Under Shifting Stars

by Alexandra Latos

  “Is there?” I hear my voice rising. “And you would know, right? Because you’ve been through it before.”

  Sharon’s cheeks turn pink, but she’s not embarrassed. At least not about being a complete ignorant asshat. About the students who are definitely starting to look? Maybe.

  “I get it sucks that Audrey might be coming back, and I totally feel for you because that girl is messed, but I’m trying to give you advice. As your friend. The other girls think you’re changing.” The threat is there behind her words: Soon you might not fit in with us.

  Too bad I already don’t.

  * * *

  It’s Taylor’s turn to present.

  The name is called and there is an audible inhale, like the class is sucking in one breath. Fluid as a dancer, Taylor stands and moves to the front of the classroom, wearing ripped jeans, a clunky metal wallet chain, a backwards baseball cap, and an open black leather jacket over a white T-shirt with a golden lion’s snarling face. There’s something about the way Taylor moves that makes you take notice, but it’s the haircut that fascinates me the most: long on top, short on one side and shaved on the other. It’s tough and daring and everything I wish I had the guts to do.

  A few desks over, Billy lounges back in his seat, slips a pen between his teeth. He’s grinning, there’s a twinkle in his eye, and I feel my forehead break into a sweat.

  Biology on Tuesday and Thursday is the only class I have with Taylor, but I’m well aware of the rumors. According to Sharon, the Matthews family moved here from the UK at Christmas and Taylor is an only child. But that’s not the crazy part. The crazy part is that no one seems to know if Taylor is a boy or a girl. No one. Supposedly Taylor has been known to use both bathrooms and is pushing the principal to add a gender-neutral bathroom. When the teachers talk about Taylor in class, they use the pronouns they and their, which always makes the students snicker and some of the teachers turn red.

  Another glance at Billy confirms he’s grinning mockingly. Waiting.

  My fingers knot together under the desk as my breathing becomes shallow. It’s a weird feeling, almost like I’m worried for Taylor. The very same clenching of the gut I get when Audrey is about to do something weird. But why do I care? Taylor has nothing to do with me.

  When they begin to speak, the room immediately quiets. That accent. It makes the back of my neck tingle, and the tingle travels all the way down my spine. Halfway through the presentation, I realize that I have no idea what the topic is—something to do with plants?—because I’ve been so focused on the sound of their voice.

  Then Billy coughs. It’s a simple clearing of the throat but enough to make Taylor pause and glance up. Billy’s still smiling his usual mischievous smile, the one he busts out when he’s about to make fun of someone, but as I watch, he pulls the pen from his lips, runs it along his tongue seductively. Then his eyes close and he starts pumping it in and out of his mouth.

  I sputter-cough, masking my shock. My heart’s thumping and it’s like my eyes are glued to Billy and the way he’s making out with the pen. The hairs on the back of my neck prickle and my arms break out in goosebumps. Billy’s tongue, Taylor’s tongue. The thought pops into my head and it won’t go away and I feel the heat crawling up my chest and into my face. I pray no one looks at me.

  Beside Billy, Jason covers his mouth with his fist. His shoulders are shaking with smothered laughter. Billy flips the pen, starts from the other side, his eyes still locked on Taylor.

  The room suddenly goes strangely silent, and I follow Billy’s gaze to see that Taylor has stopped speaking and is smirking instead. The expression is unfazed—daring, even. It says they aren’t going to be intimidated.

  “Taylor?” A voice breaks through the fog. “Are you finished?”

  Ms. Dunphy is standing at the back of the classroom. I don’t turn around to look at her. I can’t.

  Out of the corner of my eye, Billy taps the desk with the pen. Once. Twice.

  “No,” Taylor says in that sexy British accent. “I’m not even close.”

  Then their gaze shifts to land on me, and I smile in what I hope is a reassuring way. As they start speaking again and our eyes lock across the room, I feel a strange sensation, like our bodies are linked as well. Like when my breathing slows, their breathing slows. It doesn’t matter what is happening in the rest of the room. Taylor’s words vibrate down through their body, through the floor and up my legs.

  When the presentation ends and Taylor breaks eye contact, I feel cold. Instead of walking down Billy’s row, Taylor walks down mine. I quickly look down at my desk and hold my breath, but I still feel them pass, still smell the leather mixed with—what? My face is burning. I just focus on my desk, willing my breathing to slow. Emotions tumble through me: relief, excitement, fear.

  Someone else’s name is being called—Stan—and now a gust of Axe body spray hits me instead. My heart is still slowing, my fingers are sore from gripping the desk so tightly, and all I want is to escape from the room. I should ask for a bathroom pass but I’m too afraid to stand.

  My legs are shaking.

  * * *

  At lunch I walk with Sharon & Co. to the park a block from school and sit on the baseball bleachers. Sharon and I sit on the top row because we’re “best friends,” and Charlotte and Rhiannon sit on the row below us. Sharon claims this is so we can all see one another better.

  It’s one of those perfect May days that feel like summer, even though we’re not immune to a freak snowstorm—you never know what to expect with Calgary. Some winters we have a white Christmas, and others we have a chinook—a warm wind that blows down the Rocky Mountains and into the prairies—and all the skating rinks melt.

  We take off our sweaters and lean back in the bleachers like we might actually get a tan.

  “Who’s going to the year-end dance?” Sharon asks.

  I don’t say anything. I’m still annoyed at Sharon for her earlier comments. I’m also not interested in a stupid dance.

  “I’m going with Jacob!” Rhiannon announces, and bounces on the bench. “He asked me this morning.”

  Charlotte kind of deflates. “I’m going with Sam. But I, uh, kind of asked him.”

  “Burn,” Rhiannon says.

  “Shut up, Rhi. Everyone knows guys are scared to ask the hot girls. I’m going with Jeff.” Sharon turns to me. “What about you, Clare? Hoping for Billy to ask you?”

  As soon as she says Billy, I think of the way he sucked on the pen in front of Taylor. Then I’m thinking about the way he kissed me at the dance last year. It was the sloppiest, most disgusting experience of my life—like kissing someone whose tongue had been frozen at the dentist. I think I vomited in my mouth.

  “I don’t want to go,” I tell her.

  She rolls her eyes at Charlotte and Rhiannon in a way that implies they saw this coming. Like I’m determined to just stay at home and be sad. But it only lasts a second before she switches the conversation back to herself, biting her bottom lip the way she does when she has juicy gossip. “I’m gonna go all the way with Jeff.”

  Charlotte’s mouth falls open at the same time Rhiannon says, “What?”

  I’m just as shocked as them. It’s no secret her and Jeff have done more than kissing, but is she ready to have sex with him? They only started dating last week.

  “Yeah. We’re fifteen now”—Sharon pauses to look at me—“well, most of us are. We’re not kids anymore. Back in the day women had children at our age.”

  “That’s gross,” Charlotte says.

  Sharon shrugs. “Our bodies are ready. I feel ready. Jeff is the guy.”

  I have trouble imagining Jeff as the guy. He still looks like a boy to me. He wears pants that are two sizes too big for him and always has an unlit smoke between his lips. Has anyone ever actually seen him light the smoke? Anyone?

  “Only you know when you’re ready,” Rhiannon says wisely. “Let us know how it is.” Then she follows it up with one of her hyena giggles.


  I bite the straw of my juice box hard. “Hey, have any of you talked to Taylor?” I try to ask it casually, but from the way Sharon’s eyes narrow, I know I’ve done a poor job.

  “Why are you asking about that weirdo?”

  I shrug. “I guess because of what Billy did in bio.”

  Sharon throws her head back in laughter. “Oh my God, I can’t believe I almost forgot about that.” She turns to Rhiannon and Charlotte. “Billy was, like, deep-throating a pen while Taylor was giving a presentation.”

  Charlotte busts out a laugh. “Oh my God, I wish I’d seen that.”

  I laugh too and then instantly feel bad about it. Why? What’s going on with me?

  Sharon isn’t smiling anymore. In fact, she looks like she can read my mind.

  “Don’t tell me you actually feel bad for that freak. What does it expect?”

  I stand up, squishing the sandwich my mom made through its plastic bag. “I’ll see you later.” I toss the bag into the garbage at the bottom of the bleachers, miss, and walk away anyway. I can’t get away from them fast enough.

  “Where are you going?” Sharon yells behind me, but I ignore her. I put the sweatshirt back on, pull the hood up over my head, and shove my hands into the front pockets. I don’t know where I’m going. I just know I want to be away from those girls.

  Halfway across the park I realize there’s nowhere to go but back to school. I don’t have a car. The only friends I have with cars are talking about losing their virginity to guys—an idea that makes my skin itch. I know it’s going to have to happen at some point in my life, but the last thing I want to think about is some heavy, sweaty guy on top of me.

  I enter through the side entrance to the school and am bombarded with noise and people: students slamming lockers, yelling at their friends, walking side by side so they block the entire hallway, hanging off door frames. There’s a staircase to my right that leads to the wrestling pit, and I duck down it. At the bottom, the door to the pit is locked, but extra wrestling mats are stacked in a pile in a corner. Perfect. I lie down on them, put my feet against the wall, and close my eyes.

  There’s a pleasant weight on my lower abdomen. My skin tingles as my hand moves to the right pocket of my sweatshirt to pull out Adam’s phone. I shouldn’t have it, I should have left it in his room, but I like having it with me. I know it’s obsessive—odd, even—but I can’t help it.

  I click off the volume, scroll to the first video, and push play. Dahlia is on top of me again. She’s swaying and speaking, and even though I can’t hear the words, I know them all by heart.

  Audrey

  Like every morning, we drop Clare off at school first. She’s not wearing her usual clothes today. She’s wearing Adam’s sweatshirt, the black one with the tree made of bones. She’s only a few feet up the path when Sharon and the others swarm her.

  Clare in her new life without me.

  My stomach tightens. Like every morning.

  We drive past the diner on the way to Peak. Mom always keeps her eyes on the road and talks to me or hums when we pass it. After Adam died, she asked if we could drive a different route. She didn’t wait for my answer and just turned onto a different street. Just like that. I had a panic attack and we had to drive home and then back again with the proper route.

  I’m sorry, she told me. The diner reminds me of Adam.

  We have to go that way. It’s important.

  Mom nodded and we didn’t talk about it anymore.

  Today I wait until the diner is the size of a toy in the rearview mirror. Then I ask Mom for her and Dad’s decision.

  You’ve had nine days to think about it, I tell her. (Eight hours and thirty-five minutes short of nine days, but hopefully they’re not counting.)

  Not yet, sweetie, she says. It’s a big decision. She runs teeth along her bottom lip. We need to consult Dr. Jackson, and you just saw him the night before you asked to switch schools.

  Why?

  Why what?

  Why do we have to consult Dr. Jackson? This should be a family decision.

  It’s not that simple. Sometimes parents need advice. Despite what kids think, we don’t have all the answers.

  We’re silent for a while. I count seven dogs during this silence. That is very good luck because seven is a good-luck number. They are the following breeds:

  Wiener dog (these always make me smile)

  Labradoodle (Labrador and Poodle baby)

  Schnauzer (or maybe a Scottie?)

  Greyhound (like on the buses)

  Shiba Inu (like Menswear Dog on the internet)

  Miniature poodle (mini clouds glued together)

  A breed I can’t remember but it has a very big head

  Dr. Jackson will say no, I tell Mom. A neon sign with the single word flashes behind my eyes.

  NO. N-O.

  Mom looks at me. For a long time. It’s kind of scary because she’s not looking at the road. Not necessarily, she says.

  I can tell she isn’t saying the truth.

  And it makes me mad.

  You’re lying! You’re lying to me right now! My eyes flood with tears until the road in front of us blurs. I feel my chest tightening and expanding until I can hardly breathe. I can’t breathe at all now. The air in the car is too close, too tight. The car no longer has any oxygen! It’s full of carbon dioxide! Help! Help! I grab at the door to open the window.

  Shh, sweetie. Calm down. Mom pulls over to the side of the road and turns on the hazards. She reaches across me to open the glove box, pulls out one of the brown paper bags.

  Deep breaths, Audrey. Deep breaths.

  I hold it to my mouth and breathe in, breathe out. A long time passes.

  I take the bag from my mouth. Mom is sitting with her hands in her lap and staring straight forward. There are tears in her eyes.

  I’m sorry, she says without looking at me.

  I’m still upset but I tell her I’m okay so she’ll start driving again. She doesn’t say another word about Dr. Jackson.

  Nous sommes arrivées. Mom comes to a stop the closest she can get, which isn’t very close. Cars and vans idle while parents and nurses help kids from cars. That was my first hint that everything was going to be different. But on my first day, I missed it. At that point I was just scared about not going to school with Clare. We’d gone to school together our whole lives. We’d always been in the same class, too.

  Now it’s like going to school without the other half of my body.

  Mom?

  Yes?

  I look down at my sweater. Pick at a loose thread. I wish I hadn’t spoken because now she’s waiting. I can’t ask why Clare doesn’t want me around. I already know the answer.

  Sometimes I wish I could be Clare, I say.

  Mom sighs and rubs my back. Oh, sweetie. You’re turning fifteen. It’s a tough age, but it’s also very special. You’re straddling childhood and adulthood. The only difference between you and Clare is that she’s already made the leap.

  Is that it? Is that what’s wrong with me? I wonder. Maybe in a few years I’ll feel like I want to grow up. Then everything will change.

  Mom gives me a kiss on the head. Time to get out.

  * * *

  After Adam died it was decided. New school for a new semester. I would attend Peak. (The name is meant to inspire our highest potential. But no one reaches their highest potential at Peak.)

  Sharon told me people call it Freak. She said, Oh my God, you’re going to Freak? Well, I can’t say I’m surprised.

  I made the mistake of asking what she meant.

  Basically everyone calls it that because only freaks go there.

  That’s not true, I told her. It’s a school for gifted students too. Not everyone learns the same way, you know.

  She laughed. Yeah, right. That’s just what parents tell their kids so they don’t feel bad about themselves.

  Mom and Dad didn’t want to send me to Peak. Not at first. At first they just took me to see Dr. Ja
ckson because Ms. Pearl said I needed an assessment. Ms. Pearl was my grade eight science teacher. She looked like a pinhead with eyes like a fish.

  And she hated me.

  She hated when I talked to friends in class. She called me loud. She called me obnoxious. She yelled at me in front of everyone when I came back late from lunch. I always stopped to pet the neighbor’s dog. When I drew in class, she ripped the pages out of my notebook.

  I was afraid to go to school. I always made a mistake.

  Mom asked Clare to stop going to friends’ houses at lunch and come home with me instead. She wanted Clare to walk me back to school so I made it on time.

  Clare yelled, She’s ruining my life!

  One day Ms. Pearl called home and gave my parents the bad news. There was something wrong with me.

  Mom was on the landline in the kitchen and I snuck upstairs to listen in.

  Ms. Pearl said, I’ve done everything I can but it’s just no use.

  What’s that supposed to mean? Mom asked.

  I think you should take her to a children’s psychologist.

  Are you saying there’s something wrong with her?

  You need a professional opinion.

  Mom was pretty upset after that conversation. I remember she cried.

  I suspect she has ADHD, Dr. Jackson said. Then he gave me a million tests and asked me a zillion questions and told me to play while he watched. Afterward he determined I didn’t pass but I didn’t fail.

  Only that didn’t matter in the end.

  Fit is important, Dad told me after Adam’s accident. You’ll be happier in a new school.

  I knew what he meant. I’d finally failed the test.

  * * *

  The other students are at their desks when I enter the classroom. Marianne is making the rounds greeting everyone with her usual smile. Monsieur Martin is at the back of the room doing his paperwork. I go to the back and stand over his desk. Clear my throat. He doesn’t look up.