Spin the Sky

by MacKenzie, Jill;

  “Thanks,” I tell them both, my mouth still full of fritter. “For coming to see me.” I turn to Rose. “I didn’t think you would.”

  “I wasn’t sure if I would either.” Rose takes a deep breath. “When I saw you on the show, I wanted to come so bad, right away. But I had to work. There was no one to cover my shifts and I had to wait until I could get the time off. And the money—” She takes a deep breath. “Flights to LA aren’t cheap. Mrs. M. was kind enough to call me every night with updates. I was grateful, but it wasn’t enough.” She grabs my left hand while Mark holds on to my right. “I couldn’t stay away. I would have been here the whole time if I could have.” She shoulder-bumps Mark. “And when I got to the airport, I ran into him. Seems like we both were thinking the same thing.”

  “You sounded so sad over the phone,” Mark says. “It’s all I could think about.”

  “We had to see you,” Rose says. “There’s no way we could have stayed away.”

  Mark lets go of my hand, but gently, like he never wants to let it go. He excuses himself to make a phone call. To his mom, he says. Let her know he’s okay, he says. And that I’m going to be okay, too.

  I peer out the window adjacent to my bed. For the last half hour with Mark here and Rose here, I’ve almost been able to forget about what’s happened to me. Now, it crashes on top of me like the whole world’s crushed me with its weight. Rose must see my shoulders shake, my back breathing with everything I can’t let go of.

  “I wish this hadn’t happened to you.” Rose’s voice is quiet. “I know you wanted it so bad.”

  “Yeah, but you didn’t. Probably for the best. Like you said.”

  “I wanted this for you. I really did. I just wanted you to want it. Not because you wanted to convince Summerland that we’re not these awful people you think we are, but because you were ready to do this. For you.”

  “It doesn’t matter why I wanted it.”

  “It matters. When you told me about the competition, I was so excited about what it could mean for you and for what I thought it meant for us.” She rubs her eyes and pulls her hair back with her hands and then lets the whole mess of it fall to her face, exactly the same way I do it. She places one hand over my good foot, kind of like she’s checking to make sure it’s still there—still in one piece instead of broken in twelve different places like my other one. “I thought it meant that you had finally let go of what happened to Colleen. I thought it could be our fresh start.” Rose gets up. Goes to the window. “If there’s one thing we’ve ever done that’s been worthwhile, it’s making sure you danced.”

  “So then maybe there’s still a chance.”

  “There will always be another chance for you in dance. Not on the show, but—”

  “No.” I shake my head. “Maybe what I did up there was enough. Maybe they’ll forgive us for what she did and we can go back there and live a good life.”

  Rose’s eyebrows push together. “Who is it, exactly, that you need to forgive us?”

  “The people. Everyone.”

  “Who, Mags?”

  I feel my bottom lip quiver as my mind rolls through the names, the voices, the whispers. “Mrs. Perkins,” I say. “Mrs. Miller. The kids from school. That family on the beach who said we had no right to be there. Everyone.”

  “After all this,” Rose says, “who are those people to you now? What do they mean to your life?” She waves her hands around the room. “Look who you’ve met, what you’ve done. Why do you still care what they think of you when so many others think the opposite?”

  “You don’t understand.”

  “There’s always going to be people who want to push you down. You have to learn to stand tall against them. Mom couldn’t. Mom wouldn’t.”

  “What about you?”

  “What about me?”

  “You and your pipe. Your boss. You call that standing tall against them?”

  Rose shakes her head. “You’re wrong. I’ve never used that pipe. I just kept it. I don’t know why.” She fiddles with a piece of her hair. “I guess to remind me of her. Like you and that piece of cloth you always kept with you.”

  I had no idea Rose knew about my piece of pillowcase. No clue she knew I was hanging on to more than just changing our town’s minds.

  “You’re wrong about my boss, too. He’s my boyfriend.” She looks sheepish. “Joey. We met at my interview. I wanted to tell you. I tried to tell you before you left. You wouldn’t hear me. We’ve been together almost a year.”

  “Your boyfriend? But he’s so old.”

  Rose laughs. “He’s thirty. And I’ve lived a lifetime to make up for the years between us. Joey wanted me to tell you about us when we first started seeing each other, but I couldn’t. I didn’t want you to think I was leaving you for him, the way she left us, for—” Now it’s her turn to break. She swallows. “The truth is, she just couldn’t be with us anymore,” Rose says. “Or maybe she just didn’t want to.”

  “Don’t say that.”

  Rose sits on my bed, holds the sides of my arms. “You need to hear this,” she says. “Mom didn’t want us, Magnolia. She didn’t know how to take care of us. And she didn’t want to try anymore. That morning on the beach with Mrs. Perkins … she was looking for a way out long before that.”

  “You don’t know anything about her. You made her leave in the first place. She knew you blamed her for what happened to Colleen. It’s your fault she left.”

  Rose’s lips part, but no words come out.

  “You made her leave us. If you would have forgiven her then maybe the town would have too.”

  “I did forgive her, and so did they. Except for the ones who couldn’t, or wouldn’t. But those people never mattered. Those people weren’t in her life, loving her through it. We were. Us, and Mrs. Moutsous. They didn’t make her leave.” Her voice gets small and soft. “She left because she wanted to.”

  “She had to leave,” I say the words for what feels like the millionth time, although this time, they sound different coming from my mouth. Like I’m saying them, but not believing them. “No.” I push Rose away from me. “I hate you. I hate her, too. I hope she’s dead and bleeding and alone and dead.” I dig my fists into my eyes. “I wish I was dead.”

  “Stop,” Rose whispers. “Don’t ever say that.” She holds my face. Makes me look into her eyes. “Colleen was my friend but she was our mom. I forgave her. I loved her.” Rose cradles my head against her chest. Her heart beats into my temple. “I loved her like you do.”

  But I can’t hear the things she says. It’s just too much, these words, making my head hurt, making it hard for me to hear, see, think, breathe. Breathe. Breathe.

  Tears drop, slowly at first, but then faster and bigger and heavier. Mocking me with everything I should have known all along. The town didn’t hate her, didn’t hate us for what happened. Sure, a few of them did, but who were they, really? Summerland losers. People who had nothing going on in their own lives.

  And then I’m not crying. I’m sobbing.

  Letting it all out. Letting it go.

  I cry for George who jumped up on stage, shielding my body with his while the cameras swooped over and in for close-ups of my cries and of my foot.

  I cry for Olivia, who I watched, from the TV in this room, stand tall and try so hard not to let the world see her break as Camilla Sky announced that I would not be returning to Season Six, Live to Dance.

  I cry for Mrs. Moutsous, who was always there for us. Who loved me and Rose and loved Mom even though Mom gave her every reason not to.

  I cry for Rose. Who sits here looking sorry.

  I cry for me.

  Me, who begged Elliot Townsend as someone carried me somewhere, into some car or ambulance or something before it all went black to please, please let me try again when my foot’s all healed, maybe next season or the one after, let me try out and compete again so that this time I’ll be better on camera and this time they’ll see me win.

  I cry f
or me.

  Me, who only wanted them to see that I’m not bad, not a no-good Woodson girl. That I’m not my Mom and have never been my mom. Because if I were, I would have let that cop slide his hand up my thigh, further, further, further. Because if I were, my body would be my curse and not my freedom.

  I cry for me.

  Because Elliot shook his head while I begged him and said, “No, Magnolia. I’m sorry. You can’t be on the show again. We only let people on once. That was your shot. I’m sorry you didn’t win.”

  And I cry for me.

  Because now I know for sure that I never, ever will.

  THIRTY-THREE

  The phone next to my bed rings, waking me out of one of those dreams where everything seems so clear and right. When I open my eyes, I remember it all. Mark is gone. I told him I wasn’t going with him even though a huge part of me wanted to. Wants to.

  The phone rings a fifth time and I pick it up. “Hello?”

  “Magnolia?”

  “Yeah.”

  On the other end I hear Olivia’s voice exhale. “Are you okay?”

  “I think so. My foot will be okay. They said I’ll be able to dance again. It’ll take a long time to heal but I’ll dance again.”

  “Man, I was so worried about you.”

  “I know. Thanks for helping me and for, you know, everything.”

  “You would have won,” she says all hurried. Like if she doesn’t say it fast, she might change her mind.

  “Nah. You’ve got your name all over that winning title. So, results show tomorrow, huh?”

  “No,” Olivia says. “Didn’t you hear? No one gets eliminated this week.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. Since Rio’s out and now you are too.” Silence on her end. “Magnolia, I’m so sorry.”

  “I know.”

  Olivia exhales and then I hear a muffled shuffling noise and her voice saying something to someone else that must be with her. “Hey, hold on a sec, okay? Someone wants to talk to you.” Then there’s more shuffling and then a guy comes on and says a gruff hello.

  “You gonna live or what?” Jacks says. I close my eyes and think about his words as I lay on stage, crumpled, broken. He didn’t sound like him. Or I guess he did. A different version of him.

  “Yeah. I guess so.”

  “You did good. Just like at tryouts. You were really good then. And last night too. Before you totally blew it, that is.”

  “Thanks,” I say. But I’m kind of laughing.

  “No prob.”

  Neither of us says anything else. It’s kind of like neither of us needs to.

  Olivia comes back on the phone, her voice all giddy and happy. I guess that’s how it is when you finally let go of all the things you thought you couldn’t. There’s nothing left to feel but goodness.

  “So. You and Jacks, huh?”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” she says. “Maybe. He’s not so bad. Friends for now. And then who knows?” Olivia’s voice shakes. “So, will you look me up sometime? After this is over, I mean?”

  I nod my head, although I know Olivia can’t see me and can’t see me smile. “Of course. Isn’t that what friends do?”

  The next time I open my eyes, Mrs. Moutsous is here.

  She’s sitting on the foot of my bed, just kind of watching me and Rose sleep, our heads resting against one shared pillow.

  I lift my head and rub my eyes. Rose opens hers too.

  “What are we going to do now?” I whisper. Not to Rose or to Mrs. M. Not even to myself. Just to put the question out there. Out in the open, once and for all.

  Rose wipes under her eyes with the back of her hand. “Exactly what we’ve always done. We don’t have to live under the weight of their words, you know. We get to choose. Either let them in. Or don’t.”

  “I thought I’d still be in the competition right now. I wonder if those polls are saying Olivia’s the new favorite to win. I didn’t even ask her when she called. And George.” I sit upright, turn to Mrs. M. “Why aren’t you with George right now?”

  “I needed to know you’re okay,” she says. “And the only way I could get George out of here was if I promised him I’d stay.” She laughs. “He loves fame. But he loves you more.”

  “He’s not off the show for good, is he?”

  “No. They never had any intention of kicking him off. Even when he confessed to slipping back in Portland. They certainly weren’t going to kick him off for helping you.” Mrs. Moutsous inches herself toward us. “You girls are the amazing ones. I promise you. This will get easier with time.”

  “The people at home,” Rose says. “The ones who said those things to us. They’ll move on to something else in time, someone else.”

  I imagine Rose and me “back to normal.” Back in our house. The one that’s been in our family for years and that’s held our Woodson name together even when it felt like the walls were crumbling all around us. Gram’s house. Mom’s house.

  It’s the only thing we’ve ever owned. It’s the only thing we’ve ever had, other than each other. And yet, being out of it—away from it—I know it’s what’s stopped us from being something other than we’ve always been. Something other than a Woodson.

  I raise my head so that my eyes meet Rose’s.

  Rose’s eyes, still so full of tears and truth. Like a life preserver, they’re keeping me afloat. How could I ever have thought Rio’s eyes looked anything like Rose’s when no one’s could ever come close?

  “We can’t go back to the way things were,” I say.

  Rose furrows her eyebrows. “What do you mean? I told you already. Most of the people in town don’t hold us responsible for what happened to Colleen. Not directly, anyway.” She swallows. “Only the assholes do. We won’t listen to them. We never should have to begin with.”

  I inhale, letting my chest fill with the heavy air around us. “When we get back there, we need a fresh start. I think I want to leave Summerland.”

  Rose shakes her head. “We can’t run away. It won’t fix anything.”

  “Not run away. Just get ourselves some breathing room. See how things look when we’re not looking at them from Summerland. A fresh perspective.” I grab her hand. “We need this.”

  Rose leans her head against the pillow. But her face isn’t all shocked the way I expected and even felt myself as the words flew from my mouth, so unprecedented. Instead, Rose’s mouth is open and, for the first time in so very long, her eyes are full of hope. Not just toughness or wisdom, but hope. Real, genuine excitement for a bright future and future filled with possibility. And although I can’t see them, I can tell by Mrs. Moutsous’s own proud expression that mine must look that way, too.

  Rose goes downstairs to the cafeteria for a cup of “real coffee,” while Mrs. Moutsous and I talk about everything but the obvious. That when we get back to Summerland, Rose and I are leaving. Maybe even for forever.

  She undoes my long braid and brushes my hair out for me. We flip through the magazines she’s bought in the gift shop, skipping over the pictures of me and the other Live to Dance contestants. We pick out the outfits and hairstyles we like best. We laugh when she suggests going through the magazines a second time and picking out the best boob jobs, too.

  But when this thick, inevitable silence passes over us both, Mrs. Moutsous says, “If you’re waiting for my blessing, you’ve got it.” She gets up and sticks one of the pillows I’ve shoved to the floor under my bum leg. “As much as it’s going to kill me when you and Rose are gone, I know that it’s time for you both to spread your wings.” She plops herself back on the bed, closer to me this time. We sit there for a couple seconds, not saying anything. No one says “please don’t go.” No one says that doors won’t be closed and lives will be changed when we leave, either. Because those are the kinds of words that families don’t need to say. Those are the kinds of things that, between families, are just known.

  I stare at the mirror across from my bed. I bring my hair forward, one
half of it on each side. It trails past my belly button. Mrs. M. watches me, her eyes smiling. “You look so much like her,” she says. “Sometimes it’s hard. Sometimes I get a little sad because I miss her, too. But I’m proud to know you.”

  “Mrs. M.? Will you do something for me?”

  “You know I’d do anything for you.”

  I lean over my armrest and press the nurse call button. Within seconds, the same huffy nurse returns and starts checking my cast for leakage and my blood pressure for, I guess, spikeage. I wave her away. “No. I’m fine. I was just wondering if you could bring me a pair of scissors.”

  The nurse glances between me and Mrs. M. She crosses her meaty arms and squints.

  “Don’t even think about taking it off. It needs to stay on for at least eight weeks.”

  “I’m not going to cut the cast off.”

  “We’re cutting out photos. From the magazines.” Mrs. M. holds one up to show the nurse. It’s one of us. All of the finalists from Live to Dance standing with our arms around each other, taken right after Liquid was eliminated. I remember the cameras flashing all around us. I remember being blinded and wanting it to end and never wanting it to end. I remember feeling like a star. Like I could do anything. Mrs. M. winks at me. “We’re not used to this kind of glamour where we’re from.”

  The nurse purses her lips and then leaves the room. A couple of minutes later, she comes back with a pair of small surgical scissors. “If anyone asks, you didn’t get them from me. We’re not supposed to give these to patients.” She holds them out to me, hesitates, and then hands them over to Mrs. Moutsous instead. “Especially teenage ones.” The nurse leaves and Mrs. M. and I listen to her clogs squeak all the way down the hall.

  “Thanks,” I say.

  “You’re welcome.” She pauses for a moment, and then holds up the scissors and smiles at me. “So. How short do you want it?”

  When Rose gets back from the cafeteria, she takes one look at me and almost spills the coffee she brought for Mrs. M. all over my bed.