Innocents

by Mary Elizabeth

  “Think you can catch me?” Thomas taunts, turning and running out the bedroom door.

  I chase him down the hall to a part of the house I haven’t seen yet. The thief opens the last door on the right and disappears inside. I don’t realize it’s his bedroom until I’ve followed him in and I stand alongside his bed.

  Bad choice.

  “What’s the matter, Bliss?” he asks, laughing. Thomas sits at his computer desk, spinning himself in circles.

  “Give it back,” I demand.

  He shakes his head, smirking. “I think I’ll keep it, strawberry blonde.”

  With my hands on my hips, I scowl. The last place I should be is in this room, but I’m not going without my nail polish. “Let me have it.”

  Thomas stands, throwing the small glass bottle into the air before catching it. His hair moves out of his eyes and I can see how alive they are.

  “Say please,” he says.

  “Please.”

  He steps closer. I can’t breathe.

  “Say it again, L.”

  I’m about to speak up when—

  “Dusty,” someone says from behind me in a deep, all-authoritative tone, “give the girl her nail polish back.”

  I spin around, coming face-to-chest with a tall, compelling man. His dark gray suit is seamlessly pressed and his hair is perfectly gelled. He’s clean shaven, and he smells good. I see a lot of Thomas in his sureness.

  “Dad, this is Leighlee. Rebecka’s friend from school,” Thomas introduces me, pressing the nail polish back into my hand before he steps out of the room, passing me and his father.

  “It’s nice to meet you, Leighlee.”

  “Hi, Becka’s dad,” I reply, extending my hand like Tommy did with my mother earlier. He’s careful to cradle my lesser hand in his larger one. He doesn’t squeeze, but I can feel the muscle behind his grip.

  His eyes aren’t exactly trustworthy, but they are caring.

  “Call me Luke, sweet child.” He releases my shake and moves to the side with a slight nod.

  Thomas is posted in front of Becka’s door, like he might be waiting for me. He has his arms folded over his chest, and he stands like his life-giver, powerful and certain.

  Lucas pats my shoulder. His voice is positive and father-like. I feel enveloped in absolute affection, and I believe him without question when he says, “You’re welcome here anytime, princess.”

  I snap my eyes up at Luke, then back at Thomas, and I immediately understand.

  There’s more than one person in Newport who was born to be my friend.

  There’s an entire family.

  Midsummer air smells like cotton candy, corn dogs, and just-cut grass. Flags and stars deck the fairgrounds, and parade music plays through the loudspeakers. From toddlers to grandparents, the entire town of Newport mingles around Becka and me as we walk toward the concession stand for funnel cakes.

  “Sorry, Dusty made us late,” she says, letting go of my hand to pull her hair up in the Fourth of July heat. “It took forever to find my shoe.”

  “Where was it this time?” I ask.

  “In the cabinet with the pans, in the pasta pot.” Rebecka digs in the pockets of her cutoffs, pulling a twenty from one and friendship bracelets from the other. She stuffs the money back in and ties a pink braid around my wrist. When Smitty comes up while we’re waiting, she ties a black one on his.

  Once we have two golden-hot and powdered-perfect funnel cakes, we head toward a row of picnic tables behind the Milk Bottle Pyramid. Smitty sits with us, and it’s not long before Oliver catches up with us too.

  “Hey.” He sits beside me.

  “Hey,” I say back, swinging my feet under the table. My toes bump empty cups and plates, and a napkin gets stuck to my shoe. I shake it off, kicking it all at Becka.

  “Hey!” she shouts. I’ve paused my bite and so has she, but then she laughs and kicks the litter back my way.

  With a cheek full of fried dough, she asks Oliver, “Is your dad doing the fireworks again this year?”

  “Yeah, with Hal’s. They’re working on them right now,” he says, smiling when the empty cup hits his feet. I shrug like it wasn’t me.

  AS THE sun starts to set, the boys take off to help with the display. Locusts and crickets start their buzzing, and even more people show up having waited out the heat. Coolers and lawn chairs blanket the grass while boys in baseball uniforms walk around like the stars of the show.

  I’m swirling leftover cake sugar with my pinkie fingertip, eating it little by little, when I hear Thomas’ voice pipe up over all the commotion.

  “Rebecka,” he calls. Emerging from the crowd under a backwards hat, he’s easy to spot in white and navy blue baseball attire.

  “What’s up?” Becka asks as he walks toward us, and I dab another bite of sugar.

  “Look.” He extends his right hand. Whatever he gives her makes her gasp.

  “Oh my gosh. Oh my gosh!” She bounces up and down in her seat, carefully looking between her closed palms. The blue in her eyes sparkles.

  I lean in for a closer look, pushing myself up from the sticky picnic table. Becka’s holding whatever she has close to her chest like it might get away. I look up at Thomas, who’s kind of smirking, sort of beaming. He’s genuinely proud of himself for making his sister happy.

  “Hey, Leighlee,” he says, glancing between me and Becka. He wipes his bottom lip as he laughs, and it’s a sound that would be warm if sounds had temperatures. It’s not cold like when he’s with his friends and embarrassing me. This is different. Better.

  “This is so cool. Where did you find him?” Becka brings her hands up to her face, opening them slowly to inspect what’s so cool.

  “Down by the field.” Thomas leans forward, peeking between his sister’s fingers. His hat sits high enough above his forehead that some of his cut-short-for-summertime dirty blonde sticks out of the snapback.

  “What is it?” I ask, impatiently curious, leaning even closer. But then I see it, and I’m away from the table and hiding behind Thomas. Completely unsurprised by my reaction, they laugh while my heart bounces between my stomach and my throat.

  He brought her a little green lizard, and she’s holding it in her bare hands.

  “It’s a baby,” Becka says in the closest thing to a cute voice I’ve ever heard her make. “It’s more scared of you than you are of it, Bliss.”

  She lets it crawl around her palm and fingers, to the top of her hand, up her arm.

  Thomas looks toward the field and turns his hat to face the right way. The game must be starting sometime soon; people are filling up the stands.

  “I wanted to show you. And maybe scare Bliss a little,” he says, glancing from my eyes to my mouth. He smiles crookedly and focuses on Becka again. “You have to set it free.”

  “I know.” She balances the little green living thing on her wrist. It looks slightly less gross on all her bracelets.

  Jumping out of the crowd, Ben calls for Thomas. He turns to head to the field.

  When he’s no longer close enough to pluck the lizard from his sister’s hand and toss it at me like I secretly think he still may, I sit down next to her. I even lean in to look closer. We giggle and point out the spots on its back, watching it creepy-crawl for a minute or two before she sighs.

  “Come on,” she says to it. “Let’s get you back to your friends.”

  She nudges the lizard free at the edge of the grass while I toss our paper plates into the garbage. Becka laughs when we turn to face one another again.

  “Leigh.” She giggles. “Wipe the powdered sugar off your lip.”

  I bring my hand up right away, and sure enough, sticky white powder comes off on the tips of my fingers. Licking my lips, I realize what Dusty was laughing at and rub my mouth until my fingers come off clean while we head to the bleachers.

  Mom is sitting with Tommy, and Dad’s off to the side, talking with Hal’s father. I don’t know where Luke is, but Tommy doesn’t seem to
mind. She’s smiling high and talking with her hands. From her pinned-up hair to her un-smudged makeup, she looks flawless even in this heat. Mom waves when she sees us, but she doesn’t look quite as at ease. She fusses with her dress and keeps touching her humidity-frizzing curls. She gets like this around Tommy, like she wants everything perfectly in place.

  The field lights come on, turning night into megawatt day as we approach. Becka takes my hand.

  “Come on,” she says, and I follow her to an empty spot a few rows up.

  I clap when the game starts, whistling as Petey steps up to bat. Becka boos playfully, but cheers while he swings and hits. The ball sails toward right field, and there’s not a single person who isn’t on their feet as he slides into third base. Called safe, Pete stands up and wipes clay from his knees. He waves and the crowd loves it.

  After a few innings, we’re climbing down the bleachers to take advantage of the concession stand again. We order suicide sodas, coming up on Katie and Kelly on our walk back. The sun’s been down for well over thirty minutes, but they still have their sunglasses on.

  “Morons,” Becka mumbles, throwing ice from her cup at Kelly as we pass.

  The rest of the game is exciting. Ben hits a home run, Petey pitches, and Thomas doesn’t let anyone from the other team reach first base. Up by seven runs, their team eventually wins. All of the boys go onto the field to tag hands, and after the last two players have congratulated each other on the “good game,” Becka shakes my arm.

  “Look! Look!” She points as the big lights go down.

  “Fireworks!” I grin widely.

  I strain my eyes through the dark, looking for Thomas. I kind of expect him to come sit with us because, even though he’s always with his friends, it’s the Fourth of July and I think he should.

  The first deep-pop makes me jump. I feel the sound in my belly and look up in time to see yellow-green sparks burst open. They light up the whole sky, and the muffled shhhhpop sounds that follow after don’t startle me. Thumps and booms echo in my eardrums while more fireworks than I can count shoot up into the air and open like flowers on fire. The scent of smoke and sparks blows through the breeze, and excitement makes my heart beat faster.

  Bigger, louder flashes pop above us, and they don’t only light the sky. The baseball field is illuminated with every burst too. I spy a few players at the edge of the dirt. As another firework crackles open, its orange streams are so bright I finally spy Thomas in front of the dugout. He’s standing with Ben and Petey, who’s staring up at the display with Kelly. Even now, she’s still wearing her stupid sunglasses.

  I don’t look up as the bursts grow louder and closer together. I’m watching how flecks of bluish-greenish light look on Thomas’ face. He doesn’t know I’m watching him, but when he smiles, I can’t help but smile too.

  People start moving out after the grand finale. I follow Becka under the bleachers. She has sparklers but excitement fades to disappointment when we realize when don’t have a way to light them. I twist the end of mine between my fingers while she looks around.

  “I’ve got it,” Thomas speaks up, jogging in our direction after he sees us.

  I shift my weight between my feet as he pulls a lighter out. I wonder where he got it and why he has it, but no one says anything as he sets fire to our sparklers.

  They catch with bright pink flames. Becka writes her name in the air with hers, and I write Bliss because Leighlee is too long. Thomas stands back until Petey and Ben come over. They’ve got sparklers, but they don’t write their names. As pink flames burn into yellow sparks, the boys act as if their sparklers are swords. They fight each other while Becka and I draw swirls, circling each other.

  Yellow burns from green to blue, and I can feel heat from my sparkler burning close to my fingers. I scoot my hand down to the end of the stick, not ready for it to go out. I’m spinning and drawing loops in the air when Becka screams.

  I turn around in time to see Petey help shake fading flickers from her hair. My heart skips, but she’s smiling fine, more than alright.

  “I’m okay, I’m okay,” she insists, running from him.

  With the last of my fire, I draw a heart. Rebecka draws an arrow. Puffing her cheeks, she blows, like she’s shooting her happiness through my sparkler heart, straight to me.

  I feel it in my real heart.

  A FEW days later, Becka’s up with the sun. While she practices ollies in the driveway, I’m sitting in her front yard. The morning light feels good on my face and arms, while warm grass tickles my bare feet and legs. I have flowers I picked with Tommy’s permission spread into piles around me: daisies, asters, impatiens, and hydrangea.

  I was making rings for us, but those were too hard. I switched to necklaces, but Becka said she won’t wear a flower necklace.

  “What about crowns?” I ask, twirling a stem around my finger.

  Becka kicks a flip. “Yeah,” she says, not looking. “Crowns are cool.”

  I start tying blooms together again.

  Most mornings Tommy bakes cinnamon rolls from the can. Sometimes she’ll toast store-bought pastries, but it’s all sugar I’m not allowed to have at home. When she calls us for breakfast, I eagerly head inside, racing her daughter through the front door. Only when I see what’s waiting, my stomach flips uncomfortably.

  I take my seat at the kitchen table across from Thomas. A glass of white milk is waiting for me next to a plate of eggs and toast. I force myself to smile. It’s impolite to not eat what you’re given, but scrambled eggs have always hurt my stomach. Not wanting to be rude or seem ungrateful, I pick up my fork and take a slow, little bite.

  “You don’t have to eat them if you don’t want to,” Becka tells me, dipping a forkful of fluffy yellow eggs into ketchup.

  Thomas looks up and their mom turns around from the counter. “It’s alright, sweetie,” she says, sipping her coffee. “Lucas doesn’t like eggs either. They give him heartburn.”

  “They give me a stomach ache,” I explain, instantly more at ease. “Just when they’re scrambled, though.”

  While Tommy offers me different kinds of cereal, her son rests his fork on the side of his plate and sets his blue eyes right on me.

  “How do you like your eggs, Bliss?” he asks.

  Tommy gives me a bowl of Fruit Loops and I smile thankfully.

  “Sunny side up.”

  Later in the day, flower crown on my head, I’m drawing on the driveway with colored chalk, dusty up to my knees and elbows in pink, green, and yellow powder. It’s some of my best work, but Becka thinks it’s funny to skate over my periwinkle petals, and when Thomas comes out of the house, I give up altogether.

  “Hey, Leigh,” he says, crouching down beside me. Thomas picks up a piece of chalk. “You’ll be here tomorrow, right?”

  I watch his hands while he draws a single white line next to my bouquet.

  “It’s my birthday,” he continues, quieter. He draws a three next.

  Thirteen.

  Thomas will officially be a teenager.

  I straighten my crown as I shrug. “Sure.”

  MOM CARRIES Thomas’ gift bag, and I carry Becka’s. It’s not her day, but she’s my best friend. I insisted on getting something for her too. While Mom’s busy hassling with her hair and outfit, Rebecka answers the Castors’ door with flushed cheeks and the biggest grin.

  She literally pulls me into the house. “The boys are playing some boxing game. Pete said girls don’t know how to play. I had to show him I could fight better than he could―”

  She’s going ninety miles a minute, and I’m laughing as we enter the kitchen. The house is air-conditioned cool and smells like a combination of boy sweat and sheet cake.

  “It took two tries, but Petey was a sore loser when I finally like, destroyed him. There’s cake,” she tells me, pointing toward the counter. “It’s blackberry cream.”

  The birthday cake is cut and almost half gone. I can see the sticky sweet, dark blue lines of blac
kberry goodness between vanilla layers. I do want some, but I don’t understand. I know we’re not late. Did they sing “Happy Birthday?”

  “What’s in the bag?” Becka asks, sitting down at the table with a drink of water.

  “Oh.” I remember I’m still holding her present. “This is for you.”

  She smiles like Thomas did when he gave her the little green lizard as she pulls a Danny Way tee shirt out of the gift bag.

  “This is cool. And it’s not even my birthday.” She tugs it on over her tank top before drawing me in for a hug. “Thanks, Bliss.”

  “You’re welcome,” I say, hugging her back. “I’m glad you like it.”

  “Like what?” Thomas asks. The birthday boy has his shoes off and his socks on under basketball shorts and a plain white tee. He looks flushed, but not like his sister.

  “This sweet new shirt that Leigh got for me.” She turns to show him. “It’s cooler than any of yours.”

  “It isn’t even your birthday,” he teases, swiping his thumb along the corner of his cake and aiming to dot the frosting on her nose.

  Becka sidesteps, ready to strike with a quick one-two, when the doorbell rings.

  “Dusty, get that!” Tommy calls from another room.

  With a grin and a pause, instead of smearing icing across his sister’s face, he licks it off his thumb as he walks away.

  Being here is fun when it’s the two of us, or when Thomas is around making it three. I don’t even mind when Pete and Ben are over and we’re a party of five—but today is plain crazy. In less than an hour, the Castor house fills with party people. Adults take over the kitchen, and there are more boys in the living room than I can count.

  I recognize some of them from school, and others from the baseball team, but Thomas is the only one even halfway worth hanging out with, and it’s his party. He’s happily surrounded.

  I probably shouldn’t be in a room full of boys anyway. Dad wouldn’t be happy, and Mom’s probably wondering where I am.