Watch the Sky

by Kirsten Hubbard

  On Thursday, he stood on Erik’s porch and talked about comic books for not quite twenty minutes, but definitely more than fifteen. Erik couldn’t believe Jory hadn’t read any. “Not even X-Men?” he asked. “What about, like, Superman—everybody’s read some of those. No? Seriously?”

  On Friday, Jory chatted with both of them so long he had to run the rest of the way home. The black-and-white dog barked as he sprinted over the bridge.

  “Sorry!” he shouted. “No time!”

  Every evening, when Jory kicked off his combat boots and crawled into bed, he was certain he’d fall asleep instantly. One, two, three, lights-out.

  But every evening, he lay awake, eyes scanning the dark ceiling. Body exhausted, but brain turned on—thinking of Alice, and Erik, and the slopes, and everything they’d talked about. There was always something new to go over. Something to fill the too-short hours before Mom woke him to dig again.

  “You seem distracted,” Mom said in the canyon that night. “Is everything okay?”

  Jory realized he’d been leaning on his shovel, lost in thought. “Everything’s fine,” he replied. “I’m just a little tired.” Not the whole truth, but not a lie.

  “Me too. Good thing tomorrow’s our Day of Rest, right?” She smiled, wiping her brow with her forearm. Then she headed toward the tunnel, one hand on the small of her back.

  Jory watched her go, recalling the painful backaches she had suffered at the coffee shop. Then, she hadn’t been digging—she’d only been carrying trays filled with coffees. The occasional sandwich. He used to feel so protective of her. Now, he didn’t need to—Caleb had taken over that role.

  Which was good, of course. The best thing that had ever happened to them.

  But sometimes—if Jory was entirely honest with himself—he found himself missing those early days. Not the tiny apartment, filled with the ache of Dad’s absence. Or the crummy coffee shop, with Mom’s shiny-bald boss. But he missed their closeness, when the family was just him and Mom. The two of them versus the world.

  As he snipped roots with a pair of shears, he wondered what would happen if he told her about Alice and Erik. About the slopes. About Alice’s parents and the way they joked at dinner.

  The idea made him feel uneasy.

  He wasn’t doing anything wrong, he reasoned. Tuesdays were his off days. What did it matter if he was reenergizing at home, or at Alice’s house? What did it matter who he talked to at school, or after? He still came home every day. He still dug nightly. He even did his homework in the gap between school and dinner…when he used to play with Kit.

  He glanced over at her now: a skinny, dark-haired shadow in too-large gloves, yanking at weeds. He’d play with her again, he promised himself. As soon as he caught up.

  When he wasn’t so tired.

  “I have to go to the supermarket,” Mom announced on Saturday.

  She said it boldly, standing with her arms crossed in the kitchen. But Jory knew better.

  Mom hated the supermarket. She’d complained about it dozens of times. The fluorescent lights, and the way they bounced blindingly off the floors. The people who jostled past her with their overstuffed carts. And the food—so many different kinds of food, with confusing labels wrapped around every box and can. Food in towers that looked like they might topple over, which made Jory picture Mom buried in an aluminum pile of green beans and creamed corn.

  Caleb went, most of the time. Or Jory would grab a couple of items from the convenience store on his way home from school. The family didn’t need much—the fields provided almost everything.

  “I thought Saturday was our Day of Rest?” Jory said.

  “Your stepdad’s working,” Mom said. “And I’m all out of salt. These winter squash will go bad if I don’t preserve them this afternoon. Do you mind watching Ansel?”

  Jory glanced at his little brother, who sat in a high chair, swinging his legs. He had a smear of peanut butter on his cheek. “Okay, but…are you sure you don’t want me to go?”

  Mom nodded. “I have other errands to run. Anyway, you should spend more time playing together. Brothers have a special bond, after all.”

  Jory wasn’t too sure about that. “I guess,” he said, following her to the door. “But…how will you carry everything?”

  “Caleb will pick me up on his way home from the factory.”

  “Then why don’t you wait for him and go together?”

  Mom stopped and looked at Jory. “You don’t think I can handle this myself?”

  “That’s not what I meant, I—”

  “It’s okay, Jory. I like that you worry about me.” She smiled. “I’ll be fine.”

  Once she was gone, Jory approached his little brother. Ansel stopped swinging his legs and stared at Jory warily.

  “So,” Jory said. “What do you want to do? Any games you want to play?”

  Ansel’s forehead crinkled.“No,” he said, in his chipmunk-on-helium voice.

  “Want to go outside? It’s nice and warm out, and—”

  “No.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “No.”

  Jory paused. “Does that mean you’re sure, or you’re not sure?”

  Ansel scrunched up his whole face. “No!”

  Jory sighed, exasperated. “Fine! We’ll go play in the canyon, how would you like that? We’ll dig all day and all night and all day again—”

  Ansel began to cry.

  “Shhh,” Jory said. He didn’t want Mom and Caleb to come home to a plum-faced toddler. “I was just kidding! We’ll stay right here. We can do whatever you want…”

  But Ansel wouldn’t stop bawling. Jory began opening cupboards frantically, hoping to uncover a magic solution. Like a stash of multicolored cupcakes. Or a glittery fairy godmother with a scream-stopping wand. Nothing but food in jars, cans, and pouches.

  When he closed the refrigerator, he saw Kit standing in the doorway.

  He felt a flash of guilt. By now, over a week had passed since they’d spent any real time together. “Mom’s at the supermarket,” he explained. “I can’t get him to stop crying.”

  Kit twisted her mouth, like she was trying not to laugh.

  “I’m glad you find this amusing,” Jory said gruffly. He unscrewed a jar of pickles and offered one to Ansel. Ansel only grew more upset, which wasn’t surprising because, well, pickles. Jory closed the jar and plugged his ears. His brother’s face verged on red by now, with plum on the horizon.

  “Maybe we can give him one of our Worldbuilding houses to play with?” Jory suggested. “We could…”

  He trailed off when he saw Kit’s expression.

  “Sorry, I know that’s our game. But he just—” He motioned to Ansel, as if his wails weren’t filling the room. “Have any ideas?”

  Kit raised her eyebrows, as if asking Who, me?

  Jory knew it was a last resort. If he and Ansel didn’t have much of a relationship, Kit and Ansel’s was almost nonexistent. Probably because Caleb never let her watch him. At this rate, though, Mom and Caleb wouldn’t want Jory to watch him either. And then Mom wouldn’t be able to run any other errands Caleb needed her to, and…Jory didn’t want to think beyond that.

  “Anything,” he begged. “Anything at all.”

  Kit nodded, looking resolute. Then she crossed the kitchen and stopped in front of Ansel. She leaned in, so her face was just a few inches from Ansel’s screaming one. He continued to wail, but his eyes were curious, almost rapt.

  Jory watched with his mouth half open. What was going on? Should he stop her? He knew Kit would never hurt Ansel—but she looked so intense. Maybe there was a reason Caleb never asked her to babysit. “Kit…” he began.

  Kit ignored him. Slowly, she reached out and mussed up Ansel’s wispy, pale hair.

  When she drew her hands away, it stood on end.

  Jory stared in amazement. He blinked, then rubbed his eyes. When he opened them, his brother’s hair was still sticking out in every direction, as if electri
fied. Ansel must have felt a tickle, because he swiped at his head, touching his hair. It surprised him so much he stopped crying altogether. Then he began to giggle. It was so weird, and wild, and impossible, but Jory couldn’t help himself. He burst out laughing.

  And then Kit laughed too.

  She clapped a hand over her mouth, as if startled by her own voice. Ansel and Jory froze mid-guffaw, staring at her. The room was silent.

  Then all three of them started to laugh again—hilariously, hysterically. They collapsed on their backs and rolled on the floor and wiped tears from their eyes. And they laughed, and laughed, and laughed.

  JORY THOUGHT HE’D CATCH UP ON SLEEP THAT NIGHT. Back to his regularly scheduled slumber. But again, he found himself staring at the ceiling. This time, he wasn’t thinking about Alice or Erik and their conversations.

  He was thinking about Kit.

  He couldn’t get the sound of her laughter out of his head. Bright and shrill and a little hoarse, though not as hoarse as he’d have expected. Had she been holding it in this whole time, just waiting for the humor? Had nothing been worth laughing at, until now?

  Finally, Jory climbed out of bed. He tiptoed downstairs in his stocking feet, carrying his boots under his arm. He didn’t want to wake Caleb. Or Mom, who’d brought home another migraine along with the pickling salt. He shut the back door quietly behind him.

  The night, once alien, felt familiar now. The prickly chill in the air. The crickets screeching in the fields. The starlight lacing the edges of the clouds. Familiar—but not comforting.

  And never safe.

  As he zipped his boots, Jory wondered if a person could ever get used to darkness. If a person could ever stop squinting into the shadows. Double-taking at every tremble of weeds. Freezing at every cracked stick and giggle.

  Jory froze.

  Every giggle?

  The sound came again. So soft he could barely hear it over the cricketsong. He scanned the fields, wondering if he’d misheard—the mewl of a lost kitten, maybe, or a quiet whine from the black-and-white dog.

  Then he saw Kit.

  She sat with her back against the barn, her flowered blanket draped over her shoulders. Jory was glad to see she’d retrieved it from Ansel. She wore her ballet slippers—a real mess, now—and cradled one of their Worldbuilding houses on her lap. He felt nervous as he approached. Which was silly, because this was Kit. His little sister. The person he knew best—who knew him best.

  “So that was you giggling?” he asked, standing over her.

  Kit shrugged one shoulder. She stayed silent, but the giggle lingered in her eyes.

  “What’s so funny?”

  She poked one hand out from under the flowered blanket and pointed at Jory.

  “Oh, thanks a lot.” He grinned, feeling a sudden lightness. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed her over the last few busy days. “I love how you’re acting like this is no big deal. After I haven’t heard your voice in what, nearly three years?” Then Jory froze again. “Wait a second—if you can laugh, doesn’t it mean you can speak, too?”

  He knew it was true. Kit’s vocal cords worked. She could listen and read. She knew the words. She just had to say them.

  “Will you try?” he asked. “For me?”

  Kit peered up at him, her head tilted, her blackbird hair falling over one shoulder. Then she nodded. She nodded again, even more determinedly. She took a deep breath. She opened her mouth.

  “Hold on!” Jory exclaimed.

  He knelt in front of her. “If this is truly the first time you’re going to speak in almost three whole years, your first word needs to be memorable. It needs to be epic.”

  She looked at him like he was crazy.

  “How about a really fun word, like…” Jory thought. “Like ‘salamander.’ Or ‘onomatopoeia’—that’s when a word sounds like what it describes. Bark or oink, for example.” He laughed. “Maybe oink should be your first word?”

  She bonked him in the shoulder with her Worldbuilding house.

  “Or how about serendipity?” he suggested. “That’s a good one. That’s one of my favorites. It’s when something wonderful happens when you don’t expect it. A happy surprise. Like you! The day you showed up in the pumpkin field was a happy surprise. It was serendipity.”

  Kit rolled her eyes. “Jory!” she said.

  She said.

  And she’d said his name.

  “Great choice!” Jory exclaimed, beaming so hard his cheeks ached. “Best word ever. And you can’t take it back. You’ve said it—it’s written in the stars.”

  Kit’s laughter sounded like music.

  “And now I know what your voice sounds like! I was starting to think it sounded like this,” he said, making his voice as deep as he could. “Or like this.” Now he spoke in a falsetto.

  “You’re ridiculous,” Kit said.

  How astonishing it was: her voice. Raspy from disuse, but all hers.

  Jory didn’t want to do anything that could possibly quell that marvelous sound. He knew he should take it easy. He knew he should remain calm. But his heart was soaring! He couldn’t help it. He grabbed Kit’s hand and pulled her up.

  And together, they danced. Skipping, stumbling, jumping, leaping, hand in hand, just the way they always had—except this time, both of them laughed out loud. Above them, the stars seemed to dance, too, glittering ellipses that swirled in the sky. A second meteor shower of their very own.

  All too soon, Jory felt dizzy and had to stop. Still laughing, he crawled toward the barn and leaned against it. Kit kept dancing, her skinny arms sweeping the sky. She leaped and twirled, those impossibly perfect spins she must have mastered somewhere.

  Jory realized, for the first time, he could ask.

  “Hey, Kit,” he said, and she skidded to a stop. “Where’d you learn to dance like that?”

  She shrugged.

  “Maybe you’ll tell me later. Right? Now that you’re talking to me? Why’d you decide to wait this long to speak, anyway?”

  She shrugged again. His stubborn sister.

  “I’m sure you had your reasons.”

  Kit joined him at the barn, sitting cross-legged atop her flowered blanket. She picked up her Worldbuilding house and replaced it in her lap.

  Jory cleared his throat. He brimmed with questions, but didn’t want to overwhelm her. Especially if Kit couldn’t put to words why. Why she’d stayed quiet all these months and years, ever since the serendipitous day he’d found her in the pumpkin field. The moment she’d spoken her last word: her name. That’s the moment their story began. But what about Kit’s own story?

  What about before?

  It wasn’t that Jory had never wondered about it. But he had thought he’d never get an answer. Thinking about Kit’s life before the pumpkin field made him feel anxious, unsettled. He wanted to reach backward into all those question marks and bring her home.

  “Kit…” he began slowly. “How much do you remember from before? Before you got here?”

  Her silence went on so long, Jory glanced at her. She was turning the wooden house in her hands. It was the one with the purple walls, he noticed.

  “I don’t know,” she said finally.

  “Anything at all? You were little, but—maybe some image, some kind of memory—”

  “It was hot,” Kit said. “There were other kids there.”

  “Other kids? What do you mean? Like an orphanage, or…?”

  “I don’t know,” Kit said. “I don’t remember.”

  Jory began to feel uneasy. “But you—”

  “I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

  “All right.” He nodded.

  Even though Kit had to remember more than that. Right? She hadn’t just tumbled from the sky. Burst into being like one of her shooting stars. He remembered how the meteors had vanished as suddenly as they’d sparked, and he had to swallow before he spoke again.

  “You’re awfully brave, coming out here at night,” he
said, thinking of the thunk he’d heard. “Sometimes I wonder if this barn’s haunted.”

  “It’s not haunted.”

  Kit said it so matter-of-factly, it made him wonder. “Why are you so sure?”

  “Caleb works in it sometimes.”

  “Really?” It was strange, although Jory couldn’t pinpoint exactly why. Caleb probably had tools in there, among the old poison junk. “Well, that doesn’t mean it’s not haunted.”

  Kit rolled her eyes. “Don’t be so stubborn.”

  It made Jory smile, because he’d been thinking the same thing about her. Like sister, like brother. Another kind of special bond. In the time they’d spent together, at least.

  Which wasn’t very much time lately. A jolt of guilt stabbed through Jory’s middle. “Listen,” he said. “I’m sorry I’ve been so busy lately. I’ll do a better job hanging out with you, promise.”

  “Okay.”

  “Especially now that you’re talking to me! Think of how much more fun Cloudwatching will be, now that I don’t have to guess the creatures you point out.”

  “You’re usually wrong,” she said, yawning and stretching.

  “Sleepy?”

  She shrugged.

  “We should probably get some rest. Tomorrow’s a dig day, after all.”

  She exhaled noisily. “Digging’s so boring,” she said. “I’m sick of it. I hate it.”

  “Me too,” Jory said.

  Which wasn’t a betrayal, he thought. It wasn’t. Of course they hated digging—anybody in their right mind would hate it. Digging was the worst. Especially when they didn’t know what it was for.

  Would they ever find out?

  Jory shook the thought out of his head. Now, that was a betrayal.

  “I won’t tell, you know,” he said, helping her to her feet. “About any of this.”

  Kit nodded, like she didn’t expect any less from him. She pulled the flowered blanket back over her shoulders, the purple and red Worldbuilding house nestled inside.

  “Hey Kit,” he said. “Before we go—why do you think we’re digging?”

  She shrugged. But Jory couldn’t help noticing that just for an instant, her eyes flickered upward.