The Sky is Everywhere(22)
Author: Jandy Nelson

I say, “Joe just moved to town.” Toby nods civilly and I sound human, a good start. I’m about to say “Toby was Bailey’s boyfriend,” which I loathe saying for the was and for how it will make me feel like the traitorous person that I am.

But then Toby looks right at me and says, “Your hair, it’s down.” Hello? This is not the right thing to say. The right thing to say is “Oh, where’d you move from, dude?” or “Clover’s pretty cool.” Or “Do you skate?” Or basically anything but “Your hair, it’s down.”

Joe seems unperturbed by the comment. He’s smiling at me like he’s proud that he was the one that let my hair out of its bondage.

Just then, I notice Gram in the doorway, looking at us. She blows over, holding her burning stick of sage like a magic wand. She gives me a quick once-over, seems to decide I’ve recovered, then points her wand at Toby and says, “Let me introduce you boys. Joe Fontaine, this is Toby Shaw, Bailey’s boyfriend.”

Whoosh – I see it: a waterfall of relief pours over Joe. I see the case close in his mind, as he probably thinks there couldn’t be anything going on – because what kind of sister would ever cross that kind of line?

“Hey, I’m so sorry,” he tells Toby.

“Thanks.” Toby tries to smile, but it comes out all wrong and homicidal. Joe, however, so unburdened by Gram’s revelation, doesn’t even notice, just turns around buoyant as ever, and goes to join his brothers, followed by Gram.

“I’m going to go, Lennie.” Toby’s voice is barely audible over the music. I turn around, see that Joe is now bent over his guitar, oblivious to everything but the sound his fingers are making.

“I’ll walk you out,” I say.

Toby says good-bye to Gram, Big and the Fontaines, all of whom are surprised he’s leaving so soon, especially Gram, who I can tell is adding some things up.

I follow him to his truck – Lucy, Ethel and I, all yapping at his feet. He opens the door, doesn’t get in, leans against the cab. We are facing each other and there’s not a trace of the calm or gentleness I’ve become so accustomed to seeing in his expression, but something fierce and unhinged in its place. He’s in total tough-skater-dude mode, and though I don’t want to, I’m finding it arresting. I feel a current coursing between us, feel it begin to rip out of control inside of me. What is it? I think as he looks into my eyes, then at my mouth, then sweeps his gaze slowly, proprietarily over my body. Why can’t we stop this? I feel so reckless – like I’m reeling with him into the air on his board with no regard for safety or consequence, with no regard for anything but speed and daring and being hungrily, greedily alive – but I tell him, “No. Not now.”

“When?”

“Tomorrow. After work,” I say, against my better judgment, against any judgment.

What do you girls want for dinner?
What do you girls think about my new painting?
What do the girls want to do this weekend?
Did the girls leave for school yet?
I haven’t seen the girls yet today.
I told those girls to hurry up!
Where are those girls?
Girls, don’t forget your lunches.
Girls, be home by 11PM.
Girls, don’t even think of swimming—it’s freezing out.
Are the Walker Girls coming to the party?
The Walker Girls were at the river last night.
Let’s see if the Walker Girls are home.

(Found written on the wall of Bailey’s closet)

I find Gram, who is twirling around the living room with her sage wand like an overgrown fairy. I tell her that I’m sorry, but I don’t feel well and need to go upstairs.

She stops mid-whirl. I know she senses trouble, but she says, “Okay, sweet pea.” I apologize to everyone and say good night as nonchalantly as possible.

Joe follows me out of the room, and I decide it might be time to join a convent, just cloister up with the Sisters for a while.

He touches my shoulder and I turn around to face him. “I hope what I said in the woods didn’t freak you out or something … hope that’s not why you’re crashing…”

“No, no.” His eyes are wide with worry. I add, “It made me pretty happy, actually.” Which of course is true except for the slight problem that immediately after hearing his declaration, I made a date with my dead sister’s boyfriend to do God knows what!

“Good.” He brushes his thumb on my cheek, and again his tenderness startles me. “Because I’m going crazy, Lennie.” Bat. Bat. Bat. And just like that, I’m going crazy too because I’m thinking Joe Fontaine is about to kiss me. Finally.

Forget the convent.

Let’s get this out of the way: my previously non-existent floozy-factor is blowing right off the charts.

“I didn’t know you knew my name,” I say.

“So much you don’t know about me, Lennie.” He smiles and takes his index finger and presses it to my lips, leaves it there until my heart lands on Jupiter: three seconds, then removes it, turns around, and heads back into the living room. Whoa – well, that was either the dorkiest or sexiest moment of my life, and I’m voting for sexy on account of my standing here dumbstruck and giddy, wondering if he did kiss me after all.

I am totally out of control.

I do not think this is how normal people mourn.

When I can move my legs one in front of the other, I make my way up to The Sanctum. Thankfully, it has been deemed fairly lucky by Gram so is mostly untouched, especially Bailey’s things, which she mercifully didn’t touch at all. I go straight over to her desk and start talking to the explorer picture like we sometimes talk to The Half Mom.

Tonight, the woman on the mountaintop will have to be Bailey.

I sit down and tell her how sorry I am, that I don’t know what’s wrong with me and that I’ll call Toby and cancel the date first thing in the morning. I also tell her I didn’t mean to think what I thought in the woods and I would do anything for her to be able to meet Joe Fontaine. Anything. And then I ask her again to please give me a sign that she forgives me before the list of unpardonable things I think and do gets too long and I become a lost cause.

I look over at the boxes. I know I’m going to have to start eventually. I take a deep breath, banish all morbid thoughts from my mind, and put my hands on the wooden knobs of the top desk drawer. Only to immediately think about Bailey and my anti-snooping pact. I never broke it, not once, despite a natural propensity for nosing around. At people’s houses, I open medicine cabinets, peek behind shower curtains, open drawers and closet doors whenever possible. But with Bailey, I adhered to the pact—