Mayday

by Jonathan Friesen

  Great, I’ve been stuck in a prissy body.

  Not knowing how pathetic a knife thrower Shane might be, I gently tossed the blade back between Crow’s feet. Suddenly, a thought flew in, sharp and panicky.

  “You’re not up here much in the evening. I always have the place to myself. You’re not watching Addy tonight?”

  Crow frowned, lifted the knife, and ran her finger over its edge. “How do you know that name?”

  Backtrack! The surest way to lose her trust would be to know too much, too soon, especially about Addy.

  “When the wind dies down and your window is cracked, words, names, float up. Usually that one. I’m not trying to eavesdrop.”

  “Get out,” Crow nodded toward the ladder.

  I sighed. I took only one small step, but my toe touched her paranoid line.

  “Sorry if I said something wrong. I’ll go. But can I take a blanket? It might keep me dry for a little while.”

  “No.” Crow tongued her cheek. “Stay. You can stay. Just no more family talk.”

  Did you just give me a second chance? I rarely trusted anyone enough to give them a first.

  I leaned forward and held out my hand. “Then let’s start over. Thanks for inviting me into your tree house. My name’s Shane.”

  Crow didn’t move. “Why would I need to watch my sister?”

  “You said no family talk.”

  No response.

  I swept back matted hair and let my outstretched arm fall limp to the floor. “This is a lose–lose. If I answer, you’ll probably kick me out.” I peeked into Crow’s hardened face. There would be no escape: she was waiting. “Okay, if you sit up here, night after night, watching those two windows, watching your silhouette pace your lit-up room and watching the other room fall dark, a thick, always dark.” I raised my gaze. “It makes me wonder. Why are you pacing? Never Adele, just you.”

  Crow bit her lip and set the knife back behind her books. I figured it safe to continue. “I can’t help but question why you don’t sleep. You must be staying up for a reason. That’s all.”

  She looked at my limp hand. “I suppose it would seem strange.”

  “For what it’s worth . . .” I crossed my fingers. My next words would push her away, or connect us forever, but I didn’t come all this way for nothing, “I once guarded my sister’s bed. Until the sun rose, if I needed to. Where I used to live, evil things went bump in the night.”

  Crow softened, and for a moment her eyes begged. When I was thirteen, I would have given anything to know that I wasn’t the only girl on a silent vigil, that there was another who shared my torment. In that instant, Crow changed. Before my eyes, years fell from her like scales, and she became a girl, just a lonely girl.

  “Call me Crow.” She settled back, her face hardening again. “The evil that goes bump in this house is at a conference. I got questions for you, but tonight I’m too tired to care. Help yourself to the blankets.” Crow blinked toward my left and closed her eyes.

  I examined my spindly arms, worked by shivers. I didn’t make a move for the quilts. It felt too good to feel.

  Crow cracked an eyelid, peeked at the unused blankets, and hinted a smile.

  “Oh, one last question.” I asked.

  “Hm.”

  “What day is it?”

  “April 21,” she muttered.

  Less than two weeks till Mayday. Perfect.

  CHAPTER 6

  THE THOUGHTS OF C. RAINE

  When the student is ready, the master appears.

  Buddhist proverb

  I SLEPT.

  For most, an unremarkable occurrence, but for me, the most precious of gifts. This Shane, this tent I inhabited may have owned awkward legs and prudish hands, but her sleep was deep and dreamless.

  I could not recall such a restful slumber. Ever. As I rolled, I wondered: Did everyone feel this restored by the night? I smiled and snuggled and smiled again. Sadie had given me the most perfect loaner . . . a sleeper! For the first time, morning felt good.

  What a wonderful body, both refreshed and warm.

  I forced open my eyelids. Covered by three quilts, I lay next to a dry pair of jeans and a Property of XXL hoodie. I peeled off damp clothes and squeezed into Crow’s black denims. I remembered the pair. Wincing, I fought with the button. I remembered them fitting.

  It dawned on me that though I’d been fierce about getting back to thirteen, I had no idea what to do now that I’d arrived. School was in session, the Monster was at work, and judging on the stomach growl, Shane hadn’t been fed in a while.

  Warm shower. First thing I do is find a warm shower.

  Crow’s head popped above the floorboards. “You weren’t a dream.”

  “That’s debatable.” I rubbed my face.

  Crow cocked her head. “Yeah, whatever. So, do you do school or what?”

  I shrugged and yawned. “Haven’t for a couple weeks.”

  This clearly pleased Crow mightily. “So you just sit up here.” Crow rested her head on her folded arms. “Like a female Tom Sawyer. You go where you want, when you want. No worries.” She thought, and when finally her lips curled, I knew an idea had taken root. “Seeing as you live this dream life in the comfort of my tree house, I’d say you owe me a favor. Why don’t you do school today?”

  “With you?”

  “With me.”

  “I don’t see how that provides any favor. Besides, I can’t.” I nestled back into the pile of blankets. “They won’t let you in without papers. Vaccination papers. Like a dog.” I rolled my eyes.

  Crow slapped an immunization record on the floor. “Copied. Should work.”

  “Right. And you probably need a home address,” I said. “There are no house numbers on this tree.”

  “Tell them you live inside. I’ll let you be my half sister. My dad’s girl. Something happened with the other arrangement, and now you’re living with us.”

  Yeah, that might work . . .

  Crow grabbed my arm. “Don’t worry so much. You frown like Addy.” She paused. “I should know your last name, in case we’re asked.”

  “Oh, um . . .”

  “Owum?

  “Owen.”

  “Well, Midway Middle School, prepare to meet my half sister, Shane Owen Raine.”

  I dragged down the ladder and marched at Crow’s side, around the house and down the street toward the bus stop. Crow swaggered triumphant, beside her shivering, nappy-haired trophy. I knew that attitude; I had perfected it. She was up to something. I would be used, not displayed.

  • • •

  I sat, still and invisible, amid the mayhem that filled the bus. The kids were busy with screams and rumors and all things middle school. After all, summer approached, and even teachers conceded that learning was a memory. A bus driver’s mandate? Hang on for dear life.

  Then I saw her.

  Yeah, it was ten rows up and from the back, but the partial view thumped my heart.

  Adele.

  “She has to sit toward the front, seeing as she’s still in elementary.” Crow cleared her throat. “But I don’t mind. Gives me a chance to keep an eye on her. Sounds like you know something about that.”

  I nodded, and we reached the next stop. Bus brakes hissed, and Adele moved toward the aisle. She leaped up and squeezed out in front of the ten kids waiting to board. Crow and I stretched our necks and followed her as she raced beneath an underpass and set down a brown bag. Addy spun and raced back toward the bus, climbing on just before it pulled out.

  “I don’t know why she cares about that no-good.” Crow smirked. “If Mom knew she was feeding a homeless guy beneath the Tenth Avenue Bridge, I don’t think Addy’s lunches would be half of what they are.”

  For all I remembered, there were entire chapters I’d forgotten, Addy’s 10th Avenue
Bridge food distribution being one of them. She always had a heart for the least and the lost.

  Maybe that’s why she loved me.

  Maybe that’s why she would one day love him.

  We finally reached the school parking lot. The middle school kids streamed off, except for Crow, and me. Crow grabbed my hand and pulled me up the aisle. She paused at Addy’s seat, bent over, and hugged her. Not a quick squeeze but an embrace. Addy’s eyes closed as she soaked it in. It was our routine, and its meaning flooded my mind.

  Don’t worry, sis. I’m leaving now, but I’ll be back. I’m always watching.

  Crow stood and clenched my arm. Addy stared at me with a confused grin. I waved, she waved back, and I exited the bus. Crow peeked left then right and veered out of the flow, sliding along the front of the school and dragging me behind.

  I’d also forgotten this little thirteen-year-old phase.

  We rounded the school and ran across the ball fields to the vacant garage belonging to Mr. Wendallis. One yank on the side door and we were inside. Cool, dank air slugged me in the face.

  “Welcome to one of my safe houses. I have a few.” She dug in her pocket. “You smoke?” Crow lit up. Rebel idiot.

  “I don’t know.” It was as close to honest as I could come.

  Crow handed me one of Jude’s Winstons. I inhaled deep and threw up. Crow nodded slowly and took another puff. “That’d be a no.” She finished her cigarette and tossed the butt into my vomit. “That’s all right. Everyone has one flaw. Just don’t have any more or I’ll disown you.”

  Crow folded her arms and sank back against the garage door. How hard I looked, how unbreakable, even at thirteen. But already stunning. Frighteningly so.

  “Say, Crow, in case they ask: Where does your dad live? Since I’m supposedly his daughter and all.”

  Crow didn’t flinch. “I don’t know. None of us do. He dropped off the map.” No emotion attached to her words. She offered no hint of sadness.

  “Why’d he leave?” I whispered.

  Crow lit up, and in the flicker of the flame, she dropped her gaze. In that moment she again looked like a young child, desperate and vulnerable. The stoic quickly returned. “Mom tells me I’m a big part of it. Some days, I believe her.” She paused. “You don’t learn that crap staring through a window. If you want to leave, there’s the door.”

  I closed my eyes, and visited a different time.

  • • •

  “If you want to leave, there’s the door!”

  Five-year-old me glanced up from my sidewalk chalk in time to catch Mom shove Dad onto the front steps. He stood motionless for a long time, shoulders drooped, head slightly back. Amazing what details stick.

  “And finish that garage!” Mom’s voice pushed out from inside. “You know what Dr. Jude says. That roof is a symbol of provision. And if you’re not willing to do your share—”

  The door slammed, and Dad turned. He forced a smile my way and quietly walked toward the ladder, then eased it against the house.

  “Is Mommy mad?” Addy asked.

  “It’s okay,” I said. “Why don’t you go in and give her a hug? She’ll like that.”

  Addy ran inside, and I walked toward the ladder, yanked on the back of Dad’s shirt.

  “Do you want to come up?” he asked.

  I dropped my chalk, Dad hoisted me onto the ladder, and together we clambered onto the roof. Tarpaper and shingles lay everywhere, and Dad surveyed the job. He plopped down, lay back, and covered his eyes.

  And cried.

  I lay down beside him and placed my head on his chest.

  “I’m losing her, Coraline. That therapist has his hooks in her.” He groaned. “Here’s a quote to live by: If you’re going to fight a doctor, you need more than common sense on your side. Remember that.” Dad exhaled and stroked my hair. “I’m sorry, you don’t need any of this on your shoulders.”

  I sat up. “Don’t let Mommy see the doctor. Why do you visit him?”

  “I don’t know anymore.” Dad propped himself up on an elbow. “At first we went to talk about you.” He cupped my cheek in his hand. “You were one loud girl.”

  I jumped up and stumbled toward the ladder. “I make Mommy see him?”

  “No, at the beginning, we went for help because, well, some kids scream. A lot. I’m not good with noise, but—”

  I scampered down the rungs, Dad calling after me. “You are not the cause of what’s happening. Coraline!”

  But it was too late. I heard his words, and they lodged in my heart. Later, Mom would be certain they remained.

  Dad tried to find me—I heard him calling for nearly an hour—but I was behind the shed hiding inside a bush, the little girl with a broken heart.

  • • •

  “Still with me, Shane?”

  I stared at the garage door. “Sucks to be blamed by a parent who doesn’t act the part.”

  “Yeah,” she said. “It does.”

  “Sucks to be the only one who sees what’s going in a house.”

  Crow stretched and sighed. “My friends—Basil, Mel—they wouldn’t get that.”

  I forced a smile. “Yeah. It’s the story of my life.”

  She nodded, and we dropped into a long silence. Crow walked toward me. “I’m glad you showed up.”

  “Well,” I said, “that’s my story. But I wonder, with you, maybe there was more going on between your folks than you know. I mean, marriage isn’t like chemistry. Two happy people in a beaker, add a drop of kid potion, and the whole experiment blows up. I don’t think it happens that way.”

  “I think I was there and you weren’t,” Crow snapped, and then rubbed her forehead and lowered her voice. “You’re hard to figure out, Shane.”

  “There’s a good reason for that.”

  We stepped out of the garage and walked slowly back toward the school—a long, plain-view strut in front of every window. Fashionably late, Crow practically screamed, We’re tardy. What are you going to do about it?

  My purpose clarified. The second year of middle school, I had no disciples. They came later, drawn out of fear. But here and now, I was Crow’s first little follower.

  I’m nobody’s little follower. Not even my own!

  “Crow, you go on to math. I’ll catch you after you break out of special ed.”

  She slowed. “Okay, how do you know my schedule?”

  My eyes widened. “It, uh, it was tucked away in Tolstoy, in the tree house.”

  Crow took a step closer to me. “Shane, you’re freaking me out. You’re either the first person who understands, or you’re some clone kid planted by the government, you know, who knows my whole life.” She poked my arm and my neck. “You’re not one of them, are you?”

  I swatted her hand away. “You watch way too many movies. Listen, after I found the knife, I thought special ed was a safe bet.”

  I laughed and relaxed when she did, too.

  “Okay.” Crow winked. “Until then . . . sis.”

  • • •

  I walked through the front door of the middle school, my mind fixed on home. Mom’s place had looked similar, but the feel was foreign. And it wasn’t just the smaller trees and shrubs. Home drew me, despite the gathering storm, and it hadn’t done that in a long time. From the outside, Mom’s house felt warm, right. Then again, Mayday hadn’t arrived.

  The school’s office, however, was exactly as I remembered it.

  I walked in and approached Ms. Wiggle—an unfortunate name for a middle school secretary—and rang the bell on the desk.

  She set down her Good Housekeeping. “Yes, dear.”

  Dear? Are you kidding?

  “I need to enroll in school.”

  She glanced toward the door and frowned. “Your parents? Or guardian? I need their signatures and quite a bit more in
formation.” She slapped some papers down in front of me. “Are you new to the area?”

  I shook my head. “Listen, you’ll never get my dad in here. You won’t get my guardian either. Here’s the shot paper.”

  I reached it to her and she read aloud, “Shane Owen Raine.” She handed it back to me. “I’m sorry. I need a parent or legal guardian.”

  “Crow’s my half sister. I live with her now.”

  “Horrors!” Ms. Wiggle rubbed her eyes, hoping, I think, that I would disappear in the process. “One Crow’s enough. Tell me there’s not another half floating around.” Ms. Wiggle clapped her hand over her mouth. “Wait here.” She vanished into the principal’s office.

  I glanced around. Powder blue. Every wall was powder blue: the color of jail cells designed to drive prisoners insane. It works. Beneath the buzz of fluorescent lights, powder blue makes a person want to jump off a cliff.

  Or register for school.

  Wiggle returned. “Just fill out the forms as best you can, and we’ll make a call.”

  An idea, quick and crafty, weaseled in, and I stared down at the enrollment sheet. I fiddled with the pen, rubbed my eyes, and fiddled some more.

  “Oh, for the love of heaven, not you, too. Crow barely sounds out, and you can’t read either?”

  I blanked my face, but my thoughts replayed the first time I’d played this game.

  In school, I had been a master of deception, and no ruse proved my brilliance more than feigned idiocy. I quickly determined that my lack of sleep would not accommodate a middle school workload. Enter special education, a beautiful place where expectations and homework were nonexistent.

  My present plans do not accommodate a middle school workload either.

  “Let me walk you down to Mrs. Herbert. She’ll be your homeroom. Room 145.” Wiggle rose and peeked at me sideways. “Can you count?”

  “Some days better than others. Crow’s the smart one.” I grinned, and followed my escort out the office door.

  The halls were empty during first hour, a strange vacuum filled only with the click of Wiggle’s heels.

  “You will like Mrs. Herbert.” Wiggle waddle-clicked forward. “All the kids do.”