Beyond Vica Read online

  A glance at the kitchen clock tells me, to my surprise, that it’s 5 o’clock. My mom will be calling soon. She closes the flower shop at 5. I haven’t heard anything from Sam’s mom. I’m beginning to feel that things may be more serious than first thought. I try to shake off the feeling and focus on feeding Sarah. I take inventory of what’s in the fridge and cupboards. I find a can of tomato soup and spy a loaf of bread on the counter. “Would you like me to make grilled cheese and tomato soup?”

  “Yes, please.” Brody pulls up a seat at the kitchen bar.

  “Not you, silly. Me.” Sarah laughs and climbs onto the stool next to Brody's.

  “I suppose we can feed him since he helped with the stars.” I smile at Sarah. Brody winks at me and tickles Sarah’s chin. His wink sends my stomach into a somersault. I’ve got to get a grip on this.

  After we finish eating, Brody helps me load the dishwasher. My phone vibrates on the counter. A look at the screen tells me it’s Sam’s mom. “It’s Marie,” I mouth to Brody and answer it. He closes the dishwasher and studies my face.

  “Hi, Marie…Yes, I can do that. I’ll call my mom and tell her to bring my clothes…She’s doing fine, she just ate a grilled cheese and had tomato soup…I will tell her. Please tell Sam I said hi. Bye.”

  I look into Brody’s face. His eyes haven’t left mine since I answered the phone. “I’m going to spend the night with Sarah. Sam’s grandparents will be here in the morning. His parents are staying at the hospital tonight. Doesn’t look like he’ll make it to school on Monday after all.” My voice cracks. Brody wraps his arms around me. I lay my head on his shoulder and swallow hard. I don’t want to cry. Sarah needs me.

  “Do you want me to stay with you?” he whispers into my hair. I nod. It’s been nice having him here.

  Chapter Nine

  “Thanks, Mom.” She pulls me into her arms. Moths dance around the porch light above us.

  “Are you going to be alright? I can stay, you know,” she tells me for the tenth time. The light overhead catches the green in her eyes. She searches my face.

  “I’ll be fine. Brody is going to stay a little while longer. He’s been a big help with Sarah.” I force a smile. “I’ll call you when Sam’s grandparents get here in the morning.”

  She places a kiss on my forehead. “You’re a great friend, Gabby. I’m proud of you.”

  My eyes burn as I watch her drive away. I just can’t shake this troubled feeling. It feels different from all of the other times Sam’s been hospitalized. Things were going so well that I haven’t thought about losing Sam the last couple of weeks. My stomach clenches. The ache is back.

  ****

  “It works! Bubby is going to like his happy place.” Sarah claps her hands while lying on Sam’s bed in between Brody and me. We gaze at ceiling covered in glowing plastic stars.

  “Yeah, he is,” agrees Brody, taking Sarah’s small hand in his. “You did a good job, girl.”

  “This is fun. Are you having a sleepover with us?” She props her head onto Brody’s chest.

  “I’ll stay for a little while, but I have to go home to sleep.” He ruffles her hair. “Boys don’t do sleepovers with girls. Eww, gross,” he teases.

  “You and Gabby used to sleep over with Sam,” Sarah argues. She’s right. We did, but that seems like a lifetime ago. So much has changed. “You and Gabby love each other, don’t you?”

  I almost fall off the bed. “What?” Brody and I say is unison.

  Sarah laughs. “You two love each other. I can tell.”

  My face heats up like a Fourth of July firecracker. “Of course we do. We love Sam, too. We are all best friends.”

  She shakes her head and sings, “Gabby and Brody, sittin’ in a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-g.”

  I roll her on top of me and tickle her ribs. She laughs so hard that she gets the hiccups.

  “Okay, kiddo. Time for your bath and a drink of water.” I pull her up from the bed and get her bath ready.

  ****

  “Well, Miss Matchmaker is in the tub,” I joke and flop onto the couch beside Brody. He had propped his feet on the coffee table with his head resting against the back of the couch.

  “You know what I was thinking about?” He turns his head sideways to look at me. I lay my head back on the couch and face him.

  “No. What?” I bite my lip, waiting for an answer.

  “Remember when we used to sleep over and pretend we were camping here in the living room?” His eyes glisten.

  “Yeah. Sam’s mom let us roast marshmallows in the fireplace. She was always so cool about that stuff.” My eyes drift to the stone fireplace. “I think Sarah and I will have a campout down here. Will you help me make a tent?”

  Brody smiles at me. “Sure.”

  ****

  “This is the best night ever!” Sarah bounces down the steps and darts into our makeshift tent. Brody and I had draped a sheet from the top of the couch to the fireplace. We folded blankets to look like sleeping bags underneath the sheet.

  She peeks out from opening of the sheet. Her hair, still damp from her bath, curls up on the ends. “Come in.”

  I crawl in, followed by Brody. I tuck Sarah into a blanket and lay beside her. Brody squeezes into the small space opposite Sarah. He has to turn on his side with his arm above his head in order to fit. His arm drapes over the top of Sarah’s head. She snuggles into his side.

  “I wish Bubby was here,” she whispers.

  “Me, too.” Brody’s voice is soft. He rubs her hair and then I feel his fingers brush the top of my hair. I reach up and hook my pinkie finger with his. We lie in still silence, but my mind is anything but still. I say a silent prayer for Sam and Sarah. I pray for his mom and dad. I think about my imaginary land beyond Vica and slip into sleep. I dream that Sam and I are flying hand in hand. We pass through Vica’s upside-down V and into the land beyond Vica. Sam is instantly cured. There is no such thing as cancer in this wonderful place.

  Chapter Ten

  I’m in a stare-down with Sam’s empty desk. I can almost hear it saying, “I told you so. He’ll never make it back to school.” It’s unfair. He’s only fifteen, almost sixteen. He should be here dealing with the daily tortures of school and getting ready for his driving test like any other teenager, not fighting for his life. Anger runs through my veins and boils. I get out of my chair and walk over to the evil desk. Mr. Baldy stops writing on the whiteboard. “Gabby? Is there something I can help you with?” he asks.

  I don’t look at him. I don’t answer. My eyes are trained on the desk that has taunted me for months. I raise my leg and kick it as hard as I can with the bottom of my foot. Its metal legs screech across the hard classroom floor. Blondie’s eyes bulge as the desk travels in her direction and stops short of her feet.

  My outburst leaves the class speechless, turns Mr. Baldy’s head red, and earns me a trip to the office. So now I’m sitting with the frequent flyers, awaiting my sentence. I wonder what the consequence is for beating up a chair. I know a girl who got suspended three days for punching another girl in the face in gym class, but my assault of a chair may receive a lighter sentence.

  The buzzer sounds the end of the period. It doesn’t take long for the hallway to flood with people rushing to get to the next class. I feel like a fish in a bowl. Gawkers look at me through the glass walls of the main office. I sink down in the chair and attempt to brush my hair forward to hide my face. I can only imagine the gossip. “Did you hear Gabby lost it in math class? She snapped and kicked a chair’s butt.”

  A tap on the glass behind me gets my attention. It’s Brody. He mouths the words “What happened?”

  I shrug and mouth back, “I’ll text you.” I pretend-text with my thumbs to make sure he knows what I’m saying. I haven’t seen Brody since the weekend at Sam’s. He must have left after I fell asleep because he was gone when I woke up the next morning. He nods and disappears into the crowded hallway.

  This is only the second time I’ve been sent to t
he office. The first time was in middle school when Sam dared me to take plastic gloves from the janitor’s cart. We blew the gloves up and hit each other with them on our way to class. One popped right outside of the science classroom, startling the teacher. She lost her hold on glass beakers and they shattered on the floor. I not only had to clean the science room, I had to help the janitor clean the lunchroom for a week after that.

  “Mrs. Hall will see you now, Jonathan,” the school secretary announces to the boy sitting beside me. Her red hair is swept up into a tight bun on the top of her head. She dips her face to peer at Jonathan above the blue frames that sit on the end of her nose.

  Jonathan rises from the chair and flips his long sweeping bangs. “Later,” he mumbles.

  “Yep,” I mutter and watch him strut into the principal’s office. The black letters on the back of his white shirt that read “Got Swag?” make me snicker. I clamp my hand over my mouth when the secretary raises her eyebrows in my direction.

  “Gabby? Please come with me.” I startle at the voice of our school’s guidance counselor, Mrs. Hershey. She motions for me. Her smile is pleasant, but not overly warm. Her straight brown hair matches the color of her eyes. I rise and follow her down the narrow hall inside the main office. Her heels click on the tile.

  “Have a seat in here." She opens her office door at the end of the hall and steps aside to let me enter. I was in her office at the beginning of the school year for a change in my class schedule. That was the only time I’ve spoken to her other than to say hello in the hall.

  I swallow hard and sit in a red-cushioned chair across from her wooden desk. She wheels a black vinyl chair up to her desk. “I understand you were upset today in math.” Her eyes study me.

  Is she telling me or asking me? “Yeah. A little,” I mumble.

  “Would you like to tell me what happened?”

  “Not really.” I focus on picking my nails. What am I supposed to say? I couldn’t take the chair’s teasing any longer. She’d write Dr. Phil for an immediate intervention. I’d be sent away someplace.

  “I read your creative writing assignment. You’re a good writer.” Her voice is low and even.

  My head snaps up. She has my writing papers in her hands. I feel betrayed by my English teacher. She had said all writing pieces were between us unless she asks our permission to share them.

  “Mrs. Smith would like to submit it to a journal for young people, but she thought I should read it first,” Mrs. Hershey says. “It sounds like the land beyond Vica is a wonderful place. Tell me how you came up with Vica.”

  I study her for a long time before I answer. It’s not easy for me to let people in on my friendship with Sam. I’ve wanted to preserve every memory. Keep it tight, like if I share anything, it’s no longer mine. I swallow and tell her the story of Brody, Sam, and me naming the stars in the upside-down V. I leave out the details of how Sam said the three stars are us.

  The door to the office opens and my mom walks in. My stomach falls. She looks from me to Mrs. Hershey. Her eyes narrow.

  “Mrs. Martin, have a seat. Thank you for coming.” Mrs. Hershey rises and motions to the empty chair beside me.

  “Is everything okay? It’s not like Gabby to get into trouble.” The puzzled look on Mom’s face makes me want to crawl under the desk. I look down at my fingers again, not wanting to make eye contact with her.

  “Gabby got a little upset in math class today. I don’t believe it had anything to do with math, however.” Mrs Hershey pulls pamphlets out of her desk drawer.

  “Oh?” Mom looks from Mrs. Hershey to me.

  “I think Gabby is having difficulty dealing with what’s going on with Sam. It’s understandable. It’s hard for adults to know what to do with the feelings we have in situations like this. It’s especially hard for young people.” Mrs. Hershey’s voice is low.

  I feel sick to my stomach. I don’t want to talk about this. Especially with my mom. She cried so much after my dad died. I never wanted to see her hurt like that again. I don’t want to cause her any worry.

  “I have some information for you about support groups available through the local hospice center.” Mrs Hershey circles something in one of the pamphlets with a green highlighter. “They have resources available for people whose loved ones are in late stages of cancer as well as those who have experienced a loss of a loved one. I’ve highlighted a number to call and the meeting times of support groups for Gabby’s age.”

  Mom takes the pamphlets from Mrs. Hershey and looks at me. “Gabby, why haven’t you said anything? We could’ve looked into this earlier. I’m sorry, honey.” Mom’s voice cracks.

  “Mom, don’t.” I manage to get the words out, trying to ignore the guilt growing inside me for upsetting her. “Please don’t cry. I’m okay.” I’m going to have to try to explain how I got into this mess. I take a deep breath and swallow.

  “I was so let down by Sam not being able to start back to school that I took it out on his chair. I kicked it and scared my teacher. I’m sorry. I’ll keep myself under control from now on.” I force a smile and look into my mom’s eyes. They glisten with moisture. She reaches for my hand and squeezes it.

  “Mrs. Martin, I think Gabby needs to take a couple of days off from school. I’ve already arranged for her teachers to send her assignments,” Mrs. Hershey says.

  My mom nods. “I think that’s a good idea. She gets her cast off tomorrow. I was going to sign her out half a day anyway. Thanks for all of your help, Mrs. Hershey.”

  Chapter Eleven

  My phone signals that I’ve got a text. I reach for it on my nightstand without sitting up. My arm feels so light without my cast that I nearly fling the phone out of my hand. I read the text that lights up on the screen.

  I’ll be over by 5. Glad your cast is off. Brody

  I lie on top of the covers of my bed with my feet on the wall and stroke Sadie’s fur. She’s curled at my side.

  Since I haven’t been to school, I’ve been texting Sam’s mom most of the day. He’s still in the hospital fighting an infection. He was able to see his bedroom ceiling when he video-called with Sarah. He thought it was cool. Marie’s going to call me at 5 o’clock today so Brody and I can video-call with Sam. I sent Brody a text earlier to tell him to come over.

  My eyes roam the pale blue walls of my room. Basketball trophies line the shelf above my dresser. On the wall beside the shelf is a picture of Sam, Brody, and me with our arms around each other. Medals dangle around our necks. We won a three-on-three basketball tournament at the local YMCA when we were in sixth grade.

  I spy something white peeking from behind the frame of the picture. I hop off my bed and pull it out. It’s a folded piece of paper. I turn it over in my hand, trying to decide if I want to unfold it. This one piece of paper holds a magnitude of memories. I open it fold by fold. Two flowers with petals made from fingerprints are revealed as I unfold the last crease of the paper. I run my fingers across the pink flower made with the smaller finger prints and then across the blue flower with the bigger fingerprints.

  I liked to make pictures with my smelly markers the summer before I started kindergarten. The pink marker was my favorite because it smelled like strawberries. I had the bright idea of coloring my fingers with the markers and making fingerprints on my pictures. Mom said I wasn’t allowed to color myself with my markers, but she was at the flower shop so I was brave. Dad caught me. I thought for sure I’d be in big trouble. To my surprise, he sat down beside me and colored his fingers with the blue markers. We drew stems on a blank piece of paper and pressed our inked-up fingers above the stems to make petals for the flowers.

  “Knock, knock! Anybody home?” Brody’s voice comes from the living room.

  “In here!” I yell. I refold the paper and tuck it back behind the frame.

  “Look at you without a purple arm.” He crosses my room to join me in front of the picture. “I remember that day. We kicked butt in that tournament.” He studies the pictur
e while I study his profile. His dark brown hair is shorter than the last time I saw him. He still has enough bangs to flip to the side, though.

  I feel my face flush when he catches me looking at him. He grins and touches my chin. “You doing okay?”

  I nod. “I’m good. Needed time to chill, I guess.” I shrug and check the time. It’s 4:55 p.m. “Sam’s mom will be calling soon. You want take the call outside? I’ve been in all day.”

  “Sure.” He follows me outside to the front porch. The wooden swing suspended from the porch ceiling drops a little from our weight when we sit. Its chains creak as we sway back and forth. My phone rests on my lap in wait of the phone call I’ve been looking forward to all day.

  “What’s going on at school?” I keep my eyes on my fingernails while I pick at them.

  “Not much. Talk about a girl going crazy and beating up furniture. You know, the usual drama.” Brody nudges me with his shoulder.

  “Whatever! I should be embarrassed, but I’m not. You should’ve seen Mr. Baldy’s face.” I’m embarrassed, but I’m not going to admit it. Brody laughs.

  My phone lights up and I snatch it from my leg. “Hello?”

  Marie’s face fills my phone screen. “Hi, Gabby. Is Brody there?”

  “Right here.” Brody leans in so Marie can see him. I scoot closer so we both fit onto the screen. Brody puts his arm around me to close the space. My insides tingle. Focus, Gabby.

  “Good. Here’s Sam,” she says and holds her phone in front of Sam. He smiles behind the tubes that fill his nose. Smaller tubes connected to needles run from his arms to machines beside him. I want to reach through the screen and take him into my arms. My heart feels like someone’s squeezing it.