"There is no real ending. It's just the place where you stop the story."
~Frank Herbert
➳♀♁➳
The last day of school is one that every student, kindergarten through high school, celebrated. The sun was always warm, a breeze dancing through long hair and thin t-shirts. It was like standing on the edge of spring, a hairsbreadth away from jumping into summer — into relaxation.
This day in Brewer, Oregon was no different. The sun couldn't dry away the blue feeling in my chest over the loss of my little sister. The breeze couldn't carry away my sorrow. But today — under a shady tree overlooking an empty baseball field — today I felt okay. It was hard not to.
"Someone's eager to lose."
I glance up, bringing a hand to my face to shade the sun. Park stands smiling, the sun's yellow rays crowning him Helaci High's kickball champion. For decades, the Juniors and Seniors of Helaci High ended the year with a game of Kickball. It was supposed to be a fun way to celebrate the seniors leaving and the juniors taking over, and finally it was my turn to play. I'd verse Park and James, Lina and Cora on my team with the rest of the juniors — if Cora came. Senator Creevy worked out a deal with the principle that Cora could get her homework delivered at home without having to attend school. It only cost him a pretty donation to the sports wing.
I shake my head at Park, smiling. "Just relaxing knowing I have the win in the bag."
He plops into the space next to me, leaning his strong shoulders back against the trunk of the tree. I do the same, sitting close enough that our arms touch. A surge of warmth spreads through my chest.
Park. My Park, who'd been my friend since childhood, who stood up for those he loved, and who's smile lit up the world.
"How's Oliver?" He asks, face closed to me. Park and I had talked in the past weeks about his confession over memorial weekend — when he said he loved me.
"Does he make you happy?" Park ultimately asked. I could barely answer for the tightness in my chest. I'd been sick for weeks thinking about what I'd say in that conversation.
"Yes," I finally said. "I love him."
Park respected Oliver for what he did for his sister, barging in during the attack. The two didn't quite like each other yet, but I'd forced them into multiple family-fun activities since then, most of them Oliver's idea and most of them to help take my mind off things. Oliver frequently invited me to the Manning Estate for movies and popcorn (because the massive house had it's own small movie theater), swimming in Hess's Cove, going for a special treat at Peaches and Creamery, or simply walking on the shore of Helaci Lake.
Oliver liked to kiss almost as much as he liked to talk, which tended to be a lot. I laughed every time he brought up Manning Estate's horses, because his eyes would light up and I'd almost get a glimpse of what he must've looked like as an excitable little boy. Oliver promised he'd have me jumping hurdles on my horse by the end of the summer.
According to Oliver's younger brother, Theodore, if Oliver had a horse, I had to have one too. Mr. Manning agreed, telling me to pick out any one I wanted. Of course, I didn't own it, but it was to be mine to ride, groom, and feed whenever I saw fit. After a full day of detailed observation, I picked a mare that looked, to me, like a dalmation. Mr. Manning called it a Knabstrupper with an impressive lineage, but I only cared that it liked Oliver's horse, Speed. They were often grazing next to each other in the fields. Theodore joked that they were girlfriend and boyfriend.
"Like you and Oliver!" He'd added, which caused Oliver smile. After his little brother had left, Oliver leaned in, touched his forehead to mine, and said, "You're my everything, Skylar Lane."
So, yes, I was happy. Oliver made me happy.
"I just want what's best for you," Park had said softly at the end of our talk. "I've always loved you, as a friend and a little more. But if you don't need me to be that person for you, I'm not going to stand in the way of your happiness." By the end, tears threatened to spill down my cheeks, but Park pulled me into a hug before I could cry again.
"Oliver is good," I say, forcing myself out of my memories. "He thinks you cheated last time we played Pickle Ball and demands a rematch."
"Hey, now," Park says with the full force of his competitive nature. "I won fair and square and if he can't handle being inferior to me, he'll have to find another girlfriend." He smiles. "Cause I'm sticking around."
I smiled just as the bell rang, signaling the end of the day. A cacophony of voices flooded the air as hundreds of students exited the back doors of the school. They all rush down the thin sidewalks, little freshman getting trampled to the back. This kickball game was even more anticipated than last year's, and I'd even heard people putting money on which team would win in the lunchroom.
Our odds weren't good.
I scan the crowd and see many familiar faces. A good handful are friend's of my brother, graduates just like him. I was sorry to see them leave, admitedly. I wasn't ready to be the oldest, about to be pushed into "adulthood."
As if he knows I'm looking for him, James manifests and walks over, his face unreadable. He'd been hard to assess since the death of our little sister. I think, as the oldest, he felt like it was his job to protect us, but nothing could've saved Molly from the cancer inside. He spent a lot more time with the family after his breakup with his girlfriend. He claimed he just needed time to be by himself, which I understood — in a way. I found the times when I was alone even more painful, so having Oliver around, with his additional understanding of what it was like to lose a loved one, helped.
James had decided, after a hefty amount of nagging from my parents and I, that he was in fact going to attend University of Michigan in the fall. He'd move in late August, so I planned to spend every second I could hauling him out to Helaci lake for fishing battles.
After James came Lina, dragging her boyfriend by the arm. I jumped up and ran to hug her.
"Easy, girlie," she laughed. "A certain someone might get jealous." Lina was ecstatic about Oliver and I, and attributed the success of our relationship on herself, though she'd been asleep when I'd filled out the application. Talking about that night was bittersweet for both of us. Cora hadn't spoken to me or Lina in a month.
"Do you think she'll come," I whisper after her boyfriend moves to greet the other boys.
"Doubtful," Lina responds. "Oliver's the only person she'll even stand to see."
The fact still made me sad and maybe a little bitter, but if Oliver could help her like he was me, she needed it. Cora and I each had our own traumas, and I never dared compare them. Each hurt in their own way and each were just as suffocating. It didn't make her silence any easier, though.
"I miss her," I finally say, and Lina nods.
The field takes a while to calm down, everyone finding their friends and sitting in the grass beyond the fences. Lina and I walk to the junior's team in the outfield and a football player named Jared organizes us into positions. I have a surprisingly good arm, so after the other jocks are placed at first and third, I get second. There's at least five people in each position because of the size of the grade, but that didn't mean it was going to be easy. Lina gets put in the outfield, which makes her happy as a lark.
The seniors position themselves in a line of what they assume to be best to worst. Half of the girls choose not to kick, so they'll pair up and run with a guy.
Everyone's conversing when Coach Munsen, who heads the football team, steps onto the field. He'd been at the funeral to support James, which of course meant the world to my brother. Munsen was as close to a life coach as James could get.
"Alright, delinquents," Munsen starts, "you know the rules. Seniors start kicking, no running bases when the pitcher's got the ball, and seniors always win." The seniors cheer at the last part while my grade shouts out a few "boo's."
The game goes as expected, with seniors scoring forty-three points before we even got a chance "at bat." Lina catches a fly ball kicked by the football team's running back and the crowd goes wild. The final score is 267 to 240, seniors for the win. Even still, the juniors whoop with victory. That's the closest any junior class has gotten to beating the seniors.
"Seniors, seniors, don't be shy," everyone chants, "stand up and yell your battle cry!"
"V - I - C - T - O - R - Y," they spell, "that's the senior battle cry!"
It goes back and forth a few more times before Munsen yells, "Oy! Get outta here!" with a laugh. Lina and I stumble to the sidelines, laughing.
"I didn't know you were a jock," I say, referencing her big catch.
"Oh honey, I'm pretty good at handling balls—"
"Okay!" I cut her off, laughing even harder. "You need help."
"Thanks, Captain Obvious," she shoots back.
We kick off our shoes in the grass, dumping out the sand. The cool ground feels amazing under my hot skin, sweaty after playing. Park yells to take me home, but Lina offers to drive me.
"Want to get frozen yogur—" she stops suddenly, her eyes wide. I follow her gaze.
Cora.
"Good game," she says softly, stopping a few feet away.
I stand up so quickly my head spins like a crooked top. "Cora."
She looks different. Her blonde hair isn't perfectly curled or immaculately straightened, not a strand out of place. It's natural, for the first time since I'd met her, loose waves falling just passed her shoulders. Her makeup is minimal, just mascara and lipgloss, and her skin looks paler, softer.
"I've never seen you in leggings," I blurt out.
She looks down at her outfit, leggings and a Helaci High t-shirt. "Yeah," she says, a hint of a smile on her face. "Thought I'd represent."
An awkward silence settles, full of words we want to say but don't know how to.
"Ahem," Lina coughs slightly. "I'm going to go check on—" she scrambles "—the frog I saw earlier."
She knows, which I silently thank her for. She knows Cora and I need to talk more than she does. As she walks away, she lays a soft hand on Cora's shoulder. I see her face fall when Cora flinches, unable to suppress it. After she's yards away, Cora looks down at the ground.
Neither of us knows where to start.
"I'm sorry—" we both start at the same time.
A pause.
"You first—" we both say again.
The crack of a smile.
Then silence again.
"I'm sorry about your sister," Cora says finally. It pokes at a fresh wound and my eyes almost close with the pain.
"Thank you," I say, because what else is there. "I'm sorry about what happened at your cottage."
There's a silence again. Maybe we shouldn't have mentioned either event.
"Are you okay?" She asks. I know it's because my wound is fresher; she feels like she has to take care of me, now. Or maybe because mine is a wound that will last forever, surpassing any sort of remedy.
I shrug, because I don't want to cry. "It's been a lot," I say, but it comes out as a hoarse whisper."
"You don't have to be strong in front of me, Skylar," Cora says, moving to sit beside me. She brings her knees up and wraps her arms around them, her body in a tight ball.
"I have to be strong in front of half the school, though," I say, forcing a laugh. There are still several groups of students around us, waiting for buses or rides. I pick at the grass. We have a lot to talk about. I inhale. "Do you like Oliver?"
It's such a stupid question — selfish, really, considering the circumstances.
Cora smiles and I release the breath I'd been holding. "He's nice," she says. "He listens, and he gets things that most boys his age wouldn't. He's good to talk to." She looks at me. "But he's yours, Skylar. He loves the shit out of you."
A laugh bursts from my lips. "How eloquently put." She joins in, and soon we're both laughing so hard that I'm rolling and her arms clench her stomach.
We collapse in the grass, heads touching.
"I missed you," I say. A breeze pushes at the hair in my pony-tail, lifting a few strands.
"I missed you," Cora repeats. "I'm sorry I've been weird."
I blink towards the sky and study the clouds, admiring the feel of the fresh air in my chest. "There's nothing you need to be sorry about." I sigh. "If I've learned anything in the last month it's that everyone deals differently."
It was true. My mom was quiet, retreating into herself. My dad promoted faux happiness, bringing home fast food with a bright smile and empty eyes. James distracted himself. I avoided my emotions.
"It's not that I didn't want to see you," Cora continues. "It's just—" she pauses. I watch a cloud morph from a pudgy turtle to a skinny heart.
"I know," I say. "I know."
Some things just break you.
➳♀♁➳
My family went to church together every Sunday, like we never had before. I hugged the boisterous black woman from the first service that seemed so long ago. I found out her name was Ms. Tammy, and every week she'd say, "I love you, baby."
It was Ms. Tammy who asked if I wanted to join her in the daycare room. Every week, I'd go to the first service with my parents, then change diapers and warm bottles during the second. I always urged my mom to join, and every time I saw her eyes flash back and forth between hurt and hope. One day, I knew she'd say yes. But for now, I simply gave her a hug and shooed her home.
My favorite part of daycare was the reading rug. I'd usher the children over while the older women laid the babies down to rest and read whichever story they chose. It was usually Jonah and the Whale, because the little boys liked to act out the part where the whale spits Jonah onto the sand. But sometimes they'd choose the story of Esther, Adam and Eve, or David and Goliath. I'd switch voices for each character, light and airy for Eve and deep and slow for Goliath. The little kids would squeal with laughter, imitating and clutching their dolls and monster trucks.
Sometimes it hurt. Sometimes a little girl with a light poofy dress would climb into my lap and I'd hold her tight and fight back tears. Sometimes a little girl would come in with lopsided pigtails, a bright smile on her face, and I'd have to hide in the bathroom until I could calm down. Each time I returned, one of the many helpers I'd gotten to know and love came up with a hug or rub on my shoulder. I learned to appreciate those people and those moments. I learned to whisper, "I miss you, sweet girl," and continue my day.
"You're good at this," Ms. Tammy said, on one of the days she spent helping out. "Have you ever considered a job with children?"
And in the back of my head I always had. I went home that day, sat at the dining table for Sunday brunch, and said, "I think I want to be a teacher."
"You'd be good at that, Skybird," my dad said.
"Thank goodness I've already graduated," said James, which earned him a punch in the arm.
"That's nice, sweetie," my mom said. "What grade?"
We talked the rest of the meal about my possible decided future and, for the first time, I was excited for what was to come.
➳♀♁➳
Oliver's hand on the small of my back leads me to the front door of where it all began.
The last day of summer, the day before my first day of senior year and Oliver's first day of EMT training to become a firefighter, my boyfriend steps into my bedroom and asks me to Frann's.
I laughed. "Frann's? Where I choked on my fries and you were so rude to me?"
"Rude?" he laughs, eyebrows raised. "You were the one being so sassy and dismissive."
We joked about the event and climbed onto his motorcycle. My parents hated it, but had learned to trust Oliver enough to let it slide. Oliver and my dad frequently hit the golf course together, becoming fast friends over the summer. My mom liked the way he helped in the kitchen when he came over for lunch. I smiled at the way he fit so well into my family.
Molly had loved him, too.
"After you," Oliver says, opening the door to the small but homey restaurant, with its red and blacked checkered theme and overly padded booths. I smile at the jukebox in the corner.
Oliver leads me to the table we'd sat in so many months before. I sit in my spot and he sits in his, our hands intertwined across the tabletop.
"What'll it be?" the waitress says, sliding over on her rollerblades.
Oliver looks at me, a warm glint in his sparkling green eyes. "Anything you want."
I smile. Anything I want.
Everything.
Forever.
I want forever. Smiles, laughter, kisses, love.
"A milkshake," I whisper. Oliver gets the same. We smile at each other until she rolls back with them, placing a chocolate on a napkin in front of me and a vanilla on one for Oliver.
A moment passes where time stops, Kenny Chesney on the jukebox, singing "Me & You."
"I want this," I say suddenly. "I love you."
Oliver smiles, a knowing look in his eyes. He brings the milkshake to his lips.
"My, my," he starts, "Skylar Lane, you're going to be my greatest adventure yet."
The End.