Beyond Vica Read online

  I would say I feel sorry for her, but just from the little time I’ve spent with her, I think she would take that as an insult. The tattoo on her forearm reads I’m the Hero of My Story.

  “You go to English next, right?” I glance at Jamie as we walk out of the lunch room.

  “Yep. My favorite class.”

  “Mine, too. Sit with me today. I want you to meet my…friend.” I hesitate because I’m not sure if Brody’s now my boyfriend. We haven’t even talked about it yet.

  “Brody?” She smiles sideways at me. “Everyone knows Brody.”

  “Of course.” I roll my eyes and grin.

  Mrs. Smith glances up from grading papers when we walk into the classroom. A smile spreads across her face. “Just the young ladies I wanted to see.”

  Jamie and I exchange glances and stop in front of Mrs. Smith’s desk. “I have something I’d like you to think about over the summer. You are both talented writers. I’d like to start a school e-magazine as a place for teens to publish their work. I’d like you both to be regular contributors to the publication. The first issue will launch in the fall, with your work featured. I’d like you to meet with me sometime over the summer to go over details, if you’re interested.”

  “Yeah, we’ll talk about it.” Jamie gives me an encouraging smile.

  “Brody, this is Jamie. Jamie, Brody.” I say, slipping in the desk seat behind Brody and patting the empty desk next to mine.

  “What’s up?” Brody shifts sideways so his arm rests on my desk. His eyes follow Jamie, who takes the seat next to me.

  “Not much. Counting down the days to freedom. Nine to go.” She holds up nine fingers.

  “I hear ya.” Brody grins and raises his eyebrows in my direction.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Gabby, sweetheart. You need to get up if you’re going to group this morning.” Mom’s voice coaxes me awake. Her nails feel good across my shoulders.

  “Mmm. I’m not going,” I say into my pillow. My notebook rests on the bed beside me, and the open page has the words Dear Sam across the top. One week. I had one whole week to write the letter and still couldn’t find the words.

  “Are you sure? It might be a good idea with all that’s going on right now.”

  “What I want to do is see Sam.” My words bring a sigh from my mother.

  “Gabby, we’ve talked about this. Marie and I both think it would be best that your last memory of Sam not be like this. He’s not alert most of the time. They’re keeping him comfortable. Be assured he’s not in pain, honey. He wouldn’t even know you were there if you did visit.” Mom runs her fingers across my back.

  She’s wrong. He’d know I was there. We have something special—we’re connected in a way no one else understands, except Jamie. After a minute of silence, I feel Mom rise from my bed and hear the click of the door being shut.

  I send Jamie a text telling her I won’t be at group this morning and that I’ll keep her updated on Sam. She texted last night asking about him.

  ****

  I’m determined to get this letter done. Armed with my notebook and a bag of Hershey’s Miniatures, I set out on the porch swing to write. Ten empty candy-bar wrappers later, I still don’t have it done. I need to shoot hoops.

  I pound the ball. I pull my arms back, aim for the basket, and let the ball fly from my fingers. Swoosh! The vibration of a stereo, followed by the hum of an engine, grabs my attention. Brody’s black Jeep pulls to a stop just short of the square of concrete I’m dribbling on. He jumps out and holds his hands up. I throw him the ball. He dribbles around me while I swat unsuccessfully at the ball. He easily lays the ball in the basket.

  “Let’s play a game of pig. It’s been forever since we played that.” Brody bounces the ball between his legs. I steal it away, pivot and shoot. Swish!

  “That’s because you know I’ll kick your butt,” I tease.

  “Oh, yeah? Let’s see what you got.” His grin pops his dimples. This time I don’t hold back. I walk right up to him, stand on my tiptoes, and run my finger along the dip in his cheek before I kiss it.

  He looks at me with wide eyes, followed by a playful smile. He hooks an arm around my waist and pulls me to his chest. Then he cuts off my giggles with his mouth. We stand in the driveway, under the basketball hoop, kissing for a good minute. He pulls away, grabs the basketball, and puts the ball in the basket with a hook shot. “Your turn,” he says.

  Twenty minutes later, Brody has the letters P and I, and my miss has just earned me a G. “Are we dotting the I?” I ask in an attempt to survive the game.

  “Why not? It’s not going to save you, though.” He drains another basket. “Did you hear we’re all wearing blue on Monday in honor of Sam?”

  I drop my arms from shooting position and tuck the ball under my arm. “Who’s wearing blue?”

  “The freshmen. Rachel thought it would be nice, since blue is Sam’s favorite color.”

  “How does she know it’s Sam’s favorite color?” I snap.

  Brody’s eyebrows narrow, then he shrugs. “Sam probably told her.”

  I snicker. “Yeah, right. She doesn’t even talk to Sam.”

  “What’s your problem, Gabby? Anytime somebody asks about Sam or wants to do something nice, you get a frickin’ attitude.” His eyes penetrate mine, like he’s searching inside me, trying to figure me out.

  I feel anger rise up in me. “Whatever! Rachel and her minions don’t care about him. They just want to look good by pretending they do.”

  “You don’t even know what you’re talking about. Rachel and Sam have English together. They’re peer-revision partners for writing. They’ve talked a lot this year.”

  I didn’t know that, and it bothers me that Brody did. “Well, I didn’t know your little girlfriend was so close to Sam. Excuse me!” The hurt look on Brody’s face makes me immediately regret my words.

  “How can you say she’s my girlfriend? I thought…” I don’t let him finish.

  “I’m sorry, Brody,” I say, fighting back tears.

  “We all get that you and Sam are close. We all respect that, but you’re not the only one who’s allowed to care about him. I’ve seen you push people away from him and was glad you didn’t do that to me, but now…” He shakes his head, not finishing his sentence.

  There’s no fighting the tears. They’re streaking down my face. I wipe them with the back of my hand. “Brody, I…” I don’t even know what to say. What do you say when someone has hit you right between the eyes with the truth about yourself?

  “I’ll talk to you later. I need to go.” He heads to his Jeep.

  “Brody, wait!” I yell after him but he doesn’t even turn around. I watch, helpless to stop him pulling out of the drive.

  Chapter Sixteen

  I hadn’t heard from Brody the rest of Saturday or yet today. I sent him a text when I got up this morning telling him that I was sorry and asked if we could talk, but he hasn’t replied.

  I don’t even know if he’s still planning on picking me up for school in the morning. I send him one more text before turning my light out on the nightstand. I bury myself under the covers, listening for my phone, but a return text never arrives. I finally doze off.

  “Gabby, I gotta go now. I’ll see you soon.” Sam’s voice comes from behind me in his backyard.

  I turn around. He’s standing in front of the big oak we climbed as kids. The oak stands proud against the clear, starlit sky. Sam’s curly brown hair is back. The dark circles under his chestnut eyes are gone. His smile shows teeth as white as snow.

  “I’m not ready for you to go. Please don’t leave,” I plead and try to cross the yard. With each step I take, the farther away he gets.

  “I love you, Gabby.” He waves.

  “I love you, too. Wait! Don’t go,” I cry.

  My eyes fly open. I sit up in bed. My room is dark. I hear the thud of my heart. I know he’s gone. I feel it. I pull my knees to my chest and sob. I hear Mom’s whispers o
utside my room. Light seeps into my room when she opens the door. She looks surprised to see me awake. I say it before she has a chance: “He’s gone.”

  She nods painfully and rushes to my bed. She crawls into bed with me and stretches out. I lie in her arms and cry. She strokes my hair until I cry myself asleep.

  ****

  The creak of the porch swing plays in my ears. I watch the sun peek above the landscape and listen to the birds announce the arrival of a new day. The first day on Earth without Sam.

  The world should just stop and mourn. I want to shout at the birds, “How can you sing when someone so special has just died?” Or yell at the people in the cars driving by, “How can you go to work when he’s gone?”

  I pull my knees to my chest and rest my head on them. My shoulders shake with my sobs. I’m still in my pajama pants and tank-top, but I don’t care. I sense someone’s eyes on me and raise my head.

  Brody’s walking up the driveway in athletic pants. His T-shirt has a pool of sweat on the front. He’s panting. I hop off of the swing and down the steps of the porch. I run down the driveway and leap into his arms. He lifts me up. I wrap my legs around his waist. He holds me tight. I bury my face in the crook his neck and we both cry. I feel his shoulders shake and I tighten my hold on him.

  After a few minutes, he releases me and wipes away the hair from my face. “I couldn’t sleep, so I went for a run. I know it’s early, but I had to see you.”

  I don’t say anything. I take his face between my hands and kiss him. I say with that kiss all the things I want to tell him: I’m sorry for being selfish, I’m sorry for hurting you, I need you, we lost someone special to us. We are both breathless when I pull away.

  His gray eyes penetrate mine. “We’re going to be okay, Gabby.” He rests his forehead against mine.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Mom called the guidance counselor at school and told her I wouldn’t be back all week. Sam’s funeral is tomorrow, Wednesday. Mrs. Hershey was cool about it, of course. She said I could take my exams online up to a week after school was out.

  Marie calls me. She sounds better than I expected. She says Sarah is doing okay. Sarah doesn’t fully understand where Sam is. I remember it was hard for me to understand where my dad was when I was her age. Marie asks if I want to speak at Sam’s funeral. I hesitate, but I know it’s something I have to do, so I agree to do it.

  I’m in bed with my notebook once again, only this time the words flow from me like a river emptying itself into a bay.

  ****

  I step into the blue sundress Mom and I got shopping yesterday, and I stick my arms through the armholes. With the straps in place, I zip up the back. I already curled my hair and put on makeup. I tried to get some of the swelling down in my eyelids by placing cold washcloths over them. It helped a little, but they’re still puffy.

  “You ready?” Mom pokes her head in my room.

  I sigh. “Yeah, as ready as I can be.”

  She holds her arm out to me. I walk to her and slip my arm around her waist. We walk to the car with our arms around each other and head to Sam’s funeral.

  ****

  Sam’s casket is closed and draped with a beautiful spray of blue-violet flowers that I helped my mom arrange at her flower shop. We mixed a special baby’s breath with the blue flowers called Million Star Baby’s Breath. The baby’s breath looks just like its name: a million stars against the blue flowers. Sam’s school picture from this year is on an easel next to the casket.

  Marie rushes over to me when she sees me walk in. We hold each other and sob for a long while. Sam’s dad puts his arms around both of us and joins our crying. I didn’t know it was possible to have so many tears. I’ve cried more the past few days than I have for last fifteen years.

  Brody and I sit with the family in the front row. Sarah is on Brody’s lap with her head on his shoulder. When the pastor is done with his talk of Heaven and Sam being taken to a better place, it’s time for me to get up and speak.

  My insides jitter and my legs shake on my way to the lectern. I lay my letter on the stand and grasp either side of it with my hands. I lick my dry lips and look out at the faces of Sam’s family, people I don’t know, and my classmates. I see Jamie’s turquoise hair. She’s seated in the back. I catch her eye, and she gives me an encouraging smile.

  I take a deep breath and lean toward the microphone. “I’ve written a letter to Sam that I would like to share.” I clear my throat.

  “'Dear Sam…You once thanked me for being the best friend you could’ve asked for. I’m the one who needs to thank you. Thank you for all the times you made me laugh when I felt like crying. Thank you for seeing the best in me when I couldn’t see it in myself.

  “'Thank you for sharing our dreams of the future, you an astronomer and me in the WNBA. You said you’d be my biggest fan, light up the night sky with my name and jersey number. You said you’d figure out how to display it all the way from space.'” I pause for a few chuckles, then continue.

  “'Thank you for accepting my pushy over-protectiveness as just the way I look out for you. Most of all thank you for just being you: Sam the best friend, Sam the big brother, Sam the deep thinker, Sam with a heart as big as the galaxies you admired.'” I have to stop and swallow the lump rising in my throat. I feel all the eyes in the room on me and hear the sound of sniffles.

  “'My last thank-you is to God, for blessing all of us with you for the last fifteen-and-a-half years.'” I gesture toward the whole room with a sweep of my arm when I say “all of us” and give Rachel a smile. Tears running down her cheeks, she smiles back.

  “'Love always and forever, Gabby.'”

  Chapter Eighteen

  It’s been a month since the funeral. It still hurts—a lot—but I’m doing a little better each day. I got my license, but not the red Camaro, for my birthday. The little white Honda mom bought is fine with me, though. I’m working at her flower shop for the summer to earn gas money and to keep busy.

  Jamie and I met with Mrs. Smith about the e-magazine. We decided to call it Drop a Line. The first issue will feature poetry by Jamie and my story, “Beyond Vica.”

  I honk the horn when I pull into Jamie’s driveway. She bounces down the front steps of her aunt’s single-story tan ranch home. Her hair is now red.

  “You got your swimsuit?” I ask when she gets in. We’re going to a pool party at Rachel’s.

  “Right here,” she says and pats a cloth bag at her side. “Where’s Brody?”

  “He’s meeting us at Rachel’s. He met some of the guys there when he got off work. I had to work later than he did today.” I turn into the Dublin Cemetery and pull under a willow tree and park. I turn to Jamie. “There was another letter I had to write.” I hold an envelope up to show her. “I’ll be right back.”

  She smiles. “Take your time.” She knows who it’s for.

  I’m careful not to step on any stones on my way to the headstone I’m looking for. I stop at a gray marble headstone with the name “Darin Martin” on it. I place the envelope with the letter inside at the base of the stone. I lay two flowers on the envelope, one pink and one blue, tied together with a ribbon.

  “I love you, Dad,” I say, blowing a kiss and then skipping back to my car.

  About the Author

  TC Booth was born and raised in the small town where she currently lives and teaches. She is married with two daughters, teaches, and holds a master's degree in education.

  She discovered her enjoyment of writing at a young age with the writing of poetry. This love of writing developed into writing short stories for her family and students.

  She wrote the children's story, The Time Travel Storm for her class that was published in 2012. Her short young adult fiction story titled "A Seasoned Card Player" was published in an anthology called A Certain Kind of Freedom last year.

  She feels blessed to be living her dream of not only teaching children, but writing stories for them and young adults to enjoy
as well.

  Also from Astraea Press

  Chapter One

  A train whistle echoed into the frigid night. By three o’clock a.m., most of the passengers had been lulled to sleep by the swaying of the steel wheels slicing through the snow. But not everyone was enticed to sleep as easily.

  Fifteen-year old Payton MacGregor stared out his window. He pressed his forehead against the frost-fogged glass then attempted to stretch out his legs—man, it was like trying to get a giraffe comfortable in a station wagon. Designers of passenger train cars must have gone to the same engineering school as airplane designers: all passengers should be able to fold themselves into the two-foot space between rows of seats.

  Payton twisted around until he finally settled into sitting with his legs bent up, his shins leaning against the seat in front of him and keeping his head against the window.

  Excellent, he thought. By the time the train stops in Edmonton, I’ll be numb from butt to ears.

  He squinted out into the darkness then closed his eyes, his head vibrating against the window. John Lennon crooned through his MP3-player headphones about someone named Julia. Who was the song about again? His mother? A girlfriend?

  When I cannot sing my heart…I can only speak my mind, Julia…

  Payton laughed. Speaking his mind was what got him on the train in the first place. All his life he tried singing his heart but nobody listened. When he finally spoke his mind, he got into trouble. Well…not trouble exactly.