Under Shifting Stars

by Alexandra Latos

Clare

  After Audrey goes upstairs, my parents get stupidly excited over the fact that Audrey got a phone call. Yeah it was a boy, but whatever. I seriously doubt this Calvin was the first boy to call the house.

  But then I think about it and realize the ’rents are right. Calvin was the first boy to call. Worse, I might actually be feeling jealous of Audrey. Not because I actually want a boy to call me but because my parents seem proud of Audrey, and I don’t think they would be proud of me if they knew I’ve been watching Dahlia’s videos.

  Calvin. He must be a boy from school. How else would she have met him? When we were little kids I would have asked her about him, and maybe even been excited for her, but now I don’t know how. It feels like it’s been forever since we were us: Clare and Audrey. I don’t know if we can ever go back.

  I help the ’rents clean up after dinner and then announce, “I’m going out for a bit.”

  “With your friends?” Is it my imagination or does Mom actually sound hopeful?

  “Yeah,” I lie, which makes me feel worse.

  “I thought you were sick today.” Dad gives me a stern look. “Does this mean you’ll be going to school tomorrow?”

  I pretend I didn’t hear him as I slam the back door.

  The sun has already set, so it’s dark and the creep factor is high. Beside the door a light bulb hangs from the ceiling and you have to pull the string to turn it on. Then it swings in the darkness, casting light over one half of the garage and then the other.

  I make my way over to the skateboards leaning against the wall. Four skateboards, lined up back to back. All of them covered in dust.

  The first three Adam’s, the last one mine.

  One of the nights I rode my bike past the school to spy on Adam and his friends skateboarding, they caught me. What did I expect? They were just standing in a group at the bottom of the stairs and yelled at me to come over.

  “We know you have a crush on Cody!”

  Followed by Adam telling them to shut the f up.

  I turned around and biked home as fast as I could. At home I dumped my bike in the farthest corner of the garage, like it was damning evidence or something.

  Adam got home early that night. I was in the family room watching TV and he sat down beside me. The entire couch dipped with my heart.

  “Why do you ride by all the time?” he asked.

  I felt like such a loser. What had I looked like to them, circling by over and over on my pink bicycle?

  “I don’t like Cody,” I told him. “I like skateboarding.”

  “You like watching us?”

  “Yeah. Except I want to do it too.” I want to be like you.

  I kind of expected him to laugh it off, maybe tell me I’d get hurt and act like I was “just a girl.” Instead he got super excited.

  “You want to learn? That’s awesome. I can make you a board right now.”

  So that’s what he did. He let me choose which deck I wanted from three of his old ones, and then I watched as he added the trucks, bearings, and wheels. As he worked, he told me about how Dad wanted him to be into sports like baseball and hockey.

  “Sometimes it feels like I’m a huge disappointment,” he confessed.

  “Dad loves you no matter what,” I told him.

  “Oh, don’t worry about me. I’m happy.” Adam grinned and held the board out with two hands, as if bestowing a gift upon me. “Ready?”

  I accepted the board. “Ready.”

  He grabbed the helmet hanging off the handlebars of my bike and I groaned.

  “Don’t worry, we’ll practice in the alley. No one will see you.”

  Skateboarding was terrifying. The moment I put the board down on the pavement in front of me, I realized how intimidating a skateboard actually was. It took me an hour to get used to the pushing. I went all the way up the alley and back, Adam cruising beside me like it was the most natural thing in the world, before I finally got my back foot on for more than a few seconds. The board veered wildly to the right and I almost took out a garbage bin before I biffed it.

  Adam fist-pumped before yanking me to my feet again. “You did it!”

  Oh man, if that was something to celebrate . . .

  “It’s hard to learn. Especially since you’re not a little kid. Kids have no fear and are close to the ground and fall all the time. You have to get over that mental hurdle. Don’t think about hurting yourself.”

  I laughed. “That’s exactly the kind of advice Mom wouldn’t want you to give me.”

  “I know.”

  I stepped on the end of the board, faced it down the alley again. “Let’s keep going.”

  I practiced like that every night of the week after dinner until I could actually ride the board up and down the alley, weaving back and forth, avoiding cracks in the pavement.

  “Next we’ll teach you to ollie,” Adam said. “Then you’ll be legit.”

  As I rode, I imagined cruising up to the school, the surprised look on Sharon’s face. I imagined shredding the stupid image I’d created for myself and becoming a skater instead. That would test whether or not Sharon really liked me! But I knew I would never be brave enough—I needed my friends too badly. So it was Adam’s and my secret, and I kind of liked that.

  Now I pluck my skateboard out from between the others and take to the streets, pulling my hood up to hide my long hair. It’s completely dark save for the streetlights, but no one driving by spares me a second glance as I place the board down on the road, put my foot on it. I feel the power in my veins the moment I push off. This is the first time I’ve skateboarded since The Accident, and it’s exhilarating to be out again, but mostly to think people might mistake me for a guy in this sweatshirt. If someone were to see me out their window, would they think I was Adam? Probably not because I’m hella rusty. On my first push, I veer wildly to the right, correct myself so I don’t crash into a BMW. Over­correct and almost plow into an oncoming Audi. Laugh to myself. Adam would love it.

  “They just leave them parked on the street,” he’d say. “Then they wonder why someone stole the hood ornament off their Jag.”

  The ’rents have by far the most modest cars in the neighborhood. Mom drives a van even though she swore she’d never get one. First she tried a Highlander with the third row that folds down, but it got too annoying that Adam had to climb over the back seat. That’s how you sell out, I thought when she told me. You try to be your own person but life forces you to change.

  Dad drives a Mazda 6 because it’s sleek but also affordable, with high fuel efficiency. High fuel efficiency is very important to Dad. Efficiency in general is very important to Dad.

  Adam had a really old Jeep TJ with a convertible top that leaked in the winter. It didn’t matter how much he cranked up the heat because it all disappeared. He always drove wearing gloves, and I sat on the edge of the passenger seat to be as close to the vents as possible.

  Of course, that Jeep doesn’t exist anymore. Like Adam.

  I falter a little as I take a ramp up onto the sidewalk. I need to get out of my head. That’s what Adam always did. Don’t overthink it. He just saw a ramp and knew he was gonna ride that. Of course that was after years of mastering the small stuff first.

  The cool night air hits my face as I gather speed. I’m completely alone in the dark, but I don’t have to be afraid. At the park I carry the board across the grass to the tennis courts. Adam told me the people who live across the street hate it when kids skate on the tennis courts, but the skaters never listen because the surface is rubbery and perfect for practicing small tricks, like ollies. I never did learn how to do one. Maybe now’s the time.

  After closing the gate, I cruise to the far side of the courts, behind the nets that were just put up last week. I stand on the board in the darkness, looking out at the houses across the street through the trees that line the edge of the park. This is where Adam learned tricks under the stars. He probably stood in this very spot with this very board. Maybe he was e
ven wearing a hoodie like this one. Suddenly it feels like I’m in some kind of time bubble and I’ve gone back six or seven years. I imagine I’m young Adam, learning how to ollie for the first time, and old Adam is in the sky looking down at me and telling me I’ve got this.

  I can almost feel his arms reaching down to hold me as I slide my right foot back so my toes are on the edge of the board. I take a deep breath. Then I ball my hands into fists, and I ollie.

  The board rises into the air maybe a centimeter before flying out from under me and into the nets. Awesome, they’re good for something. My butt hurts, however, so the rubber is overrated.

  I retrieve the board and try again and again and again.

  And again.

  Two hours later, I haven’t ollied, but I’ve flipped the board completely around. The trick is in the landing. It’s way past curfew so I jump on the board and speed home, and it’s the best ride I’ve ever had because I’m not focusing on skating, I’m worried about how late it is and how Mom is going to kill me because she’s been waiting for an excuse to kill me, and as I pull up to our house I don’t even think about it—I do an ollie and jump the curb! Follow it up with a dive-roll onto the grass. I’m laughing and brushing myself off and the skateboard is rolling backwards from where it hit the edge of the lawn. Still elated—I ollied! I actually ollied!—I grab the board and run to the garage to stash it before the ’rents can find out what I’m up to.

  The house is dark, save for the hallway light the ’rents always leave on when I go out. I climb the stairs slowly so that I won’t make a noise and wake anyone up, but it doesn’t matter because they’re waiting up for me. Their door is partly open and I can hear the television. I take a deep breath and step into their room, my excuse already on my lips.

  “Hey, sorry I’m late, Charlotte was having trouble with a school assignment so I was helping her out and lost track of time.”

  Neither of them looks impressed. Mom sits up higher in bed. “We were worried about you. I texted to see if you were okay.”

  “I forgot my phone.” That’s a lie—I always have my phone. “Which is also part of the reason I was late.”

  “You look . . . flushed.”

  “I rushed home when I realized the time.” At least that part is true. I quickly shut the conversation down, claiming I’m tired and need to get to bed.

  In my room, I open the window curtain and gaze out at the street I was just skateboarding. Now I finally understand the significance of all those nights watching Adam and his friends from the sidelines. For me, wanting to skateboard like Adam wasn’t as simple as a little sister looking up to her big brother. When I spied on Adam and his friends, I not only wanted to be like them, I wanted to be them. I just hadn’t made that distinction yet.

  * * *

  In the middle of the night, I sneak downstairs to Adam’s room. I sit on the edge of his bed in front of his dresser. My heart is racing so fast, I think my parents can hear it two floors above. Am I really going to do this?

  The idea came to me an hour ago. I was lying awake and everyone else was asleep, and I realized I could try. It would be easy. No one would even know. All his stuff is still here. It’s the perfect opportunity.

  I pull open the top drawer. It’s all underwear and socks. I close it quickly and pull open the second. T-shirts. That seems like a good place to start.

  Putting on a larger shirt than the one I’m wearing doesn’t feel that different, so I grab a leather bracelet and a baseball cap off his shelf and put them on too. But it’s not until I pull on a pair of Adam’s jeans that I start to feel like I’m playing dress-up. The pants are way too big. I roll the bottoms under and cinch the waist tighter by holding it at the back. Then I look around. No mirror.

  I do have my phone. The light is bad in here but I can use the flash. I set it up on his dresser and turn on the timer. Then I stand in front of the bed and wait.

  The first shot just gets my legs. I move the camera back as far as it can go on the dresser, but I can still only fit my legs and part of my torso. So I stack a bunch of books up and lean the camera on an angle against them before climbing up onto the bed.

  Finally, finally I get a full body shot, and I look like a kid wearing clothes two sizes too big for him. There’s also something about the light hair coming out from under the cap . . . Adam had hair to his shoulders up until four years ago. People always told Adam and me that we looked like our dad and Audrey looked like our mom, but I’d never seen the resemblance between Adam and me until now. Apparently all it took was dressing in his clothes.

  Adam’s wallet is still sitting in its spot on the top of his night table. I root through it until I find what I’m looking for and hold it up to the light. His hair is short in the photograph, but I could totally get around that by tucking my hair into a beanie. Plus I’d pass any interrogation a bouncer could give me because I already know his birthday, address, and height by heart. My pulse quickens as I pop off my iPhone case and tuck Adam’s ID in behind it. It would be so easy. All I’d have to do is dress up as him, and I could hit up the bars as Adam.

  The ceiling creaks above me and I jump off the bed, tear off all the clothes. I change back into my pajamas and stuff the ball of Adam’s clothes into one of the drawers just as Mom calls down the stairs.

  “Audrey, is that you?”

  Why would Audrey be in the basement? I run to the bottom of the staircase before Mom can come down and investigate. “No, it’s me. Clare.”

  Even standing a floor above me, Mom looks fragile in her bathrobe. “What are you doing down there? You should be in your room.”

  My shoulders tense in irritation. Soon she’ll have me punching in and out. “I was having trouble sleeping,” I snap. And before I can think it through, I’m giving her the excuse: “I was thinking about Adam.”

  “Oh,” she says in understanding, and guilt settles into my bones. “I see.”

  “I feel like I could be closer to him here.” I feel like a terrible person.

  She crosses her arms and leans against the door frame. “Do you want to talk about it?”

  I do. I want to talk about what’s really going on so badly, it’s killing me. With her, with someone, with anyone. But I can’t.

  “Not really,” I say, and start climbing the stairs. “I just have some stuff I need to figure out on my own.”

  “All right.” She puts an arm around my shoulders as I approach. “But if you ever need to talk to someone besides that guidance counselor, I’m always here.”

  She sounds rejected, and it makes me feel sad and angry at the same time because I know she’s thinking the same thing as me. When I was little, I told her everything. I asked for her advice, too. I climbed into her bed for a morning cuddle and opened my arms as wide as they could go, but it was never enough to show how much I loved her. Now our relationship is more bipolar than Calgary’s weather, and I have to keep myself hidden so she doesn’t realize the truth.

  Audrey isn’t the freak.

  Audrey

  Have you ever noticed the stars on the backs of your eyelids? When I can’t fall sleep, I close my eyes and look at the stars. Thousands of pinpricks of light. If you look closely, you can see they’re connected like a web.

  When I was little, I used to dig my knuckles into my eyelids. Then I’d follow the changing patterns on an intergalactic voyage. That was before I knew to be afraid of going blind.

  I’m answering English questions when a star slips across my eye. More like an eclipse. A black globule surrounded by a circle of light. I close and open my eye a few times and it disappears.

  Maybe it was a bug. Or a bacteria blob. Hopefully I blinked it out.

  Trying hard not to think about my sketchbook, I complete my first lesson and move to the next. And so on. And so forth.

  I finish an hour early, so I ask Monsieur Martin permission to sketch until the end of class.

  You’ve finished all of your reading?

  Yes.
r />   And your end-of-chapter questions?

  Yes.

  So you have no homework?

  No.

  Please bring me your workbooks.

  I bring him the books and he flips through them, grading them on the spot. I stand there and wait while he does it. He looks young again today. He’s wearing a short-sleeved shirt with a collar and he hasn’t shaved. I try to guess how old he is. Thirty? Thirty-five? Maybe even in his twenties. I’m bad at guessing the ages of older people.

  Finally he sits back in his chair and kind of squints at me. I’m impressed, Audrey. Lately I’ve been seeing a side of you I’ve never seen before. You’ve shown us that you can indeed reach your highest potential. I just wish you weren’t motivated to leave us. If you continue on this road, you could be one of our star students.

  I just stand there.

  What are you going to sketch? he asks. If you’d like, I can call Ms. Nguyen and ask if you can spend the rest of the day in the art room. Perhaps we can work out an extra time period for you to work on your art. Maybe every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday.

  Thank you but no, I say. I’ll just draw at my desk.

  Are you sure? You can use the art supplies.

  I’m sure.

  I quickly take my books back to my desk. The way he’s looking at me makes me nervous. Like if I’m too good I’ll never get out of here either.

  For the next three days I’m the perfect student. I make sure to listen to him when he’s at the front of the class. I finish all the questions in my workbook. I ignore the playground and the lonesome swing blowing in the wind. In fact I ignore the window entirely. Marianne smiles and tells me I’m doing a great job today. At the end of the week she puts three gold stars on my chart.

  How many gold stars will it take to outweigh Dr. Jackson?

  Marianne doesn’t have enough stickers in her pad.

  (New goal: to be such a good student, Marianne needs to rush out and buy all the stars.)

  * * *

  Mom picks me up from school and I can barely contain the news. School went really well today, I tell her. I got a gold star. Three gold stars!