Watch the Sky

by Kirsten Hubbard

  “It’s freaky to think about what’s down there,” said Paisley Matthews with a shudder.

  “Fascinating, you mean!” exclaimed Alice.

  “Remember to raise your hand, girls,” Mr. Bradley said. “So how do scientists explore the deep sea, anyway? Anybody know?”

  Danny Park raised his hand, and Mr. Bradley called on him. “Probably submarines,” Danny said.

  “Right. Special submarines. But why are submarines necessary? Why can’t scientists strap on a dive tank and see for themselves?”

  Alice raised her hand. “It’d take too long,” she said. “They wouldn’t have enough oxygen to make it there and back.”

  Mr. Bradley nodded. “It takes a lot of time to dive safely. Any other reasons?”

  Jory’s fingers twitched. He’d just read about scuba diving online! All of a sudden, he realized the best way to hide in plain sight. Before he could chicken out, he did something he’d never done before.

  He raised his hand.

  Mr. Bradley beamed. “Yes, Jory?”

  “Because—” Jory cleared his throat and tried again. “Because of the pressure. All that water creates pressure. Enough to crush any diver, even if they could bring down enough air to get there.”

  “If a giant squid doesn’t crush you first!” added Erik Dixon.

  Jory glanced at him, but Erik’s smile wasn’t mocking.

  “Very good, Jory,” said Mr. Bradley. “And it’s true, giant squids do live deep in the ocean. Along with all kinds of other creatures, like beaked whales and spider crabs. Many others are still a mystery, since that kind of depth and darkness is so difficult to explore.”

  “Probably a good thing,” Erik said. “If everything down there’s so dangerous.”

  “Not all deep-sea creatures are dangerous, of course,” said Mr. Bradley. “Not every mystery is a danger. Right, Alice?”

  “Right,” Alice said with a grin.

  Jory clasped his hands under his desk as the discussion continued around him. It hadn’t been so bad, speaking up in class. Everyone had looked at him, just like he’d feared.

  But then they’d looked away.

  As Jory walked home after school, he wondered if the family was asleep already, gathering strength for the night ahead. The family, minus Jory. A strange thought. Would they miss him?

  “Hey, it’s Farmer Jory!”

  Jory halted, eyes wide. He was on Vale Street. He swiveled all the way around before he was certain—because seriously, again? At least Erik Dixon hadn’t been sitting on his porch. But Erik was small potatoes compared to the Mendoza twins.

  “What’s in all those pockets?” taunted the skinny one.

  “I’ll bet it’s piglets. Piglets and baby chicks.”

  “That’s not very nice, Farmer Jory. They might suffocate in there.”

  The basketball hit Jory in the knee this time. He made fists in his pockets. Not that he knew how to use them, if he ever attempted a punch. He’d probably miss and hit a tree.

  “Jory Birch!”

  That wasn’t a Mendoza—it was Alice Brooks-Diaz, jogging up beside them.

  The twins grinned when they saw her. “Hi Alice,” the skinny one said.

  “Nice buns,” the burly one said, waggling his eyebrows.

  “You twins are bimbos,” Alice said. “You’re human waste. I’m ashamed to share oxygen with you. Let’s go, Jory.”

  Part of Jory wanted to march right past her. Who did she think she was, sticking her baby koala face in his business? Luckily, the rest of him realized he was being stupid.

  As they walked down Vale Street, Alice rambled about those idiot Mendoza twins, the untrustworthiness of her double-crossing friend Paisley Matthews, and the supposed location of Mr. Bradley’s secret tattoo. Some kids claimed he had a rattlesnake on his bicep. Erik Dixon swore it was the face of the musician David Bowie, whom Jory had never heard of. He didn’t want to say so, though.

  “I’d never get a tattoo I didn’t draw myself,” Alice said. “Like an octopus. Those are my favorite. Did you know they’re incredibly intelligent? I saw a video of one unscrewing a jar from the inside! It’d be hard to draw all those legs, though. Maybe I should go for something more reasonable, like a cat with a teeny tiny hat on…”

  At long last, they reached Alice’s house.

  “Here’s my house,” she said, as if Jory didn’t know already. “For now, anyway. When they finish the new housing development on the edge of town, we’re going to move there. I’m not sure how I feel about that. Old houses have more character, don’t you think?”

  “I guess,” Jory said. “Well…it was nice talking with you.”

  “Talking with me?” She rolled her eyes. “You haven’t said a thing. You hardly ever do.”

  He wondered why she was pointing it out after all this time. “I just did.”

  “You are one exasperating person, Jory Birch. Did you know that? You’re lucky I don’t have a frying pan to bonk you with. Also, you’re different.”

  Jory shrugged. “Not like that’s anything new.”

  “I mean like, weirdly different. Even for you. You’re all slopey-looking.”

  “What does that even mean?”

  “You know. Slopey.” She drooped her shoulders, dangling her arms like an ape.

  “I don’t look like that!” he said indignantly. “I’m only tired, is all. I…I have a lot of chores.”

  “Farm chores?”

  “What? No, not farm chores. Why does everyone think I live on a farm?”

  “Well, technically, you do. Right?”

  “No! I mean, maybe it used to be one. But not anymore. Real farms have, like, chickens. And geese.”

  “I’d like a pet goose,” Alice said. “Once I read that you can keep them as attack dogs. Attack geese! Imagine if I visited your farm, and this attack goose came barreling toward me, all crazy honking and flapping and—do geese have teeth?”

  “We don’t have any geese.”

  “Are you sure?” She lowered her voice. “Maybe they’re in the locked barn.”

  Jory stared at her in bewilderment. Then he realized she was kidding. “Very funny. I’ve really got to go. I have to work on my social studies project.”

  “Why don’t you work on it here?”

  He stared at her. Linked like that, those seven familiar words became entirely foreign. Nobody had ever asked him to come over.

  “Don’t look at me like that!” Alice exclaimed.

  “Like what?”

  “All startled and owlish and circle-eyed. It’s not like I asked you to steal a convertible.”

  “A convertible?”

  Alice sighed gustily. “I just figured you don’t have a computer at home, all right? I mean, why else would a person handwrite all his essays?”

  “Thanks,” Jory said. “But really, it’s all right. I don’t need a computer. I have lots of books.”

  “Books about tunnels?”

  “Your parents don’t know me.”

  “Oh my gosh, Jory. Stop making everything into such a big deal! My parents love it when I bring new friends over.”

  He felt a tug in the center of his chest. New friends.

  When he thought about it, he couldn’t see anything wrong with stopping by, just for a little bit. Especially since Caleb was at work, and Mom, Kit, and Ansel were already asleep.

  It’s not like he was stealing a convertible, after all.

  “SO WHO’S THIS?” ASKED MRS. BROOKS-DIAZ.

  It was pretty innocent, as questions went, but it still made Jory want to turn and run. He hoped he didn’t look too slopey. Or owlish.

  “It’s Jory Birch,” Alice said. “He’s in my class. He lives on a farm.”

  Mrs. Brooks-Diaz smiled at him. She was much taller than Mom—half a foot, even—and wore a bun like Alice’s, but only one. Her skin was darker than her daughter’s. “A farm? Is that right?”

  “Not exactly.” Jory shot a glare at Alice, who grinned.

/>   “Well, it’s nice to meet you, either way.” Mrs. Brooks-Diaz offered her hand. “I’m Mrs. Brooks.”

  He looked at her quizzically. “Not Brooks-Diaz?”

  “I’m Mrs. Brooks,” she said again, “and my husband’s Mr. Diaz. We decided to keep our last names when we got married. Alice is half each of us, so she gets to share both names.”

  “That’s very sweet, Mom,” Alice said. “So listen, Jory here needs to use our computer. His family’s isn’t working. If, y’know, you feel like dropping off any snacks, we’ll be in the office.”

  “Why didn’t you tell her the truth?” Jory asked quietly as Alice led him upstairs.

  “About what, your computer?” Alice shrugged. “I didn’t want to embarrass you.”

  “I’m not embarrassed,” he said, embarrassed. “I’m just surprised you lie to your mom.”

  “Well, it’s not like I lie about anything serious or hazardous or whatever—I always tell the truth when it matters. But in this case, she didn’t need to know. So I made something up.”

  Jory supposed that made sense.

  Although he couldn’t imagine lying to Mom. Or to Caleb. Even if it wasn’t about anything serious or hazardous or whatever, it would be too disrespectful. No, worse: a betrayal.

  And besides—Caleb would know.

  He sat at the desk Alice motioned to, in a chair that made it impossible to slouch. She called it ergonomic. “My dad has a slipped disk,” she explained, settling into an armchair with her family’s laptop.

  Jory saw his face reflected in the dark computer screen. I do look sort of owlish, he thought, before waking the mouse. He knew he needed to hurry—he didn’t want to overstay his welcome. Like the neighbor ladies, who thought discussing blue jays and weather forecasts were acceptable reasons to interrupt the family’s Sunday lunch.

  He opened a browser window and typed “tunnels” into the search engine.

  Then he deleted it and typed “signs.”

  Then he deleted it and typed “tunnels throughout history.”

  Tunnels were everywhere.

  Fox dens. Ant colonies. Manmade tunnels—and more. Tons of important things were underground. Basements. Bunkers. Bomb shelters. Sewer systems. Subways.

  There were even entire underground cities in places like Seattle and Jerusalem. Though they hadn’t started out underground—they’d been buried by time.

  But in Jordan, there was an ancient city called Petra carved into the side of a cliff. Not just homes, but also tombs and temples and monasteries. And there were cliff-side Native American villages, too, in wild western places like Colorado and Wyoming. They weren’t entirely underground, but partially.

  He read about morgues and mausoleums. Rappelling and spelunking.

  He read about Qin Shi Huang, the Chinese emperor Mr. Bradley had told them about, and his terra cotta army. He read about Pompeii in Italy and Joya de Cerén in El Salvador, both ancient cities buried by volcanic ash. In Joya de Cerén, the people had escaped. In Pompeii, most of them hadn’t.

  He read about so many things, and for so long, that when Alice spoke he nearly hit the ceiling. “Are you staying for dinner?” she asked.

  “Um,” Jory said, trying to compose himself. “Sorry. I just—what time is it?”

  “It’s almost six. We’re eating in half an hour. Dad’s making turkey burgers. With avocado.”

  Almost six? He’d been sitting at the computer for two hours. His face felt hot. Why hadn’t Alice said anything?

  “He can leave off the avocado, if you—”

  “It’s—my family’s waiting for me,” Jory said. Which wasn’t true, obviously. But he’d never stayed out this late before, and for some reason, that alarmed him. Plus, Caleb always said to be wary of food other than their family’s. “They’re making…” Pickles. The only food he could think of was pickles. “But thanks for the…for the Internet.”

  “Sure,” Alice said, following him to the door. “Any time. And if you ever feel like staying for dinner, my dad’s a really good cook. Well, except for the time he tried to make chimichangas. Did you know those aren’t even really Mexican? Mom called it an insult to his heritage…”

  Jory hurried out.

  As he crossed the bridge, the black-and-white dog appeared, almost like magic. Its pink tongue lolled sideways out of its mouth. Its nose was the color of cinnamon.

  “Get lost,” Jory said.

  The dog didn’t get lost. It trotted alongside him.

  “You should go to Alice Brooks-Diaz’s house,” Jory told it. “Maybe she’ll give you a turkey burger. With or without avocado.”

  But the goofy-faced dog followed him all the way home. Like it had no place to be, no place to go.

  What if the dog was a sign? Would Caleb let them keep it? Kit would love it—animals delighted her, like the gray fox she’d once frolicked after in the fields. Ansel, Jory was less sure about. Once a wild rabbit had hopped too close, and he’d started to wail.

  Jory paused outside the back door. “Stay,” he ordered the dog.

  He headed for the kitchen and opened the fridge. A plate of spaghetti squash sat front and center. There was a note, too, half-soaked in red tomato sauce.

  For your supper

  Love, Mom

  Jory smiled at it, then set it aside. Food in jars filled the rest of the fridge. Same with the cupboards, along with food in cans and pouches. What would a dog like? he wondered. Pickled peppers? Pickled pickles? Tuna, maybe?

  He decided on a pouch of tuna, a slice of bread, and an uncooked potato. But when he brought them to the back door, the dog was gone.

  By eight in the evening, Jory’s eyelids felt like heavy stones. His writing hand felt like a shovel. He fell asleep on last Tuesday’s math homework, and again on last Thursday’s. Finally, he climbed into bed, promising himself he’d get up in an hour and finish the rest.

  A few hours later, a heavy thunk woke him. It sounded like it was coming from outside. He listened, but didn’t hear it again. Probably a raccoon, he thought, or a disgruntled opossum.

  As soon as he lay back again, Kit threw open his door.

  She wore her combat boots, a hooded sweatshirt, and her usual cargo pants. She bounded across the room and pounced on Jory’s bed, poking and prodding him to get up.

  “I’m not going to the canyon tonight,” he mumbled.

  Kit continued to prod him playfully, like she thought he was joking.

  “Quit it!” Jory pushed her away. “I’ve got Tuesdays off now. Remember?”

  She stared at him blankly.

  “You were there, Kit. It was Caleb’s decision, not mine.”

  Her eyes narrowed. She slid off the bed and backed away a step.

  “It’s just once a week.” Jory started to feel unsettled. “I’m sorry. I’ll be there with you tomorrow. You’ll be fine one night without me—just one night a week, all right? Kit?”

  Kit’s scowl only deepened, darkened, like a storm was brewing behind her face. Her cheeks bloomed angry pink. Finally, she swiveled on her boot heel and marched out of Jory’s room, slamming the door behind her.

  Jory stared at the closed door, feeling regretful. Then guilty.

  Then annoyed.

  Sure, it was nice having an extra night off. But it wasn’t Jory’s fault he had so much homework. She should try going to school for a change, and dealing with human waste like the Mendoza twins on way too little sleep.

  He punched his pillow into shape and rolled over. But he had trouble closing his eyes.

  THE MENDOZA TWINS NEVER APPROACHED JORY at school. In fact, Jory rarely saw them, since they were in a different sixth grade class.

  But on Wednesday, they seemed to be everywhere. Glaring in the hallway. Frowning in the schoolyard. Glowering in the cafeteria when Alice Brooks-Diaz sat across from him.

  “How’s the tunnel project coming?” she asked, peeling a banana.

  “I’ve only just started it,” he replied, glancing over her shoulde
r at the Mendoza twins. “You were there.”

  “I know. But maybe you came up with some good ideas last night.”

  “Last night I was sleeping.”

  “So what? I do most of my thinking while I’m asleep.” Alice speared a slice of banana with a plastic fork, then looked at Jory expectantly.

  “What?”

  “This is when you ask me how my project is coming.”

  “Sorry. How’s your project coming?” He hesitated. “Wait, what is your project?”

  “Space exploration,” she said. “It’s going just fine, thank you for asking. Although I think it’s giving me an existential crisis.”

  “A what?”

  “Have you ever just laid there in the dark, and thought about stuff like—I don’t know, life and death and time and space? Outer space? How big and endless it all is? And then suddenly you have to wiggle your toes and pinch your cheeks to make sure you still exist? That’s an existential crisis.”

  “I’m not sure,” Jory said.

  “Oh. Well, anyway, I’m learning lots of interesting stuff. Like did you know that ninety-three percent of people are made of stardust?”

  “Really?” He considered it. “So…only seven percent of people aren’t?”

  “No—I mean everybody,” Alice said, laughing. “Ninety-three percent of everyone’s body is made of stardust. Of elements that came from stars, specifically. From before the earth even existed.”

  “Huh,” Jory said.

  Alice beamed. “Isn’t it amazing? We’re both made of stars, Jory Birch. Everybody is.”

  By the time school ended, Jory had forgotten about the Mendoza twins. Until they called his name.

  “Hey, Farmer Jory!”

  Jory double-checked a street sign to make sure he’d chosen the long way. He had—which meant the twins had followed him.

  This wasn’t good.

  The skinny one caught up to him first. He slung a bony arm over Jory’s shoulder. “Why’d you have to embarrass us in front of Alice like that?”