The Sky is Everywhere(7)
Author: Jandy Nelson

I lean over the sill, see Toby, as I knew I would, under a near full moon. I’ve had no luck squelching the mutiny inside me. I take a deep breath, then go downstairs and open the door.

“Hey, what’s up?” I say. “Everyone’s sleeping.” My voice sounds creaky, unused, like bats might fly out of my mouth. I take a good look at him under the porch light. His face is wild with sorrow. It’s like looking in a mirror.

“I thought maybe we could hang out,” he says. This is what I hear in my mind: boner, boner, erection, hard-on, woody, boner, boner, boner – “I have something to tell you, Len, don’t know who else to tell.” The need in his voice sends a shudder right through me. Over his head, the red warning light could not be flashing brighter, but still I can’t seem to say no, don’t want to. “C’mon in, sir.”

He touches my arm in a friendly, brotherly way as he passes, which sets me at ease, maybe guys get hard-ons all the time, for no reason – I have zero knowledge of boner basics. I’ve only ever kissed three guys, so I’m totally inexperienced with real-life boys, though quite an expert at the kind in books, especially Heathcliff, who doesn’t get erections – wait, now that I’m thinking about it, he must get them all the time with Cathy on the moors. Heathcliff must be a total freaking boner boy.

I close the door behind him and motion for him to be quiet as he follows me up the steps to The Sanctum, which is soundproofed so as to protect the rest of the house against years of barky bleating clarinet notes. Gram would have a coronary that he’s here visiting me at almost 2 a.m. on a school night. On any night, Lennie. This is most definitely not what she had in mind by reaching out to him.

Once the door of The Sanctum is closed, I put on some of the indie-kill-yourself music I’ve been listening to lately, and sit down next to Toby on the floor, our backs to the wall, legs outstretched. We sit in silence like two stone slabs. Several centuries pass.

When I can’t handle it anymore, I joke, “It’s possible you’ve taken this whole strong silent type thing to an extreme.”

“Oh, sorry.” He shakes his head, embarrassed. “Don’t even realize I’m doing it.”

“Doing it?”

“Not talking…”

“Really? What is it you think you’re doing?”

He tilts his head, smiling squintily, adorably. “I was going for the oak tree in the yard.”

I laugh. “Very good then, you do a perfect oak impersonation.”

“Thank you … think it drove Bails mad, my silent streak.”

“Nah, she liked it, she told me, less chance of disagreements … plus more stage time for her.”

“True.” He’s quiet for a minute, then in a voice ragged with emotion, says, “We were so different.”

“Yeah,” I say softly. Quintessential opposites, Toby always serene and still (when not on horse or board) while Bailey did everything: walk, talk, think, laugh, party, at the speed of light, and with its gleam.

“You remind me of her…” he says.

I want to blurt out: What!? You’ve always acted like I was a baked potato! but instead I say, “No way, don’t have the wattage.”

“You have plenty … it’s me that has the serious shortage,” he says, sounding surprisingly like a spud.

“Not to her,” I say. His eyes warm at that – it kills me. What are we going to do with all this love?

He shakes his head in disbelief. “I got lucky. That chocolate book…”

The image assaults me: Bailey leaping off the rock the day they met when Toby returned on his board. “I knew you’d come back,” she’d exclaimed, throwing the book in the air. “Just like in this story. I knew it!”

I have a feeling the same day is playing out in Toby’s mind, because our polite levity has screeched to a halt – all the past tense in our words suddenly stacking up as if to crush us.

I can see the despair inching across his face as it must be across mine.

I look around our bedroom, at the singing orange paint we’d slathered over the dozy blue we’d had for years. Bailey had said, “If this doesn’t change our lives, I don’t know what will – this, Lennie, is the color of extraordinary.” I remember thinking I didn’t want our lives to change and didn’t understand why she did. I remember thinking I’d always liked the blue.

I sigh. “I’m really glad you showed up, Toby. I’d been hiding in Bailey’s closet freaking out for hours.”

“Good. That you’re glad, I mean, didn’t know if I should bug you, but couldn’t sleep either … did some stupid-ass skating that could’ve killed me, then ended up here, sat under the plum tree for an hour trying to decide…”

The rich timbre of Toby’s voice suddenly makes me aware of the other voice in the room, the singer blaring from the speakers who sounds like he’s being strangled at best. I get up to put on something more melodic, then when I sit back down, I confide, “No one gets it at school, not really, not even Sarah.”

He tips his head back against the wall. “Don’t know if it’s possible to get it until you’re in it like we are. I had no idea…”

“Me neither,” I say, and suddenly I want to hug Toby because I’m just so relieved to not have to be in it by myself anymore tonight.

He’s looking down at his hands, his brow furrowed, like he’s struggling with how to say something. I wait.

And wait.

Still waiting here. How did Bailey brave the radio silence?

When he looks up, his face is all compassion, all cub. The words spill out of him, one on top of the next. “I’ve never known sisters so close. I feel so bad for you, Lennie, I’m just so sorry. I keep thinking about you without her.”

“Thanks,” I whisper, meaning it, and all of a sudden wanting to touch him, to run my hand over his, which rests on his thigh just inches from mine.

I glance at him sitting there so close to me that I can smell his shampoo, and I am stuck with a startling, horrifying thought: he is really good-looking, alarmingly so. How is it I never noticed before?

I’ll answer that: he’s Bailey’s boyfriend, Lennie. What’s wrong with you?

Dear Mind, I write on my jeans with my finger, Behave.

I’m sorry, I whisper to Bailey inside my head, I don’t mean to think about Toby this way. I assure her it won’t happen again.