Swimming Through Clouds (A YA Contemporary Novel) (14 page)

“Where have you been?” The bell will sound any minute.

“I thought I told you. Didn’t you get my response on your
locker?” My mind is spinning. Did Dad walk by my locker on his way out? I’ll
know soon enough. Walking on eggshells almost sounds inviting when you’ve spent
your entire life walking on broken glass.
Annie Lennox, call me up. I’ll give you
something to sing about.
Mom
loved that song.

“I had a meeting,” Lagan continues when I don’t respond.
“With Mr.
Donatelli
? My guidance counselor?”

Coincidence? Or? “Oh. Good guy that
Donatelli
fellow.”

“You know him?” Lagan laughs. “Sounds like you two are
friends or something.”

“You sound jealous.” I egg him on. “You know he’s old enough
to be my d...”

I stop right there. I stop joking. I stop breathing. I need
to rein in my words. And my distance. Inhale. Heart start beating again
already.

Lagan tries to pick up where I dropped it: “You were
gonna
say your—”

“Forget I said anything. How was your meeting?”

“Fine.” Lagan lets me slide—away from
uncomfortable—again.

“All set to graduate?” I smile, thankful to move on.

“All systems go,” Lagan chimes. “How ‘bout you?”

“Pretty much.” Looking up at the clock, I realize there
isn’t enough time to explain everything. And before I can suggest we talk more
later, the bell rings and lunch is over.

“Hey, do you want to meet in the computer lab after Gym? We
can tell Mrs. Tyler that we’re doing online research for our final papers.
She’ll give us hall passes. We just have to check back with a bunch of
printouts to prove we found some resources. We can always read them on our own
after school.”

Did you read
my mind?
“Uh? Umm. Okay.” I
hesitantly agree. I am itching to tell him about my morning’s weather forecast.
From sunny to thunderstorms, to cloudy to near tornado, to the sun returning.
Like I’m Mount Denali, creating my own weather system relative to Dad’s
proximity. From
Glaciera
to
Montania
.
My name inventory increases. Alaska might just be my future calling.

“Awesome.” Lagan rises and puts one hand out with an open
palm. “Now hand it over.”

I almost forgot. I wonder if I should explain. No time. I
pull out the lilac sticky pad, place it on the table, and head to Gym. I turn
back just before exiting the cafe to see if Lagan has left, but he’s sitting
there flipping through the sheets very quickly. He looks up and catches me
glancing his way. All smiles, he nods his head with approval. I swallow, smile
back, and then turn to sprint to the girls’ locker room. Top of the hour
weather update: Sunny with a ninety percent chance of love in the air.

CHAPTER
FIFTEEN

My
volunteer position at the Chicago Botanical Gardens, located only miles north
of Evanston, materializes within twelve hours, shuttling me into an unlikely
future with the speed of time travel. Back to a future I never dared to dream.
Every possible glitch is zapped by one word:
money
. My dad agrees, because he will save
money. The director at the garden arranges for my training before I hang up,
because the gardens need immediate attention, and my help will cost them no
money. Professor Deans informs me that my acceptance letter is in the mail, and
I will be pleased to save plenty of money.

Lagan is the only person, besides myself, who could care
less about the financial consequences. He calls my newfound opportunity a
modern-day miracle. A way for us to see each other outside of our customary,
twenty-six-minute lunch period. Somewhere other than class or the cafeteria. He
schemes aloud, “Don’t mind me if I stop by between homework and basketball
practices.”

I just listen at first. I allow myself a few laps in his
romance-washed imagination. Risk of reality sets in, and I see Dad appear at
the side of the pool. I quickly drown, and that’s that.

Lagan catches my lowering eyes. “Of course. I’ll be
extremely careful not to tell anyone about where I’m going or who I’m visiting.
And I’ll only come by if and when you want me to. I’m not going to sign up,
either. It’s obvious what we’re avoiding. Your dad isn’t
gonna
come to work with you, is he?”

His question forces the wobbling walls of my cave to
collapse. The word
dad
hangs in the air like a fully loaded gun. Pointed at me.
Trigger cocked. I feel nauseated. If I had a lemon ice pop for each time the
word
dad
tsunamied
my peace, my tongue would be one frozen yellow
iceberg. The name
Glaciera
seems more appropriate by
the day.

“My dad...” I clear the frog from my throat and decide once
again if I’m going to hide under a pile of rubble or push through with the
truth. “My dad will do whatever it takes to control me.”

I speak as if talking about someone I know. But I expect
nothing. Lagan can’t rescue me, even if he understands. As of late, really
since I met this guy, I find myself asking the same question over and over
again. What have I got to lose? So little remains of me, that any more loss is
like a kick in the shins compared to all that Dad has already stolen from me:
Mom, Jess’s legs, my childhood, Jess’s voice.

Lagan looks to the right. Off into the distance. Processing
a clearer package of me cannot be easy. But I never asked him to. He’s the one
who came knocking on the door of my life that has always had caution tape
running across every inch.

I fidget in my seat, but the bell won’t ring for ten
minutes. With my hands gripped to my tray, I digest the fact that no Sticky
Note can cover my time bomb reality. Wanting to save Lagan from failing to
solve my life, a puzzle that’s not his problem, I stand to leave. He doesn’t
stop me. I move slowly, holding onto a grain of sand that maybe, somehow, he’ll
suggest otherwise. Give me a reason to sit down. Reach out to me with his
strong grip. Calm my racing heart with his smile that always lifts me out of
the quicksand. A Sticky Note. Anything. But nope, nothing. He stares at his
tray, speechless.

I don’t bother saying bye. A gush of sadness threatens to
escape as I move away from the table. I say goodbye to my dreams. Of
Lagan—of us—in my heart. I say farewell to the only person who has
ever waltzed into my thorn-infested life and asked me to dance. With
possibility. My life has known nothing but goodbyes, and none of them have been
good. I move out of the cafeteria doors and all the sounds around me fade.

I think I hear Lagan’s voice.
Come back!
Don’t leave! I need you as much as you need me. Come back!

I turn my head to reply, but Lagan’s eyes stay fixed on his
untouched lunch. Sigh. I contrived Lagan’s voice in my head, the only place
happily ever after
could
exist. The space between us expands like paint spilled over, widening as the
clock ticks away. Separated now, by more than a sea of cafeteria tables, a
single tear escapes down my cheek and slips past my lips, reminding me of the
salty taste of my bitter past, present…and future.

I hug my books and head to the nurse’s office. There’s a
wait. Not that it matters. Time is one thing I have plenty of. At this moment.
When the last bell rings, that’s when time becomes my enemy. For now, I watch
my whimsical fairy tale shut close, the final page ripped out.

While sitting on the chair outside the room, next to two
others, I recognize the girl next in line. She’s in my gym class. She gives me
one look over, huffs, and rolls her eyes. The boy on the other side has his
head slouched back, his baseball hat covers half his face, and his foot lightly
taps the floor. The iPod must be tucked inside his pocket, the wire from one
ear bud barely detectable as my eyes trace it behind his ear, down his neck,
into his shirt.

I decide to close my eyes and sleep. I put my backpack under
my seat, and lay my head in my hands. If I sleep, I might be able to escape the
dam breaking that crackles within, as I exhale without a single friend in the
world again. An unexpected friend shows up when my mind drifts away. The woman
who bled for twelve years. She’s inviting me to come alongside her. Maybe she’s
not done telling me her story.

She holds my hand and pulls me along, and my once cemented
feet loosen, permitting me to watch her journey. Her pace quickens as the sun
begins to set in the garden and the crowd thickens with others carrying burdens
alongside their broken hearts. I still don’t get it. Why is she here? She’s
fine now. Her bleeding stopped.

When we’re inches from the gardener, she lets go of my hand
and reaches for his back. A gentle brush of her fingertips, like a single paint
stroke down a canvas, and he notices. And turns. And begins to search for her.
For the woman who stole a touch.

We stop in our tracks. The crowd stops too. Ridicule and
complaints fill the air. So many wall him in, it could have been anyone. Why
does it matter? And then I hear her whisper in my ear, “It matters to me. He’s
looking. For me.”

My hands drenched, I hear the nurse calling my name. My plan
to tell her I have a headache is no longer a lie. My head pounds as if circus
elephants have taken up residency between my ears, but she has no patience for
my drama. I can’t remove myself from the seat. Defeat nailed me here two bells
ago.

“Talia?” The nurse repeats my name. “Talia, either come into
my office or go back to class.”

I still can’t move. Where’s that cape from Harry Potter when
I need it? The option to disappear vanished the night Jesse jumped off the
roof. How’s that for a story, Nurse Eva?

The nurse meant what she said. She must deal with this all
the time. Students who just park themselves outside her door in order to skip
class without being marked up. She’s already back in her room, filling out
paperwork. If I want to receive a pass into last period, I have to move out of
this seat, into her office, state a legitimate complaint, and qualify as sick
enough to warrant missing my previous two classes.   

I wipe my wet hands on my jeans, and as I lift my arm to
wipe my face on my sleeve, Kleenex finds itself in my hand. Warm fingertips
from behind wipe the damp hair from my eyes.

“Thought I’d find you here.”

Lagan’s voice pulls a wooden block out from the bottom row
of my heart, and before he has a chance to place it on top, I stand up, face
him, and crumble into his arms—a whole bigger mess than
Jenga
. I see the nurse glance up from her desk. Shake her
head. Then return to her paperwork. Drama. Nothing new. If only she knew the
details. No one. Not even Lagan. Knows the details. Yet.

Saturated Kleenex disintegrates with the second and third
dam break. Lagan moves me back into my seat and leaves to talk to the nurse.
She glances over at me. Then writes something down and hands a pink slip to
Lagan.

“Let’s go.” Lagan lifts me. Fresh Kleenex replaces the
shreds in my hands. He reaches below to retrieve my book bag, and we head out
the back doors of the school. The afternoon sun forces my eyes shut as I let
the warmth of the spring day dry my face, and I trail away from fresh
disappointment. School lets out in about twenty minutes.

Lagan holds my hand and walks me over to the elementary
school, two blocks down from our schoolyard. The younger kids don’t finish for
another hour. We near the playground as I watch my left foot step in front of
my right. Not sure why I’m letting him lead me, Lagan backs me onto a swing
seat with a gentle but firm lift and cups my hands around each chain. He leans
into me and our foreheads touch.

“Swings.” He whispers the word like a memory. “This was on
your list.”

And before I have a chance to protest, Lagan moves behind me
and pushes me once. Twice. And then pushes so hard, he runs under me and
screams one word: “Underdog!”

I am the underdog.

I am flying. And I am screaming. I am so high my feet sail
toward the dangling branches of the nearest maple, my toes brushing the bottom
leaves. My screaming ceases as I allow myself to taste the wind against my
cheeks. I imagine jumping off, sailing into the clouds, somersaulting into the
sun.

Then I hear a sound I don’t recognize. It’s a sound I
haven’t heard in so long. Someone is laughing. I can feel my stomach shaking.
She’s laughing louder. Guffawing with all of her might. She is free to laugh.
For once in her life, she is free to know joy. If only for a moment. She is free.

My lips close. The laughing ceases. The swing slows. A
school bell sounds in the near distance. My toes skid on the dirt below. Lagan
stands in front of me and catches me as I slide off the swing. The sweet scent
of peppermint hits me as my face nearly collides with Lagan’s. I am in his
arms. And I am shaking like a leaf. I need to move. Back away. Head home. The
list. Jesse. D...

“I accept you.” Lagan says these three words as if he’s
known his whole life, and he’s just letting me know. In case I still don’t
believe him.