by Alex Hayes
If Papa were here, the barn door would be wide open, ready for Matt or Dean to load up the hand trailer with bales of hay for the goats.
I swing the iron latch and slide the well-oiled door open a Cadi width before stepping through. The barn feels comfortable compared to the biting cold outside, and the sun, shining through the east window, illuminates the space like a floodlight.
Whistling to the cats, I refill their food and water dishes, then stride over to the sunlit portion of the barn to bask in the blinding rays.
My mind trickles back to when Dean caught me floating ping pong balls for the kittens. Things headed south from that point. An about-turn of my own doing. If I’d trusted him then, maybe none of this would have happened. Who knows. Dean’s been near impossible for me to decipher from the start.
I catch Snowball creeping from a narrow gap between bales. Two fluffy mocha siblings follow. Snowball pads across the concrete floor and rubs a circle around my ankle. I scoop him up and scratch his chin. “Be nice to your sisters.” A quick nuzzle and I put him down.
“Morning.” The salutation slices through the silent barn.
The kittens skedaddle as I jump and turn in one motion, eyes wide, pulse pounding.
Dean stands a few yards away, hands in the pockets of his heavy woolen coat. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you.” His expression hovers between irritated and apologetic.
The tension in the air soars.
I shrug, trying to appear nonchalant. “It’s okay.”
“I didn’t leave on such a good note yesterday, and I, well, wanted to apologize for screwing things up so badly.”
God, I hate apologies. Saying It’s okay, or Don’t worry about it, makes his effort of apologizing seem like a waste.
I settle for a bob of the head and, “Accepted.”
My response doesn’t relieve the tension in the air one bit. If anything, the static increases. Maybe it was my deadpan tone.
Dean shifts his feet. “I, um, spoke to Jake, got him to delete his Facebook post about you.”
My whole body sways in a vague nod. “Great, thanks.” Again, deadpan, but I don’t know what else to offer.
I don’t hate Dean. Telling Jake what I did wasn’t smart, but I could imagine he might not have thought through the ramifications. He’s never done anything mean to me. He just seems to have made a bum choice in friends.
He pulls his hands out of his pockets and rubs them together. They’re red and chapped from the cold. His lips part to speak, then he pauses and takes a step toward me. “I was hoping… If you could find it in your heart to, um…forgive me, that maybe, we could start over.”
This is the last thing I expect Dean to say. The bridge between us seems completely destroyed. If anything, an anti-crossover has taken its place, a granite blockade too high for any passage to span.
My feet move forward, damage control on my mind, not reconciliation. “Dean, I forgive you, but…” My eyes drop to the floor. “I think, maybe, you and I were never meant to be.”
“Cadi—”
“Dean, please.” I can’t let him humiliate himself when there’s no hope. “I’m leaving.”
“What?” He strides toward me, eyes darkening into pits of despair. “No. Cadi, you can’t go. You don’t need to. I’ve dealt with Jake’s stupid message, and the tabloid business will blow over.”
My eyes tear without permission. “The damage is already done. Didn’t you see Tess and Angie’s comments? I can’t go back to school, not with their bitch squad on the warpath. They’ll push and push until they force me to use my abilities and expose myself.”
His face tightens. “I’ll protect you, Cadi. I won’t let them hurt you.”
I shake my head. “It’s better for everyone if I leave town.”
His features twist in disbelief. “They’re sending you away? They can’t do that.”
As he starts for the door, I grab his arm. “No, my leaving has nothing to do with the Jacobsens. This is about me. I…I wish things could have been different.”
I reach out to squeeze his hand, but before I can, he pulls me into his arms and buries his face in my neck. I stiffen.
“This is my fault,” he whispers, voice thick. “I have to make things right.”
“No. You don’t. I’m at fault, not you. If I’d explained, when you first saw what I could do, then maybe none of this would have happened. Let it go, Dean. Please.”
“But I can’t let you leave.” He pulls away and cups my cheeks with his roughened hands. “I love you, Cadi.”
That can’t be possible, but how can I argue with his heart?
God, the pain in his eyes hurts worse than all my regret at leaving this place. I wish I understood my own feelings, that I could untangle the conflicted emotions knotted in my chest. But my disappointment and anger cannot withstand the look in his eyes, a look I fear will haunt me.
“I’m sorry.” I drop my head and walk away.
15
Idris
Six p.m. and dark outside. I rub a scaly hand over my scaly head, frustrated. Playing guitar hasn’t helped. It only reminds me about the music competition I won’t be showing up for.
That was then. This is now.
Bet Dad’s pulled me from Toastmasters already. Not that I’m sad about it, beyond the fact he has another reason to be disappointed in me.
The Thorny Rose basement feels stuffy. I need some air. What’re the chances I’ll end up a dried husk at the bottom of a dumpster somewhere if I take a walk outside? I shake my head. Does it matter? Worth the risk for the sake of my sanity.
After testing the key Marek gave me, I lock the back door and head out across the parking lot. The whole block’s shrouded in darkness, but I make out patches of warmth here and there, the glow from heat sources. Guess my new green getup comes with a few added benefits. Some kind of infrared vision. Or extra cones. Or is it rods?
Science is Marek’s thing, not mine. Geekdom is not something I aspired to.
I tighten the cord on my hood and adjust the Knicks cap, not that I need to out here. The black of the night is like velvet, reflecting nothing. The knot of tension at the back of my neck eases. Walking feels good. Different somehow. I breathe in deep and shake out my shoulders, hear a few crackles in my joints and start to run. My body feels heavier, more solid, but locomotion is smoother, as if my hip joints have extra flexibility. The changes to my physique are striking, totally weird, and yet, they feel good at the same time.
The cold air ripples across my face, making my eyes tear and my sinuses loosen. Even the shape of my head under this hood seems more aerodynamic, given my lack of ears. All I’ve got are a couple of ear holes. I run faster. Faster than I’ve ever run. Wow. These scaly thighs have some serious spring in them.
I reach the outskirts of the old industrial area. As far as I plan to go. Another block and there’ll be streetlights. Traffic. People. So I turn and follow a back road across a set of train tracks. The street turns to dirt, a maintenance road that parallels the rails. The ground is frozen but less jarring on my limbs.
For the first time in three days, I feel good. I feel strong. The weight in my chest is starting to lift. I focus on a light in the distance, think of it as the end of a tunnel I need to reach. When I do, things will be different. Better.
I’m less than half way to that distant beacon when a shape shifts into my peripheral vision. A human figure. Male.
How do I even know that? Wait. I can smell him. And he smells pretty bad. Some kind of alcohol. Strong and sour.
I break stride and pull my cap down low over my face. The moon’s lost behind a cloud, so he shouldn’t see much, unless he has a flashlight.
He bumbles my way, humming an incomprehensible tune. He might be dangerous. Drunks can be violent. He’s a big guy but seems pretty relaxed.
Maybe if I back away slowly…
“Hey. Bu-uddy?”
Too late.
“Bu-uddy?
I straight
en up, try to look tall and confident. “Yeah?”
“Yagoat… Ya got five buuucks, Bud? I’m ou-outta smo-okes.”
That’s not the only thing he’s out of.
“Sorry, man. Nothing spare.” I gesture empty pockets, but I doubt he can see enough to work out my movements. “What’re you doing out here, anyway?”
“The wuff kicked me out agayun.” The guy scratches his head like he’s trying to figure out why his wife would do such a thing.
“Hey, sorry to hear that, man.” I mean it, too. He’s drunk, out of smokes and his wife’s kicked him out. And I thought my life sucked.
I take a step back and slip my hands into my coat pockets. They circle the clementines I picked up from Mom’s fruit-bowl. Guess I can lob them at the guy if he gets out of hand.
“Yup. Nowure ta go from hair…but down.” He straightens and looks at me. Not sure what he can make out. Hopefully not much. He scratches his head again. “Ya bet-her be carefool. There’s fu-unny bizzniz going on. Dead pu-eepal in du-umsters.”
My body tenses. Has this guy seen something?
I slip into smooth-talking mode. “Wow, bud. That sounds bad. You’re so right. We should both be careful. Why don’t we head, uh…” I look around, “over there.”
The lights of the old strip mall are still on and aren’t too far away.
“Let’s go.”
The pace is slow to the point of painful with him staggering. He swings his head in my direction. “Wass ya name, bu-uddy?”
I say the first name that pops into my head. “Dre.” No idea where it comes from.
“D-ray,” the guy repeats.
“How about yours?”
“J-hon Sellers.”
“Nice to meet you, John. I’m new to the area. Staying across the way.” I wave vaguely and keep talking about everything I know of the area, which isn’t much.
John drifts along in a cloud of alcohol vapor and stale smoke which tickles my nose, making me think I might sneeze. I wonder what mutant lizard snot looks like. What if it glows in the dark? I hope I don’t find out.
We’re within spitting distance of the strip mall when John staggers sideways into a wall.
“This luks like a gud plaze ta stop.” He lowers himself to the ground and drops his head against the brickwork. “Got unee thing tah eat?”
I’m about to apologize when I remember the clementines. “Yeah. You like oranges?”
His head rolls in a loopy nod.
No way he can peel the fruit himself, so I do. Super easy with my pointy nails.
I think he’s watching me, but it’s hard to tell.
“Yir a niyz guy. Don’t cross th-hose tracks. Nut s-hafe,” he mutters.
“Okay, John. Here’s an orange.” I bend to place it in his hand when a staggered snore breaks free from his throat. Guess he’s staying here for the night. I put the clementines on his lap and look around.
My eye catches something folded. A half-rotten tarpaulin. I pull it free from a pile of rubble and brick and wrap it around John, nice and tight.
Not much protection, but it’ll hold in his body heat.
I follow his advice and keep to the safe side of the tracks.
Reaching the Thorny Rose, I lock the back door, bolt it and head below for my first night in the gangster pad.
16
Cadi
Mama comes home from the hospital and settles at the kitchen table.
After placing a plate of pasta covered with the sauce she taught me how to make, I sit across from her. “How’s Papa?”
She breathes in the richness of fresh basil, garlic and extra virgin olive oil, and smiles. “Improving. The doctor thinks he’ll be able to come home within the week.”
“That’s good.” I glance down at my hands resting on the worn wood of the table. “I’m sorry I won’t be here to help look after him.”
Mama reaches across the table and pats my hand. “The cabin’s not so far away. As soon as he’s well enough to be left a few days, I’ll visit you. And you’ll come home at the holidays. Long weekends, too, if you like.”
I smile. “Yes, I’d like.”
She chuckles and nods. “Now, down to business. I called Mr. Scrim and he’s coming by next week to take care of the paperwork, then he’ll visit you at the cabin and meet the Smiths. As to Sam and Jessie, I got ahold of them, but they’re in Ohio with family for the holidays. Sam said they’re heading home in a few days and they’d be happy to help out.”
Mama rubs her hands together, enthusiasm building in her voice. “Given Sam and Jessie won’t be around when you arrive in Hopper tomorrow, I contacted Victoria Lakewood, my real estate agent friend, and we’ve come up with a plan.”
I nod slowly while Mama takes a few bites of pasta.
She continues, “The cabin’s too far out of town for you to stay at alone, so I’ve made a reservation for you at the Mountain Lodge, one of the bigger hotels in town. You’ll be on your own on New Year’s Day, but as the hotel is right there, in the center of town, I’m sure you can amuse yourself. Victoria’s tied up on New Year’s, but she’ll pick you up at the hotel the next day to take you to school and help you enroll. Then as soon as Sam and Jessie are home, they’ll set you up at the cabin. They live on the property and said they’re happy to stay with you.”
After a brief lip chewing, I say, “So all I need to do is get there?”
Mama grins. “Yes. There’s a bus service to Montpelier and several van-lines from there that transport skiers into the mountains this time of year. They stop at all the local hotels and will drop you at the Mountain Lodge.”
The quiet confidence in Mama’s voice relaxes me. I haven’t traveled on my own before, but she’s right. It’ll be an adventure. And in six months time, I can come back home.
I wake up early the next morning. Once showered and dressed, I fill my backpack with clothes, toiletries and a jar of Mama’s rose potpourri, to remind me of home.
Mama sets a feast of quiche, potatoes and toast in front of me. Enough food to last me the whole day. Eating meditatively, I observe my surroundings in detail, committing them to memory.
“You’ll be back before you know it,” Mama says, interrupting my slow scan of the kitchen.
I want to imagine that things will be exactly the same as they are now when I come back, that Shri and Dean will still be working at the farm, but that’s unlikely. Shri’s been talking about studying veterinary medicine for as long as I’ve known her. I’ve no idea about Dean’s plans, but Shri said he’s smart, so I’m sure he’ll go to college too.
My mind rolls back to his confession in the barn. The idea of being loved by him is heartwarming. And frightening. Because I don’t know how I feel about him. Part of me wants to get to know him better, be his friend. The other part wants to run and hide.
That thought makes me wonder if running away from Dean is what my departure is really all about. That going back to school to face Jake, Angie and their cliques is only part of my problem. Wish I knew the answer.
Personal items checked and double checked, I load my backpack and a bag of snacks Mama’s packed for me into the Suburban. Shri appears from the direction of the goat barn. We hug.
She smirks. “Don’t be a stranger.”
“I’m sorry I have to leave you to deal with Dean.” I glance around, wondering if he’ll show his face. Should I search him out? Make a point of saying goodbye?
Shri catches my survey. “I left him filling the water tanks. He’s pretty upset, so I promised to say bye for him. He figured you’d prefer it that way, anyway.”
He’s right. The thought of speaking to him right now makes my stomach queazy.
“Well, here’s a hug.” I squeeze my friend tight. “Pass it on.”
Shri gives me a funny look. Yeah, well, a secondhand hug does sound a bit strange. I try to imagine Shri striding into the goat barn and announcing to Dean that she’s been sent to deliver this hug, but I can’t visualize past them staring
at each other awkwardly.
I wave madly as Mama guides the Suburban down the long driveway. Shri waves back with matching enthusiasm. Before disappearing from sight, she pulls out her phone.
Mine buzzes. I grab it from my backpack.
No disappearing on me. Keep in touch, Shri texts. And don’t have too much fun without me.
You can come visit, anytime. Mama says the Adirondacks are beautiful.
Beware. I might take you up on that, she responds.
I smiley face back. You’d better.
While we’re waiting at the bus stop, Mama gives me some cash for the journey, and the contact info I’ll need. As the silver and green bus approaches, we hug.
Mama lets me go. “Let me know when you get there.”
The bus pulls up behind me. “I will.” I hide my sadness and nerves behind a big smile, and I climb aboard, then wave from my window seat until she’s long out of sight.
Loneliness descends with scattered snow-showers as the bus to Montpelier speeds along the highway, its windshield wipers flashing back and forth at full speed. The further I get from home, the less I want this adventure. I wish I wasn’t doing this alone.
A snowstorm delays my departure from Montpelier and slows the journey through the mountains to a crawl, while the plows try to keep up with the sheeting snow. As the day fades into night, I fall into a restless sleep and don’t wake until we reach North Creek in the Adirondack Mountains.
An odd tingling from my crystal induces me to rub my chest while the other passengers disembark at the ski resorts. The snow has stopped, leaving behind a clear night, but the roads are a slushy mess under the tires of creeping traffic.
As the van waits for an opening onto the street, the driver looks over his shoulder. “Hopper, right?”
“Yes.” It’s almost ten. I dig for my phone and send Mama an update.
The bumper-to-bumper journey to Hopper takes another hour, but the snow stops falling, finally.
Entering the town is like passing into another world. The streets are brightly lit and colorful, sidewalks freshly cleared and full of vacationers enjoying the eve of a new year.