by Julia Swift
“I wondered if one of your spies had something to do with my notes going missing since, as you put it, the newspaper’s not a place for jocks like me.”
“Why would I give up a good story?”
“If you didn’t submit it, then how did my story get published?”
As I shut my locker, I see a copy of my article posted on the wall outside the principal’s office. Everyone walks past without reading it except for one person… Sasha.
44
Sasha
My brother parks in front of the school, and I hop in his car.
“I can’t believe you didn’t hide by the lockers or something. What if one of your teachers sees you?”
I have to shove over a pile of books to make room in the front seat. All of them look brand new, not a scratch on the covers or a crease in the spines. They look lonely. I keep thinking of all the people who wrote the words and all the characters they created screaming, “Listen to me, read me, open the book.” Xander doesn’t hear them. He’s waiting for an explanation.
“A few teachers did rush in, late for school. They wished me good luck. They automatically assume I’m off to some competition or interview or something important. And I am.”
He’s giving me the sideways eye. The I-don’t-even-have-to-say-anything-because-you-know-you’re-full-of-crap look.
“I could not sit in class today and pretend that I cared about what anyone was saying. They are all wasting their time, and I don’t have time to waste.”
“Sasha, you’re always talking about wasting time, but what are you in a rush to get to? You’re lucky they trust you, they let you do whatever you want at that school.”
“Spending most of my time sitting home reading or at the library with Lisa was the right choice?”
“You like to read.”
I throw his books into the back seat.
“You keep skipping school and things will change at school and at home.”
“What’re they going to do, lock me in my room?”
“Maybe not, but if your grades start slipping, you might end up having to go to one of those easy to get into schools you picked for me.”
“I was trying to help.”
“I didn’t ask for your help, and this guy didn’t ask for your help. School is not my thing, it’s your thing. How are you going to feel in three years when you get turned down from those schools you’ve been dreaming about for so long?”
I don’t know.
We’re on the freeway cutting through the national park. Ricky lives over the hill. I wonder what the city planners thought when they built housing projects next to the mountains. Maybe they were trying to make a beautiful community, but probably they were trying to put people they saw as problems as far away from everyone else as possible. No one wants to live next to the projects.
“Why do you fight so much against who you are?”
“Because I want to be happy. And if I’m thinking all the time, I’m distracted from being happy.”
“What do you think happy is?”
I have this picture of a group of cool-looking girls all laughing, drinking, being watched by hot guys, not worrying about anything or thinking about anything. I can’t tell my brother, but that’s happy to me. Or walking on the beach cuddling with a guy. Now that I think about it, my fantasies sound like beer commercials. But they feel very ingrained in me, like primeval, not some media influence. I’ve given up hoping I can ever turn off my brain. But even if I’m thinking, I can still be in the picture with the laughing girls and hot guys. Maybe happiness is contagious.
Xander is doing the sideways glance again waiting for an answer.
“I’ll know it when I feel it, but I haven’t felt it.”
“Sasha, that’s such bull. You’re happy a lot.”
“No.”
“When that guy Will came to the house and we hid him from Mom.”
“He and I were fighting the whole time.”
“You were happy. And when you came back after you went to The Los Angeles Globe office in the city...”
“I was relieved.”
“You were proud of yourself, and happy. When you were in the hospital, and I snuck in chocolate bars and peanut butter so we could make our own peanut butter cups.”
And I hadn’t eaten for days, and I knew I was going to be okay and I didn’t care how many calories there were. And I couldn’t believe when I saw my brother cry when he knew I was okay. I was happy. And on the train with Will when he pulled my legs over his, and when my mom said she wished she was more like me and when I said good-bye to the old me. I was happy. And I was sad. And my brain was going non-stop. Maybe happy isn’t clearing out everything and just being, but letting everything in and thinking and feeling. I’m never going to be beer commercial happy. That’s what I thought I’d get from Will, but that’s not who he is, not anymore, which is maybe why it was so easy to run.
“Sasha, all some people get is going through life doing without thinking. That’s one level. Then other people are lucky enough to go deeper and be aware of the millions of other levels between us all. If you weren’t my sister, I’d be stuck at level one. But I see how you look at the world and I learn. I may not have gone to the school you chose, but you teach me everyday. And yeah, almost losing you made me go lower and higher than I ever thought I could, but just knowing you makes my life richer.”
We pull up to Ricky’s street. It looks different in the morning. Moms are out with their kids in strollers stopping to talk to men selling fruit off the street. They step over the broken bottles on the ground as if they don’t see them. My brother walks me into the building and to Ricky’s door. We knock, but there’s no answer.
“He’s probably at school.”
I didn’t even think of that. He probably has friends and sports and a girlfriend and somewhere he wants to be after high school. I always pictured him in his apartment or watching the kid with a scar, but Scar Boy would definitely be in school. I bet he loves the voices coming from the books, too.
As we walk back toward the truck, I spot the old lady who gave me the sweater. She’s sitting on her stoop, watching the world.
“Do you remember me?”
“Of course, sweetie. You look warmer today.”
Somehow I don’t think she means the temperature. Maybe she sees colors, too.
“Thank you for the sweater. I don’t have it with me to give back, but I could give you something of mine instead.”
“I have everything I need. And seeing you better today, that’s made my day.”
She smiles wide, like I do when I’m seeing colors, and now I’m convinced, she’s like me.
“Did you almost die once?”
“Once? I have a near-death experience everyday. It’s called life, sweetie. You have to wake up every morning, breathe deep and feel the blood going through your veins. Look at your wrist, watch it pulse, see and be the miracle. Everybody you see, they have that same blood in their veins, they might not see it and feel it. They might need your help to remember what a miracle they can be. Some of us aren’t supposed to just live, we’re supposed to teach others how to live. I saw it in your eyes that night. You didn’t go on past an old woman on the street, you looked inside and let me see inside you with one true glance. Knowing you’re out there in the world made more than my day, sweetie. I’m tired, but you’re not. You have so many adventures in front of you. So many amazing people to meet and so many people who are not amazing, but could be with a push from you.”
“A whale shove.”
“A whale shove in the right direction.”
“But what should I actually do, I mean, as a career.”
“I’m not a school counselor. This isn’t some set path. Sometimes I wish I could pass on my gift, but it’s me, all of me. You do what you want to do, as long as you don’t stay home hiding from people.”
“Can you read my mind, see the future?”
“No, but I can see your soul, li
ke you see mine, and his.”
She’s looking at my brother, who leans up against the car.
“Pretty good for a first project.”
“He’s not a project, he’s my brother.”
“Everyday is a project, you are a work-in-progress, even I am a work-in-progress, though the changes are smaller now. The changes in you will be great, and I can’t wait to see where you go. Will you come by and say hello again?”
“Yes.”
“Then go now. Show me what you can do, what you can be. Or better yet, show yourself.”
*
We drive up to Ricky’s high school as the last bell rings. It’s not an old-fashioned clang that pulls you out of the other world you were in during class like at my school. Here, if you are transported by the teacher’s tales of medieval Europe or off in your own fantasy with a dream guy, you are brought back to reality with melodic chimes. If the police station in Pacoima was dropped into place by aliens, the school was flown down by aliens from the future. The steel and glass walls curve as if the whole place is about to rise into the air. Under the bright sun, I’m suddenly self-conscious about how pale I am. The students flood into the parking lot and I stand out, the minority among a sea of different shades of warm, brown skin. Ricky exits with his buddies, he doesn’t see me watching. I can’t believe he has so many friends. For some reason, I thought he was more like me. He sees me. As I run up to him, he says something to the guys and walks over to me.
I hold up a copy of the article.
“You talked to Will, why?”
“I told him what he wanted to hear, and what I wanted the cops to hear.”
He’s playing it cool, but he really wants to see the paper. Trying to sneak a peak at the headline, he shifts his weight and immediately winces. His leg must still hurt. I hear giggling and look over to see a group of girls hanging around my brother’s truck. A teacher walks by and gives Ricky a high-five. Oh, I see. He’s the rare kid who can do well in school and be popular. The teacher looks curiously at me but keeps walking.
“I thought he was going to put it in your school paper, and no one I knew would ever see it.”
“And no one Carlos knew would read it? Recognize him?”
He hadn’t thought of that possibility. Ricky grabs the paper and reads the article. I take the opportunity to survey the crowd. Everyone is a mix of race... and style. I don’t see jocks, but girls with baseball bat bags and arms dripping with bracelets hanging with nerdy guys in glasses and crazy long curly hair.
Ricky sees me staring.
“What did you expect, gangs and metal detectors?”
I’m embarrassed to admit he’s right.
“You are so sheltered.”
“How would you know, you’ve never been where I live.”
“I don’t go to strange places at night looking for trouble.”
“No, you just follow it around blindly. If you hang with Carlos, you are going to end up in prison. You know that, right?”
“I have a plan to help him one more time, then I’m done. Well, I had a plan, but now that your boy put my life out there for everyone and their mother to read, there’s a big bull’s-eye on my back.”
“Let me try.”
“What are going to do, have a bake sale? Write a letter to the President? I’m talking about having to do something much riskier than getting on a train to run away from your problems.”
He can mock me all he wants. I’m stronger than he knows.
45
Will
“What a great day for Palmdale High. We are all so proud of you.”
The principal calls me down to her office to congratulate me on my article. I’m someone she can brag about at the school board meetings.
“I know it must have been hard, coming to a new school, new kids, new teachers. Especially after all your family has been through. You are proof that a strong community can uplift even the most vulnerable students.”
I’m a charity case?
“The school paper has been the bane of my existence. They love to stir up trouble. But you see the bigger picture, and look what it has gotten you. Young man, now that you have the newspaper clips coupled with your grades and basketball, you’ll have colleges courting you.”
Why does it always have to be about the next step? Can’t I enjoy the moment? I barely know this woman, but she’s really annoying.
The principal grabs me into a bear hug. I spot her master set of keys lying on the desk.
“I have my assistant researching contests, scholarships and contacting the local news. This is just the beginning. Got that, Will?”
What I have are her keys.
46
Sasha
My brother drives too fast. My brother is speeding. My left hand shoots to the roof of the car for support.
“I’m only ten miles over the speed limit.”
I try to hide my fear, but he knows me too well, recognizes my tight breathing.
He slows down, looks away from me.
“If I could go back to that day, kick you out of the truck, I would in a second.”
“That wouldn’t fix anything. If you’re dreaming of restarts, do-overs, why not go back to earlier that day? To the jewelry store, or even earlier to before you met Trina and decided you needed more than you had, and you didn’t care who you hurt to make her happy.”
“Hating her doesn’t fix anything.”
He speeds up again. I know that the more I blame her, the further away Xander slides. But I can’t stop. We pass by the police station and he slows down, not wanting to attract attention.
“Pull over.”
“I can’t spend all day driving you around. I’ve got an appointment.”
“I’ll take the train home.”
He stops the car at the curb. Where is he going?
“A job interview?”
“A test, for a job, not just a job, a career.”
“Not the Army.”
“Sasha, we live in Palmdale, we’re Air Force people.”
“We’re pacifist people.”
“Sometimes you have to fight to keep the peace.”
“You don’t believe that.”
He doesn’t answer. I step out of the car and close the door.
“Is that what Trina wants? To send you into danger so she can get a check every two weeks?”
“I have a brain of my own, Sasha.”
He screeches away. I look to see if any cops heard. No one is out front. He was lucky. He was lucky in the accident, too. The airbag surrounded him on one side and my body acted as a cushion on the other. The one time I was happy to have extra meat on my bones. They wouldn’t let him come see me in the hospital. He was only there for a day, then they transferred him to the medical center attached to the jail downtown. Dad could have bailed him out, but he was furious Xander had put me in harm’s way. Or maybe he was hurt that Xander had thrown away every opportunity he had worked so hard to give to his son. They’ve never been the same. Xander doesn’t look my father in the eye, and my father stares at him constantly, trying to read into Xander’s soul to discover what went wrong.
“You shouldn’t be wandering around in this neighborhood alone.”
A cop watches me. He sees a pale, shy girl and worries what will happen to me in this place. He doesn’t realize I’m not buying into his view of me anymore. He sees color and class and age and lines that separate people. He makes me angry, but I don’t cry. I smile and thank him for looking out for me as I prepare to head into the police station, determined to erase any trace of Ricky from their records.
47
Will
No one sees as I unlock the door with the principal’s key and slip into the school’s television broadcast control room. A camera rests on a tripod facing the desk where student reporters read the morning announcements. I’m worried about figuring out how to use the equipment, but there is a big red button on the side of the camera and everything is labeled on the
control panel behind it. A sign taped to the wall reminds me that all broadcasts from this room run live over the P.A. and video systems in every room in the school, including the principal’s office.
Media can’t be erased. Anything you record, tweet and share will follow you to every college application, job interview and on every first date. FOREVER.
Did someone really think that would stop us from using the cameras? I want everyone to know what I am feeling right now. Nothing is more important.
48
Sasha
I’m on a mission. And because it’s not about me, it’s easier to pull open the heavy metal doors and enter the police station, which looks as sleek and beautiful on the inside as it is outside. I wear my shyness cloak one more time, and nobody notices me. I make my way down the hall to administration where all the records are kept.
I approach the desk where I find a 20-something cop in a short-sleeve police uniform working at his computer. As I explain I need a copy of a police report for a burglary at Tico’s Game Store, I notice on the guy’s left arm a scar the size of a half-dollar coin that instantly reminds me of Scar Boy. I think of how I will tell Scar Boy the next time I see him that I ran into someone else with a scar, a cop who also believes in doing good things to help others. The cop asks if it’s Tico’s on Van Nuys? I smile unsurely so he’ll turn his screen to show me. That’s it. I ask for a print out so I can take it to my mom. He gives me detailed instructions for where I need to pick up the printout down the hall – budget cutbacks – but then I put on my confused face, and he offers to retrieve the printout and bring it back here if I’ll wait.
I smile until he leaves, check to make sure the coast is clear, then use his keyboard to scroll down the page to where it lists accomplices for the crime. I spot Ricky’s name. I click on Ricky’s file. His record appears, I delete his file, then I hit the back arrow button, and it’s back to Tico’s Game Store and now Ricky’s name is no longer listed. Relieved, I click on Carlos’ file. A photo of Scar Boy when his scar was still jagged and fresh appears. I can’t get myself to press the delete button. I hear the cop joking with another cop and right before he rounds the corner, I hit return and go back to the home screen.