Her Name in the Sky (6 page)

“Children, obviously. Don’t you read?”

Baker laughs and tosses the macaroni box at her. “Tend to our food, brat.”

“Get me the milk and the butter, brat.”

Hannah pours the macaroni into the pot and stands still while the steam rises to her face. She watches the water dance around in an always-changing formation of bubbles while the macaroni lays helpless on the bottom of the pot, sunk forever by the laws of density.

“Milk,” Baker says, hoisting the gallon jug onto the countertop, “and butter.”

Hannah says nothing in response, just stands above the stove and watches the water boil. And then Baker comes to stand behind her and hugs her around her middle, and suddenly the steam from the pot spreads all over Hannah’s body, settling into the hammock of her torso and finding its way to her ears and fingertips. She feels Baker’s touch everywhere, and when Baker drops her head onto Hannah’s shoulder and watches the boiling water with her, Hannah’s heart climbs in her chest and peeks out over the water too.

“Can we still do this when we’re in college?” Baker asks, her voice bare.

Hannah nods very carefully, not wanting to betray her insistent heart or the steam inside of her. Then Baker turns her head—Hannah can sense it with every nerve inside of her—and kisses Hannah’s cheek. Hannah stills all over, begging the steam not to spill out, begging her heart to stay balanced where it is, until Baker moves away from her, as casual as a breeze on the bayou, and opens the refrigerator.

Hannah picks up the ladle for something to do and swirls the macaroni around the pot. Her body feels flushed all over, but she answers as nonchalantly as she can when Baker asks her if she wants some Coke.

“Sure,” she says. “But is there any caffeine-free? I don’t want my heart to start racing.”

They fall into bed with their stomachs full of macaroni and cheese and their teeth coated with sugar from their Coca-Colas. Baker wears one of Hannah’s old t-shirts—the softest, best-loved one—and a pair of her Victoria’s Secret PINK shorts. She lies on her stomach and starts to breathe on a sleep cycle almost right away—before Hannah even has a chance to ask her which TV show she wants to watch—so Hannah lies down next to her and re-memorizes the familiar sound of her breathing. The fan blades circle overhead, moving the air in the room so that it washes over them in gentle waves, occasionally carrying Baker’s scent to Hannah like a bee carries pollen to a flower.

Sometimes, with her heart beating strong in her chest, Hannah realizes that Baker does not belong to the rest of them. “You’re too good,” Hannah tells her, meaning every word sincerely, offering this truth with a degree of wonder she’s never felt for any other human. “I’m not,” Baker insists, her long, dark eyebrows drawing together in surprise. But Hannah knows it from fall semesters spent cheering Baker on at her volleyball matches, when Baker would score serve after serve after serve while the crowd and her teammates screamed their applause, and then Baker would approach the opposite team’s captain, the girl who had been crying at the end of the match, and whisper in her ear at the corner of the court when no one was looking. Hannah knows it at a party in mid-February, when she walks upstairs to find Baker sitting on her knees in the hallway with her arm wrapped around a sophomore girl. “It’s okay,” Baker soothes while she rubs the girl’s back. “Your name’s Ally, right? You’re going to be okay.” “I feel sick,” the girl says, her voice coming out like the compressed cry of a feverish child, “I want to go home.” “We’ll take you home,” Baker says, her voice light and gentle and filling up Hannah’s heart. “We’re going to get you some water first. My friend Hannah’s here, and she’s the best person you could ever know. She’ll help me take care of you.”

“You’re too good,” Hannah says after they take the girl home.

“I’m not,” Baker promises. “You would have done the same.”

“I don’t know that I would have,” Hannah says honestly.

“But I do,” Baker says with her deep, dark eyes.

Hannah knows that Baker does not see in herself the same miracle of goodness Hannah sees in her. She knows that Baker struggles to measure up to her brother, that she desperately craves her mother’s approval, that she worries constantly about whether or not she’s a fair team captain or an effective student council president. “You’re amazing,” Hannah wants to tell her. “You’re the best thing that’s ever been.” But Hannah knows that Baker, when she’s not smiling at parties and laughing with their friends in the parking lot, carries these secret worries in her heart, worries that Hannah wishes she knew the full extent of, worries that Hannah sees in Baker’s eyes when Baker thinks no one is looking.

“You’re so much better than you even know,” Hannah says one afternoon when they’re sitting in Baker’s car, talking through Baker’s latest argument with her mom. “You’re just—you’re so—I wish you could believe me—”

“What’s funny,” Baker says, blinking down at their sun-spoiled sweet teas in the console, “is that, when I tell you these same things about yourself, I wish you could believe me, too.”

Chapter Three: Mardi Gras

“I’m having a Mardi Gras party,” Clay tells them in mid-February. “Tuesday night. My parents will be in New Orleans.”

“You sure you want to volunteer for that?” Hannah asks him. “Those parties are notoriously crazy—”

“No they’re not. Think about how many people go out of town for Mardi Gras. You know, skiing and shit. And then you’ve got the people that go down to New Orleans. But we’re all staying here, and a lot of prime people are staying here, so why not make something out of it? Ethan threw a Mardi Gras party when he was a senior and he said it was the best party St. Mary’s had ever seen. Besides, my house is all the way at the end of that cul-de-sac, so it’s not like we’ll piss off too many neighbors.”

They trudge through the last few days before Mardi Gras break, swamped with quizzes and tests and essays but buoyant at the thought of the five-day weekend. The hallways swell with noise on Thursday and Friday as students trade information about which krewes are going to have the best floats this year and whether or not it will rain at Spanish Town and whose parents are going to let them drink at the parades. In Hannah and Wally’s A.P. Government class on Friday, Mr. Creary actually throws his Expo marker up into the air when a third student is called to the office to check out early for a family ski trip. “Not sure why I’m even trying,” Mr. Creary says, his droopy eyes roaming to his desk in the back of the classroom, where everyone knows he keeps his Reese’s Pieces stash. “Y’all do whatever you want. But keep the noise level down, and if Mrs. Shackleford or Mr. Manceau comes around, you’d better look like you’re working on those essay outlines.”

Father Simon leaves them with a special sign-off message during afternoon announcements on Friday. “Please remember,” he says, his voice hovering on each syllable, “that while this is a joyous time to celebrate our Louisianan and Catholic heritage, the purpose of Mardi Gras is to prepare for the Lenten season, when we must remember our Lord and His greatest suffering. Remember to conduct yourselves like children of Christ.”

“Wasn’t it Jesus that turned water into whiskey?” Luke asks at the lockers afterwards. “So, I mean, we
will
be acting like children of Christ.”

“It was wine,” Baker laughs, her arms folded as she leans against Hannah’s locker. “But yeah, I see your point.”

“Just make sure you don’t hook up with Joanie in my pantry again,” Clay tells Luke.

“Ew,” Hannah says.

“Maybe you should worry about your own hookups,” Luke says. “Who’s it gonna be at this year’s Mardi Gras? Gonna go for Sammy Hebert again?”

“Shut up, man,” Clay laughs, shoving him playfully, but his face tinges with color and he turns away from them. “Not interested in Sammy.”

“Who are you interested in?” Hannah asks.

Clay blinks his eyes shut and shakes his head rapidly. “Nothing. No one. Come on, let’s get some food.”

They meet Joanie and Wally in the parking lot, and from there they drive to Zippy’s for chips and queso. They sit on the outside patio, where it’s warm enough for them to take off their jackets, and they roll up their shirtsleeves and fight over the chips and talk about the party on Tuesday, and all the while Hannah tries not to notice how Clay leans forward to talk to Baker with a different look in his eyes than she’s ever seen before.

Hannah and Joanie spend the first few days of break hanging out with Wally and Luke while Baker and Clay are in New Orleans with their families. They go to the Spanish Town parade on Saturday and stand in the rain catching beads and doubloons from the passing floats, everyone around them wearing hot pink t-shirts and tutus and latex, the policemen watching from horseback and little kids watching from atop their dads’ shoulders. On Sunday they go to Wally’s house to build forts with his little brothers while Ms. Sumner runs errands, and on Monday the four of them help Hannah and Joanie’s dad plant new flowers in the backyard.

“It was really nice of you to come over,” Hannah tells Wally afterwards. “I know my dad’s not the easiest guy to talk to.”

“He’s neat,” Wally says, wiping his brow with the back of his hand. “I like him. We talked a lot about engineering. What he does at work and everything. It’s the most he’s ever talked to me.”

“Yeah, well, he’s pretty quiet,” Hannah says, rubbing at the dirt on her forearms.

“That’s not a bad thing,” Wally says. “It just means when he says something to you, you really listen, you know?”

He stares directly at Hannah until she stops scratching her arm and looks up at him. His eyes are intense behind the lenses of his glasses, and Hannah gets the strange feeling, like she sometimes gets around Wally, that he sees her differently than she sees herself.

“I’m really glad I came over,” he says, one corner of his mouth lifting upward in a smile.

“Yeah,” she says, trying on the skin of the girl he must see when he looks at her. “Me, too.”

Hannah and Joanie lie around watching TV on Tuesday, neither one of them having showered, both of them rocking messy buns, both of them waiting for word from Clay. He finally texts their friend group around six o’clock, asking them to come over to help him set up. “I get shower first,” Joanie says, jumping up from the couch and sprinting upstairs, and Hannah runs after her, yelling at her to hurry up and to not spend ten minutes conditioning her hair.

They tell their parents they’re going to Clay’s house to watch a movie. “It’s a really long one,” Joanie says. “Like, longer than
Titanic
, even, so we won’t be home until late.”

“What’s the movie?” their dad asks, sincerely curious.

Joanie’s mouth hangs open for a long second. “I don’t know—some weird one Clay wanted to watch.”

“Text us when you get there,” their mom says. “And
no drinking
.”

Hannah texts Baker just before she and Joanie walk out the door.
We’re heading over, are you there yet?

At Albertson’s getting Sprite for the drinks
, Baker writes back.
Be there soon. And I’m bringing you a surpris
e
.

What’s the surprise?
Hannah asks.

Baker replies a minute later.
Nope
, she writes,
don’t even try.

Wally and Luke’s cars are already in the driveway when Hannah and Joanie arrive. They find the three boys in the family room, moving furniture against the walls and listening to booming music—Madonna’s “Like a Prayer,” which radiates outward from Clay’s speakers system. Hannah pauses in the hallway when she realizes that all three boys are singing and haven’t noticed her yet. Joanie bumps into her from behind and opens her mouth to yell at her, but Hannah pinches her arm and points at the boys.

“Best part,” Clay says, pushing back from the sofa he and Wally are moving. “Listen—this part, right here.”

Clay starts to jump in place, singing the lyrics, at the same moment that Wally leans forward and drums his hands on the air. Luke ambles over to them, adapting his voice to a high pitch to match the singing of the background choir. The three of them stand in a loose triangular formation, each one of them playing some kind of air instrument while they sing. Hannah holds her hand over her mouth to keep from laughing.

Luke jumps onto the sofa and holds his arms out to the open space of the room while he belts the song. Clay and Wally each grab one of his arms and wrench him down so that Luke gives an inadvertent yelp that sends all three of them into a fit of laughter.

“Oh my god,” Joanie laughs behind Hannah, and the boys look up from the sofa, all three of them startled. 

“So manly,” Joanie says when she realizes she has their attention.

Luke recovers first. “Very manly,” he says, walking over to kiss Joanie hello.

“Do y’all always listen to Madonna like this?” Hannah says.

“No,” Clay says, holding his hands at his waist. He grins sheepishly. “Only sometimes.”

“You surprised us,” Wally says, sliding the bridge of his glasses back up his nose. “If we’d known you were coming over this soon, we would have played some Tina Turner, too.”