We Own the Sky (The Muse Chronicles Book 1)

by Sara Crawford

  “Travis,” I call to him. “I listened to your demo.”

  “Did you?” His face lights up. “This is Ryan, by the way. He plays bass in the band.”

  The short Korean boy gives me a little nod.

  “I’m Sylvia,” I say to Ryan. “Yeah, it was…well, I thought it sounded…awesome.” Awesome? Couldn’t I have found a better word?

  “Really? That’s so cool,” Travis beams.

  “Yeah, I’m definitely going to ask my Dad about trying to get you guys in at Smith’s.”

  They high five each other.

  “Hey, girl!” Bianca is demanding my attention. She throws her arms around me in an awkward hug that I’m not expecting.

  “Oh, hey,” I say.

  “Hey, Travis!” Bianca exclaims, ignoring Ryan.

  They smile and acknowledge her.

  I stare at the door. I can’t help but wonder if he’ll show up again today. Truthfully, I haven’t stopped thinking about him since I first saw him. And when I try to distract myself with music—listening to Jeff Buckley, playing guitar, listening to Travis’s demo—it only makes me think of him more. I’m not sure why.

  “That sounds great. Do you want to come, Sylvia?” Bianca asks.

  “I’m sorry, what?”

  “We have a show coming up at The Warehouse.” Travis holds out a flyer to Bianca.

  I notice her hand lingers on his a little longer than necessary as she reaches to take it.

  “Sure.” I shrug, trying to seem nonchalant. I’m actually ecstatic about the possibility of hearing these songs live.

  “We’ll totally be there.” Bianca beams at them.

  “Yeah,” Cassie says. “It sounds fun.” Her tone is nice enough, but I can’t help but notice the slight frown on her face. Does she not like them?

  “Sweet!” Ryan says.

  Am I really going to get to see him play those incredible songs live? I wonder how he was inspired to write songs like “April.” A part of me wonders if I’ll ever find the inspiration to write songs like that.

  Mr. King starts class, and Ryan and Travis rush to their seats in the tenor section.

  “Oh my God, he’s so cute,” Bianca whispers.

  “I guess,” Cassie mutters, crossing her arms.

  We start working on “Let’s Begin Again.” As I sing, I realize my voice is not the strong, solid voice from yesterday, but my normal weak, shaky voice. I’m disappointed. Was yesterday a fluke? Maybe the sleep deprivation really was making me think I sounded better than I did.

  Then I notice her.

  She’s tall with tan skin and dark hair, and she looks like Latina model. And she is unmistakably flickering. She looks as if she’s running late, rushing into the room. When she sees Travis, she smiles and walks over to stand behind him. She places a hand on his shoulder. She doesn’t appear to realize that I can see her. I’m trying not to stare.

  Could Travis know about the flickering people, too? Is he better at hiding it than I am?

  My head is spinning. Should I ask him about this woman? I decide against it for now. If Travis can’t see her, he’ll think I’m crazy. And somehow, the thought of the person who created those breathtaking songs thinking I’m crazy makes me feel miserable.

  Before I know it, chorus is over and I’m making my way to the lunch room by myself. I’m standing in line to get a sub sandwich, thinking about them. The flickering people. The Latina woman I saw with Travis, my gorgeous British stranger. Am I seeing them more often now?

  I get my sandwich and try to find a table. I look around the lunch room at all the other high school students, chatting about normal high school things. A group of girls at a table in front of me are comparing shades of nail polish. A couple at another table is practically making out in the lunch room. Some football players are talking about the team they get to play for their first game.

  It feels like I’m in a different world than they all are. They don’t see strange imaginary people. They don’t spend time in mental health hospitals. They don’t sit in their Dad’s van in the garage, trying to take their own life. Then again, do any of these people feel what I feel when I hear Jeff Buckley or Pink Floyd or Beck…or even Travis’s band?

  The mention of my name pulls me out of my thoughts as I sit down. I notice Travis and Ryan sitting a few tables down. They don’t see me.

  “Do you think she’ll hook us up?” Ryan asks.

  “I don’t know,” Travis replies.

  “If anyone can help us find some, though, I definitely think it’s her. Did you see her yesterday? She was totally on something,” Ryan laughs. “Everyone knows about how her mom OD’ed, and her dad’s been to rehab, like, three times. Didn’t you hear? It’s all over school that she spent a month in rehab this summer.”

  I can feel the blood rushing to my cheeks. I can feel the disappointment. Is this the same person who created the songs I’ve fallen in love with? I wrap up my sub sandwich, shove it in my backpack, and rush to the library.

  I don’t acknowledge them when Travis calls my name. I just keep walking, looking straight ahead.

  THREE

  Vincent

  Vincent followed Sylvia as she walked into the library. He crept behind a shelf of books, peering through the shelves as Sylvia sat at a table, unwrapping a sandwich.

  He felt silly. She was the only artist who had ever seen him before he wanted them to. He wasn’t used to hiding.

  He watched her as she ate. There was an angry scowl on her face. If only he could hear her thoughts. He had been so far from her at lunch that he hadn’t heard what had gotten her upset. He wished that he could approach her. He longed to talk to her. There were so many things he wanted to ask her.

  Maybe he should give this up. Maybe it was too hard this way. He didn’t want to be selfish with Sylvia. Maybe he should walk away.

  He remembered when he first saw Sylvia. Urania had found her and shown her to him. Urania knew that there was something about Sylvia that would keep Vincent here. Of course she knew.

  The images had flooded his mind: Sylvia playing drums and smiling, Sylvia listening to “She’s Leaving Home” by The Beatles with oversized headphones, lying on her bedroom floor as a single teardrop drifted down her cheek, Sylvia watching her father’s band and lifting her arms up to sing along. Vincent could feel the goosebumps rising on her arms.

  The sight of Sylvia brought Vincent to his knees. He had never seen anyone so in love with music, with Art. She filled him with hope, and then he knew. He knew he had to find her, to Inspire her. That had saved him. It was enough. She gave him a reason to exist. Because if an artist like that existed—not even aware of the potential she held inside of her—then he had to exist. This was what he was meant to do, after all. And no one had been as worthy of Inspiration as Sylvia.

  He vowed that he wouldn’t be selfish. He promised himself he would stay hidden like this. He wouldn’t interfere with her life. He would simply Inspire her.

  He closed his eyes and thought of a melody, sending it in her direction. His entire body felt electric as waves of bliss coursed through him.

  FOUR

  Detention

  I eat my sandwich in the library, feeling embarrassed, awkward, and angry. I’m angry at myself for loving Travis’s music when he’s such a—

  I can’t finish the thought because a new melody pops into my head out of nowhere. I’ve never heard this before, but it’s elegant and charming and haunting. It sounds familiar, yet new. I have the urge to play it on piano, which is odd considering I don’t really play piano. This melody sounds like drowning with relief. I can feel it. I find myself humming along. Where’s my pen? Maybe I can figure out the notes in my head and jot them down.

  “Ms. Baker, you’re not supposed to eat in the library.”

  Principal Jenkins, a man who has to be about ninety, stands over my table, frowning at me. Of course.

  “Sorry.” I wrap the sandwich back up in its plastic bag and put it in my backpac
k, annoyed that this interaction has made the melody go away.

  “Ms. Baker, do you have any regard for rules?” He squints at me, looking angry with his beady little eyes.

  “I said I was sorry,” I almost spit out at him.

  “I can see why you have no respect for authority, given who your father is. Who your mother was.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?” I can feel the rage boiling over.

  “Shhhh!” a girl who is studying hisses at me.

  “Ms. Baker, you’re being rude and disrespectful.” Principal Jenkins pulls out a pad and scribbles something on it. I can see beads of sweat forming on his bald head.

  “I’m sorry about the sandwich,” I snap.

  “I’m giving you detention!” he says. He tears off his slip of paper and hands it to me.

  “Detention? Just for eating a damn sandwich?”

  “You broke the rules and now you’re using disrespectful language! You’re just like your parents!”

  “Okay, asshole!” Everyone in the library stares at me. Principal Jenkins frowns. He writes something else on his pad, tears a sheet off, and hands it to me without speaking.

  Great. Afternoon detention for the rest of the week.

  Principal Jenkins was Principal when Dad was a student here—when he dropped out of high school at age seventeen after knocking up the homeschooled “teenage whore”.

  I stare at him, infuriated as he shuffles off. I can’t stand that man. He has this idea that I’m just living like a rock star all the time.

  “Sylvia!” When I spin around, Travis is behind me. “I saw you rush off to the library. Everything okay?”

  “I don’t have any drugs, Travis,” I snap.

  “Whoa. What are you talking about?”

  “I overheard you guys. Talking about me. I know I’m a little weird, but I don’t do drugs, and I don’t know where you can get any. And I wasn’t in rehab this summer. I was…somewhere else.” The words tumble out of me before I can stop them.

  “Oh.” He is quiet. I can see his cheeks turning red. “Sorry about that. Didn’t you hear me telling Ryan he was being an idiot?”

  “No,” I mumble.

  A girl shushes us.

  “Sorry Ryan is so lame,” Travis whispers. “I just…I think we could be friends, you know?” He grins, his brown eyes shining.

  “Sorry,” I say. “I didn’t mean to yell at you. It’s just that I…well, I don’t have a lot of friends. At least not my age anyway.”

  The same girl shushes us again.

  “Do I need to give your friend detention too, Ms. Baker?” Principal Jenkins has returned. “Of course. Mr. Jones. How appropriate.” He looks at Travis with a new kind of scorn.

  “We were just leaving,” I say.

  “Good. I know you aren’t in here doing actual homework.”

  “Why are you being so mean to her?” Travis asks him. Principal Jenkins scowls.

  “That’s it!” he takes out his yellow pad, scribbles on it, tears the sheet off and gives it to Travis. “You get detention, too!”

  “What the hell? I didn’t do anything!” Travis says. I shoot Principal Jenkins an angry look.

  “Come on, Travis,” I say, still staring right at the principal. I turn on my heel and storm out of the library.

  * * *

  In Greek Mythology, Ms. Bolton is giving us an overview on all the gods and goddesses. It’s a relatively straightforward discussion, but she makes it entertaining. When the bell rings, I find myself feeling disappointed.

  “Where’s your detention?” Travis asks.

  I frown. I was so engrossed in the class, I completely forgot about my detention. I look at my slip. “The football field.”

  “Yeah, mine too.”

  When we make our way to the field, I can see Coach Hubert getting ready for football practice.

  “What are we supposed to do?” I’ve never had detention before.

  “Sometimes Coach Hubert makes us pick up trash or do paperwork for the football team, but sometimes, he gets so preoccupied with practice that he forgets about the people who have detention,” Travis says.

  “Had detention with Coach Hubert a lot?”

  “You could say that.”

  “Do you get in trouble a lot?” I ask as we sit down in the stands.

  Travis just shrugs with a cocky smirk.

  The football players assemble on the field. Coach Hubert hasn’t even acknowledged me, Travis, or the three other kids who have detention. I pull out Lily and start writing.

  “Are you writing a story?” Travis asks.

  “No. It’s just Li—my journal.” I don’t know him well enough to tell him about the names.

  He nods. I continue writing.

  “Do you write stories?” he asks.

  I sigh, shutting Lily. I’m clearly not going to get any journaling done.

  “No. I’m not a writer, really. I just like to write down things I’m feeling and thinking and stuff that—”

  “YOU IDIOTS!” Coach yells at the team. I laugh, grateful that my rambling was interrupted.

  “So…is he even going to talk to us?” I change the subject.

  “Just make sure he signs your slip at the end, and you’ll be good.” Travis laughs.

  We sit in silence for a moment. I feel the warmth of the sunlight as it emerges from behind a cloud.

  “Sorry I got you into this,” I say to Travis. “You were in the wrong place at the wrong time. Principal Jenkins detests me, and anyone who is associating with me is automatically horrible, too.”

  “It’s all good,” Travis says as he colors on his book bag with a black Sharpie. “What did you even do to get detention?”

  “I called him an asshole.”

  Travis bursts into laughter. I try to remain serious, but I can’t help cracking a smile.

  “Shut up! It’s not funny!” I say, but I erupt into giggles anyway.

  Our laughter dies down, and we are silent for a moment.

  “Can I ask you something?” he asks.

  “Sure…” I am hesitant.

  “Well, Bianca said you actually were at Riverview this summer. I’m not trying to pry or anything. I really just wanted to…I mean, are you okay?” There is sincerity in his voice that I can’t place. I’m a little speechless. How did Bianca find out I had gone to Riverview?

  “I…” I try to find words. “Yes, I was at Riverview for depression. They prescribed antidepressants for me. I haven’t been taking them lately, though.”

  “Did it help?”

  “Not really.” I don’t quite understand why, but I add, “It was the music that saved my life.”

  He looks at me. “What do you mean?”

  I sigh. I guess I am telling this story now.

  “It was about a week ago. I was sitting in my dad’s van in the garage, and I started the engine. I sat there, writing in my journal, crying, listening to music, waiting for my crippling sadness to go away. It felt like the only way to escape.

  “I had Mur—my iPod on, and when ‘Hurt’ by Nine Inch Nails ended, a song I vaguely recognized came on. I had forgotten it was on shuffle, and I have some music on it that I’ve never even listened to. I recognized the singer was Morrissey, the lead singer of The Smiths. It was one of the albums Dad put on there.”

  I look down at my feet, afraid I won’t finish this story if I look up at him.

  “In the song, he was pleading with someone not to take their life. I listened to the whole song, and then all I could do was laugh. How could I kill myself when that particular song came on at that exact moment? It was as if the actual song was telling me not to end my life, as if some sort of God of Music wanted to save me.”

  After a moment of thoughtful silence, he asks, “What was the song?”

  “It was called ‘Angel, Angel, Down We Go Together’.”

  We are quiet again. I watch the football players, avoiding eye contact. I’m not very good at eye contact. I’m starting to
feel bad about how I yelled at him earlier, even though I already apologized.

  “I really did love your songs,” I admit, “like…a lot.” The words sound insignificant. How can I tell him that his music gave me goosebumps? How can I tell them that it made me feel exhilarated and melancholy and soulful and longing all at once? How can I tell him how it made me feel jealous in a way I’d never been jealous of another musician before?

  “Thank you,” he says.

  There’s so much more I want to ask him, especially about “April.” I want to know why he sounds so emotional during that song. I want to know so many things. I want to ask him if he can see the flickering people…

  “So, where did you guys record the demo?” is the only question I can manage.

  “Ryan’s dad paid for us to use this guy’s studio downtown.”

  “The quality sounds excellent. I can’t wait to hear what you sound like live.”

  He sits up a little straighter.

  We continue to talk about music, talking about our favorite bands and what albums we’re listening to. He says that he likes all my favorite bands…Radiohead, Pink Floyd, Jeff Buckley, The Black Keys. We talk about our favorite TV shows, our favorite films, our favorite actors. I tell him he has to watch Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind and he tells me to watch the latest thriller starring Matthew Morris. He tells me I need to watch Game of Thrones, and I tell him he needs to watch Once Upon a Time.

  When detention is over, I approach Coach Hubert with my slip, and he signs it without comment.

  “Do you want a ride home?” Travis asks as we approach his blue Corolla.

  “No, I think I’m just going to walk.”

  “Don’t you live near Church Street? One of those residential roads around there?”

  “Um…” I am flabbergasted.

  “Bianca told me she lived near you,” he explains quickly. “I promise I’m not a stalker or anything.”

  “Oh…no, I didn’t think…” I feel so awkward right now. “Well, anyway, I don’t mind walking.”

  “Come on, that’s at least a few miles away. Let me drive you.”