di-dah, Blair’s perfect, whatever, everything’s fine. She could have killed somebody in that car. Someone could be dead. She could be dead!”

  “Go away,” I spat out.

  “Grow up,” she snapped back.

  I jumped off my bed and left our room, slamming the door behind me.

  Blair, my hero Blair, the Princess Stardust of my real life. Blair who could dance on her toes and perform in front of hundreds of people. Blair, who crumpled up bad guys and stomped them under her feet. That was what I had thought, our whole lives. Had Blair changed, or was this—this liar, this sneaky person, this sick girl—who she’d been all along? Maybe I had never known her at all.

  Do you want to know the worst thing in the entire world? When you’ve hoped that hope, let it fly, but then watch it get shot to the ground. When it’s ashes at your feet. When Anna Rexia does fouettés and piqué turns on those ashes, laughing as she spins at how you could have ever been so stupid as to think things were better than they truly were.

  6

  AUGUST, PRESENT DAY

  Twelve years old

  I was up all night googling Dr. Leo Lacamoire.

  Or should I say: Dr. Leo Lacamoire, PhD, professor of astronomy and astrophysics, graduate of Oxford University, special interest in detecting and characterizing extrasolar planets, world-renowned expert on gamma-ray bursts. Visitor to the White House on three separate occasions, featured expert on the National Geographic channel, History Channel, and Weather Channel. Guest star on some comedy show about nerdy geniuses. Had his own Netflix special. Author of countless studies and three books, including ExtraPlanets: Looking for Life Beyond Our Solar System, which was dedicated to his editor, Joanna Creech.

  Dr. Leo Lacamoire had given a TED Talk on finding new planets. I watched it four times. He strode across the stage in dress pants and a white shirt, waving his arms around but talking very intensely.

  “The key to finding new planets isn’t finding the planet itself. It’s finding things affected by that planet. Planets can’t act in isolation. Astronomers will notice gravitational pulls, changes in light color, or a shadow dimming the light of a nearby star. Planets are not solitary beings; they affect the world around them in—pardon my pun—astronomical ways.” The audience chuckled. Then he gripped the podium and leaned in, which I could already notice was his trademark serious-business move.

  “When we’re looking for a new planet, we don’t look for a new planet. We look for the things around it changing. We look for its effect on the world. It’s only a matter of time before a planet makes itself known.”

  I wanted nothing more right then than to look through my telescope, but it was still insanely cloudy. I shut my laptop and pulled my notebook out from under my bed, feeling my hand brush against a library book I thought I’d lost and a few more of Abby’s Life Artifacts. What’s beneath someone’s bed can sometimes tell you a lot about them. Blair had piles of old pointe shoes she couldn’t make herself throw away. Jade had dirty clothes she was too lazy to bring to the laundry room. This notebook was where I usually wrote Planet Pirates drafts before adding the final version to our actual project. Sometimes I had nightmares of dying in some catastrophe and someone finding the crappy stories I’d written in it. Ha! She thought she had such talent, they would chuckle at my funeral. She should have stuck to stargazing.

  I curled up in bed with my notebook, but I couldn’t even write. I needed Blair’s drawings first. That was how we did it. I felt sad for Princess Stardust, lonely and stuck. I wanted her to hurry up and be saved.

  Jade burst into the room, smelling like popcorn. She saw what I was holding.

  “I thought you two were done with your stories,” she said, peering over my shoulder.

  I closed it. “Just looking.”

  She rolled her eyes. “You’re going to be carrying that thing around when you go to college. When the Sugar Plum Fairy’s on Broadway or whatever.”

  My face got hot and I shoved the notebook back under the bed. “Jealous. You still draw stick figures.”

  “Right. Like I don’t have better things to do than draw stupid aliens. I have a job. And friends. Unlike you.”

  “They’re not stupid!”

  She reached over and turned the light off. “Stop living in la-la land and go to sleep.”

  As we walked to Eagle’s Nest the next evening to have dinner with Dr. Leo Lacamoire, all I could think about was that TED Talk. To spend your day finding new planets sounded like the coolest thing ever. He had to be here for the eclipse.

  I lifted my hand to knock on the door, but it swung open. Standing there was Simone, in jeans and a black T-shirt.

  “Saw you coming,” she said cheerfully, kicking the door the rest of the way open. She had an oven mitt on. “I hope you’re hungry.”

  “We certainly are,” Mom assured her.

  “Shoes off?” asked Dad as we stepped in.

  “That would be great. He’s kind of a neat freak,” she whispered. We kicked off our shoes and walked farther into the foyer, where we heard the music. More classical. Those rising and falling violins made you feel like you were at th
e ballet. Blair would never eat lasagna. Pasta plus cheese plus buttery bread equals Blair’s Worst Nightmare.

  As if she could read my mind, Simone asked where my sister was. Mom, Dad, and I looked at each other, kind of surprised. Had news about Blair really made it to them already?

  “The blonde? She’s your sister, right?” asked Simone, confused.

  “Oh. Jade. Yes. She actually had to work,” Mom said. “At the movie theater in town?”

  “That’s too bad. The movie theater, huh? I worked at one of those in high school. Always came home smelling like popcorn,” she said, leading us into the dining room.

  “Abigail McCourt!” a voice crowed. It was Dr. Leo Lacamoire, descending the staircase two steps at a time and lowering the volume on the speakers with his phone. “There she is. Astronomer, seventh grader, avid library aficionado.”

  “Eighth grader in the fall,” I said.

  He waved a hand, as if such a detail couldn’t matter less to him. “Yes, yes. Welcome. What can Simone get you all to drink? Water, soda, iced tea? Wine for those of us old enough to partake? I wasn’t sure what you liked. . . .”

  Simone opened the fridge to every kind of juice and soda imaginable. Bottles of Coke and orange juice and lemonade and Mountain Dew all clinked together in the door.

  “Water’s actually fine for me,” I said.

  “Sparkling? Berry flavored?” The doctor bounced on his toes. Where had he gotten all this stuff? You definitely couldn’t buy berry-flavored water at Coontail’s.

  “Um . . . tap?”

  “You’re freaking them out,” hissed Simone, grabbing a cup from the cupboard and filling it at the sink. “Relax.”

  Mom and Dad glanced at each other, and I could read their minds: What in the world?

  “Yes! Everything is grand,” Dr. Lacamoire assured me, pouring two glasses of dark red wine and handing them to my parents. “Simone has whipped up a feast fit for kings.”

  Dr. Lacamoire took my dad and me upstairs to check out his telescopes while Simone finished getting dinner ready and chatted with my mom. He had five of them, all on tripods, pointed outside at different angles.