Candy Colored Sky

by Ginger Scott

  Their door closes as Gemma pulls up in her car, and she walks toward me while peering over her shoulder, probably wondering what I’m looking at and what she missed. I give her the details when she reaches me, then I cash in my few remaining chips with my grandfather and make my way inside.

  I can still smell Eleanor on my sheets from the day before. I’ve never been so happy doing nothing with another person. I think an entire hour went by without us talking. Sure, there were lots of kisses, but not every moment was filled with that. Purely feeling her warm body tucked against mine, blood running through her veins and pumping her heart in a rhythm that, when life got incredibly still, I could hear—that’s what I think of now.

  Too early for sleep, I pull the Bradbury book from my night table and lay back to flip through the pages. A photograph slips from the middle of the book and lands on my chin. I’m sure it’s something I shoved in there at one point to mark a page.

  Setting the book down at my side, I turn the picture to face me and am met with the warmest smile I’ve ever seen. I’m sure Eleanor took this photo of herself, her face too close to the camera lens and her eyes crossed to be silly. But it’s the gleeful abandon that covers the length of the photo, from cheek to cheek, that has me turning to my side and bringing my pillow into my body to hold as if she were here in person.

  I pull my phone from my pocket and send her a quick message, glad she was able to get her phone fixed.

  ME: When did you put that photo in the Bradbury book?

  I know she won’t see it for a while. A quick glance out my window shows the car their media guests arrived in is still parked at the curb and the downstairs lights are still on in the house. I decide to pass my time reading my favorite parts from Something Wicked, and I prop the photo she left for me up against the base of my lamp so it feels as if she’s not far. Maybe an hour passes before my phone vibrates with her reply.

  ELEANOR: I couldn’t let you make do with that photocopy.

  I slap my own face and cover it completely with my outstretched palm. She did see how pathetic my crush was. Yet . . . she kissed me anyway.

  ME: I must look like a stalker.

  A few minutes pass before she writes back.

  ELEANOR: Pretty much.

  Great, I say to myself.

  I lay on my side and look at the new photo she left for me.

  ME: It was nice of you to upgrade me to a color photo.

  ELEANOR: A girl likes to be stalked the right way.

  I glance to my window again and wonder if she’s in her room already. I set my book aside and move to my desk. She’s waiting for me when I pull open my shutters.

  ME: Hi.

  She looks down to read her phone then lifts her head and holds up her hand. I sit on the edge of my desk like I did weeks ago. I was so full of questions that night yet too afraid to ask them. I couldn’t even talk to her let alone help her in the way I sensed I could.

  Things are different now.

  ME: How did it go? With the news lady?

  It feels like years have passed since our street was ground zero for a media circus. In reality, though, it’s only been a few weeks. That’s how bad news travels—in waves. One wave comes then goes, making way for the next. Those trucks are camped out in front of someone else’s worst nightmare right now.

  ELEANOR: My parents are doing the interview. Just them. They film on Monday. It airs Wednesday. It’s . . .

  Almost a minute passes before she finishes that thought, messaging me again. I fight the urge to fill it in for her.

  ELEANOR: I know it’s a good idea. Something like that gets seen, and if Addy really was abducted, then maybe someone will recognize her and report it or that woman.

  There’s a but she isn’t acknowledging. I know what it is because I’m thinking it, too. Morgan maybe thought it first.

  But what if Addy is already gone?

  Dead.

  It’s such a short word for the end of such a long miracle. Life has so many stages, every little development on our way to being born, our first breath, our first words. We learn emotions, we walk and talk. We experience thrills and disappointment. Love and loss. Accomplishments. Regrets. To end it all with an event so small—death.

  My phone buzzes again, only this time, instead of a text, Eleanor is calling to video chat. I cradle my phone in my palm as I slide up on the screen to answer.

  “Miss me already?” I don’t expect her to laugh, but it’s rewarding that she smiles.

  “I’m too tired to type. I think the lack of sleep is finally catching up with me,” she says through a yawn.

  I meet her stare from across the street.

  “Maybe you should try to get some sleep, then,” I say, watching as she holds her palm against the glass pane of her window then lets it slip away. Her curtains fall shut and the light in her room dims.

  “Would you stay on the phone with me?” she asks, yawning again.

  I close my shutters and move to my bed, studying what I can see through the phone screen. Her room is a pale pink, and the little light that’s on barely glows against her face.

  “Yeah, I can do that. You get comfortable. I’m reading Bradbury again,” I say.

  She breathes out what I think is her attempt at an ominous laugh and from what I can see, she’s slipped under her covers and rested her phone on its side so I can keep an eye on her for as long as she needs.

  “Read to me,” she says.

  “Okay.”

  I sit with my back against the wall and the book propped up with my knees. I begin reading about boys in October and the lightning rod salesman of Bradbury’s twisted imagination, and by the time I finish the first chapter, Eleanor is fast asleep. I set the book aside and turn my own lights off completely so the only light I see is coming from her. I won’t hang up, and I won’t fall asleep myself for quite a while. But I will make sure she finds peace.

  Tonight.

  Tomorrow.

  Always.

  Nineteen

  Eleanor has been on edge for the last three days. The team from National Network News was warm and convincing, and by the time the crew left the Trombley home on Monday night, they’d captured an entire segment with Eleanor in Addy’s room.

  She showed them Addy’s things. Shared the story about her sister dressing up in Eleanor’s uniform because she idolized her sister so much. They got her to cry. And she hasn’t really stopped.

  I think everyone on our street was tuned in to the news last night. We’ve all lived bits and pieces of the tale, and human nature is so curious. Eleanor wanted to watch alone with her family, so I stayed home with mine. Even Grandpa Hank was subdued throughout the piece, and as Morgan and Eleanor cried on camera, so did my mom.

  If Addy is out there somewhere, someone will notice her after this. I think the world is compelled to take up the cause.

  Still, Eleanor insisted on coming to school today. Nobody would have balked at her staying home the day after putting something so raw out into the world, but she’s determined to keep moving forward. Tomorrow is game day, and she wants her spot back on the sidelines. She’s been drowning out her anxiety with extra hours of practice, working with Gemma on the routine and making her tumbling crisp. I’m not sure what that means, but the two of them say that word a lot.

  Regardless, it’s good that she has this to focus on today. I only hope it helps her avoid seeing everyone else whisper behind her back . . . like they are right now.

  “Dude, school lunch blows. This is why I always go out!” Jake lifts his wilting slice of pizza then drops it back down on his plate.

  “There’s nothing wrong with that. It came from Ango’s across the street. They order dozens of large pizzas for lunch every day. It’s the same. Damn. Thing,” I insist, taking the slice from his plate and biting off the cheesy end. I’ve already finished mine.

  “Yeah, well, something happens to it on the trip across the street. I don’t want it.” He pushes the plate closer to me
and I shrug, folding the slice in half and devouring it.

  “Suit yourself,” I mumble with my full mouth.

  Gemma and Eleanor are getting in some last-minute practice, and I didn’t want to race off to lunch with Jake and miss her if she finished before lunch was up. Besides, I somehow scored two lunches for the price of one by staying.

  Jake kicks his feet up on the table and leans back in his chair, pulling his phone out to scroll through social media. He shares a few stupid memes with me while I polish off his lunch and then I scoot over to watch videos with him. We’re both laughing at a cat that leaps into a bucket full of water then leaps right back out, and after our third viewing, I notice a few guys nearby seem to be laughing with us.

  Jake and I both look over our shoulders, and I expect to see someone close enough to see our screen. Instead, it’s three dudes who spend more time smoking pot in the bathrooms than actually attending class. Maybe they’re high. Still no excuse for what they’re doing.

  Eleanor and Gemma are weaving through the tables on their way to us, and these losers are locked onto them with their eyes, watching every sway of their hips. I never thought I was the kind of guy to get possessive, but I’m downright caveman right now.

  Jake stands from his chair a hair before I do, which is good because my jealous, protective side is still new at this. I follow my friend as he pushes a few chairs out of his way and turns one around to straddle backward about a foot from the loudest of the three guys.

  “Hey. I’m Jake,” he says, offering his hand while brandishing a commercial-ready smile. My arms are folded over my chest as I stand behind him like some skinny body guard.

  The dude closest to him gurgles out a laugh and glances to his side toward his friends.

  “You believe this guy?” They all laugh the same stoned nonsense but the guy turns back to face Jake and offers him his hand.

  Dumb move.

  Jake’s grip tightens fast and he pulls the guy toward him with enough force that he stumbles from his chair and ends up on his knees. Good thing, because I’m pretty sure he’s going to need to beg his way out of this.

  “You guys having a good time watching our girlfriends? Is that fun for you?” Jake’s head is cocked to the side and if it weren’t for the way his veins are popping out of his arms, I wouldn’t think his muscles were working hard at all.

  “Come on, man. You’re being a dick,” the guy says. I laugh out hard and run my hand over my mouth.

  “He’s not the one being a dick,” I respond over Jake’s shoulder.

  My friend jerks him forward one more time and the guy’s forehead hits the back of the chair Jake’s straddling.

  “Fuck, man!” The guy flails his other hand at Jake, slapping at him to try to break away, and a few people gather around us.

  Our point is made, so I swing my hand into Jake’s back to get his attention and encourage him to deescalate before we’re both thrown in detention. It seems like a good plan. Only one problem—the potheads can’t keep their mouths shut.

  “You cry on command for that camera last night?” This shitty comment comes from the guy behind the one Jake’s holding hostage, and his eyes are right on Eleanor. A darkness comes over me so fast I don’t even realize what’s happening until he’s lying flat on his back with my knees on his chest and my fist making a third pass into his face.

  “Jonah! It’s all good. He gets it. Come on,” Jake says, pulling at my shoulders.

  Perhaps it was more than three punches to his face.

  My friend drags me to my feet, and I’m snarling like a wild beast. My body is pumped with adrenaline and my eyes see the world in shades of red. I thrash against being held back, kicking at chairs while my friend pulls me off-balance and moves me to the other side of the cafeteria.

  I taste metal. I shirk my arm free from his hold once I’m in a chair far from the douchebags already being circled by a few on-duty teachers. One swipe of my palm along my lip reveals a line of deep red blood and I lean to my side to spit out the taste, leaving a splatter of more on the floor. I’m still breathing hard, coming down from this strange beast mode that I didn’t realize was in me, when our school resource officer bends forward to meet me at my level. I pretty much deflate on eye contact.

  “We’re going to have a talk in the dean’s office, yeah?” Officer Mooney leans his head to the right, toward the exit, and I nod once.

  I think it’s our PE teacher I hear on a bullhorn telling everyone to break it up and get to class as I stand and follow behind the officer and Jake toward a set of offices I’ve only ever been in to receive academic awards. My chest is catching up to what I’ve done, and my arms and legs vibrate with nervous energy.

  “I don’t suppose now is a good time to tell you that you’ve always kinda reminded me of Mike Ditka, is it?” Humor is always my automatic defense mechanism.

  Both Officer Mooney and Jake look back at me as we move down the hallway, but it’s the officer’s expression I zero in on. His furry brows are pulled in tight and his eyes are definitely unamused slits. He chews his gum once. One single chew that moves his mustache up and down like a wave. Then he turns forward and picks up the pace.

  “You know, the old Bears coach?” I continue.

  Jake’s eyes widen.

  “He knows who Ditka is, dude. Just, shh!” My friend catches up to the officer but I drag my feet so they have to wait for me when they reach the main office doors. I’m in no hurry for this next part. My mom is going to shit a brick.

  Getting suspended for two days feels like a bargain. I was the last person Principal Lobeski expected to see waiting in her office when the dean sent me to await my sentencing. She actually said those words to me, in fact.

  “Christ, Jonah. You’re the last person I expected to see waiting in my office.”

  I let my shoulders bunch up a little less after that. Things got better when my mom came, too, and by the end the two of them were essentially ready to present me with a certificate of honor for defending Eleanor.

  I guess my version of how the fight went wasn’t quite accurate. In my head, I was dominating, but judging by the massive black eye I’m sporting, it seems Stoner Face Douchebag was able to land more than a few good punches of his own.

  I was sent home for today, and I’ll spend tomorrow here too. I’m ahead on my homework so really, it’s a high school student’s dream. Only, I’m not able to sit on campus and wait for Eleanor now, to see how she did at cheer practice. And I won’t be able to see her at the assembly tomorrow either, which is really the only thing I have enjoyed about assemblies for the last four years.

  The Bronco, on the other hand, is coming together. Grandpa let Dale know about my sentencing so he plans to spend his day off tomorrow helping me piece together some last details with the electrical. There’s a chance that this son-of-a-bitch might actually make it to a gas station soon.

  I’ve spent most of the day in the Bronco’s driver’s seat with my dad’s notebook. Jake keeps saying I should change out the seats because the fabric is pretty worn and faded, but I don’t know. There’s something about the idea that my dad sat in this exact same seat I am now. I flip down the visor to check out the mirror on the back. That might need updating. Even rubbing it with the sleeve of my sweatshirt doesn’t do much to clear the reflection.

  I lean forward and breathe on the glass to fog it up and give it one more attempt, but it’s no use so I flip the visor back up. My eyes scan the window lackadaisically, and I don’t realize I’m looking at Eleanor for the first few seconds. I jump in my seat when it dawns on me and I fumble my way out of the truck, hitting my head on the roof on my way out.

  Hand rubbing the new knot on my head, I squint one eye closed as I slide my feet closer to her waiting arms.

  “Hey, how’d it go?” I ask. She already has her hands on my face, inspecting my injuries.

  We texted a few times today after I got sent home. She feels guilty about my suspension, but I don’t wan
t her to. Anyone who makes fun of her pain has a whole lot more coming.

  “Oh, you know,” she sighs out, tilting my head slightly as if to get a better view of the nice purple tone on my cheekbone. Her eyes shift a hair, meeting my gaze, and she breaks into a huge smile.

  “You did it? You got your spot back?” My hands automatically move to her face.

  She nods, her elation undeniable.

  “I knew it! I knew you could do this,” I say, pulling her mouth to mine and kissing her through both of our smiles.

  I wrap her up in my arms and rock us side-to-side as she shivers. She’s still wearing her uniform and her arms are covered in tiny bumps from the chill. I lift up on my toes as she tucks her chin and I kiss the top of her head.

  “I gotta change. Wanna come over for a bit? Or are you, like, grounded or something?” She arches a brow as she pulls back, our hands linked by a couple of fingers.

  “I’m eighteen so I don’t think I can technically be grounded,” I say, scrunching my face.

  “Good point,” she says through soft laughter.

  “My grandpa actually gave me twenty bucks and a pat on the back. Mom said I get my fighting skills from my father,” I say, pointing to my colorful face.

  Our hands drop their connection as she takes a few more steps out of the garage while still facing me. Her bag looks heavy at her side, so I reach toward it, insisting on carrying it for her. The sky is a greenish-type of gray. The sun is about to set completely, so the glow must be coming from a full moon buried underneath. It’s supposed to rain again through the night, but it’s cold enough to form ice so who knows what we’re getting. It makes the air feel humid, though, and every breath I exhale forms a cloud.

  The heat in Eleanor’s house is a welcome reprieve, and I drop her bag inside the door and rub my arms to work the chill away. She pauses near the stairs as I move toward the sitting room sofa.

  “You’re not coming up?” she asks.

  “Oh, I . . . your privacy and all that stuff,” I say, the chill completely melted now. My body temperature jetted up to a thousand at the mere thought of going up to her room.