Cryer's Cross by Lisa McMann
On their way back to the house from the fields, Kendall tells her mother what happened the night before.
“You should have woken me up,” Mrs. Fletcher says with a frown.
“It wasn’t that big of a deal,” Kendall says, and today, during daylight, and knowing the truth, it really doesn’t feel like a big deal. “And you guys are working so hard, I didn’t want to wake you up. So, do you want to press charges against Jacián?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. What would people think of us? What a terrible thing to do to that poor boy. After all he’s done for you, driving you around.”
Kendall shrugs. But it’s comforting to know her mother thinks he’s not a bad guy.
When Sheriff Greenwood calls, he tells the same story as Jacián told, in lesser detail. “Your parents want to press charges for trespassing? If so, I need to talk to them,” he says. “I can’t see you all doing it, but it’s your right.”
“No, I talked with my mother. We don’t want to do that.”
“Good. I’ll let him know. He’ll be happy to hear it. I’ll tell him to stay out of people’s driveways at night.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
They hang up.
Mrs. Fletcher smiles at Kendall from the kitchen, where she warms up leftover beef stew in the microwave. “So, Kendall.”
Kendall sighs. “Yes?”
“Have you been thinking about other colleges?”
She flops her head in her hands. “I’m too tired and starving to have this conversation. Can we talk about it some other time?”
Mrs. Fletcher stirs the stew. “I’m a little worried about you.”
“I’m fine. I’m just . . . trying to work through it.”
Mrs. Fletcher gives Kendall a long look. “Okay. Life will be back to normal in a couple weeks, when harvest is done. Then we’ll talk about the future.”
Kendall doesn’t respond. Back to normal? Without Nico, life will never be normal again.
WE
With time, We grow strong. We savor the strength. Taste the nearness of life.
The time will come. Soon. We strain to reach Our invisible grasp beyond the grainy surface, holding in fifty years’ worth of screams.
EIGHTEEN
She stares at Nico’s desk all morning, butterflies in her stomach. Afraid to sit there. Compelled to try. She tries to laugh off her fear. It was just a ridiculous coincidence. If she says it out loud, it’s laughable. Nobody would believe that a desk has anything to do with the disappearances. It’s absurd.
Still, the thought whirrs through her brain. She should sit there to prove it isn’t the desk.
Next to her, Jacián is pointedly not looking at her, though this morning on the way in to school he managed a gruff “Thank you” for not pressing charges. But Kendall takes no notice of him. She rests her head on her desk as usual, knowing Ms. Hinkler won’t call on her. The teacher hasn’t asked Kendall a direct question since Nico disappeared.
When everyone leaves to eat lunch outside on this cool fall day, Kendall stays inside. Slowly she stands, heart pounding. She steps over to Nico’s desk and then she slides into it. She closes her eyes and holds her breath. And then she moves her arms around the desktop to embrace it. Nico, she thinks, are you here?
She rests her head on the desk and lets out her breath, then tries to relax and think about him. Think about all their good times. Lets the memories flood her brain.
It’s harmless. She is still in the room, sitting in Nico’s desk. Still here, not disappeared. After a while Kendall sits up and runs her fingers over the desktop. She reads each line of graffiti as she often does, but it feels different from this angle. She gets lost in the words as they swirl around in her mind, and she tries to make them sound right, like a poem would sound. A jumble of words, written over the course of fifty years by dozens of authors.
She lands on the plea. Probably some bored student watching the clock tick away slowly, waiting for something awesome that won’t come until the end of the day.
Please.
Save me.
She traces the letters and wonders again why she hadn’t seen them before.
And then she hears a whisper. Please. Save me. Like wind in leaves, so faint that Kendall is sure she made a mistake.
Her body tingles, and she feels the back of her neck prickle. She jerks her hand away and looks around the room. “Who’s there?”
Her heart pumps at top speed. Tentatively she reaches toward the words again and slides her forefinger across them. Her whole body floods with adrenaline, like being high on some crazy drug, and she closes her eyes. In her ear the delicious whisper comes again, more urgent this time. Please, save me!
Kendall is drawn in. The euphoric feeling is almost overwhelming, like running too far too fast, but she craves more. She leans over the words, her finger tracing the letters, and in her ears the whisper, over and over.
When she pulls her fingers away, the buzz of the high slowly ebbs. She sits for a moment as the whispers grow too soft to hear, and then she opens her eyes and realizes why the whispers were so beautiful.
The voice was Nico’s.
Immediately Kendall’s OCD kicks in. Fear grips her and she can’t seem to get out of the desk fast enough. She nearly tips it over in her haste to get away, knocking the books from her own desk just as the lunching students return.
“What the heck was that?” she mutters under her breath, scrambling to pick up her books. Her brain is screaming at her to get away. Get away from the wonderful evil.
She knows that whatever it was, it wasn’t real. It can’t be real. It must be some weird grief thing, where you hear the voice of someone who has passed and really think it’s him. But it was just so strong. She catches her breath as Jacián comes in and sits down. Kendall slides back into her desk, heart still racing, trying to make sense of what just happened. Knowing it was all just emotion, grief. Feelings taking over, teasing her. Reminding her of how good it felt to be with Nico.
“It was never that good,” she mutters. Her temples pound.
“What?” Jacián says.
Kendall startles and turns to look at him. His brown eyes are flecked with yellow, and his eyebrows knit together, concerned. “Nothing,” she says. “Just . . . mumbling.”
Jacián keeps looking at her. “Just mumbling,” he says.
“That’s what I said.”
He shrugs and pulls his notebook out of his backpack. “Look,” he says, “whenever you’re done with those potatoes, I could really use a soccer partner. If you’re not still mad. I mean, you can just come home with us whenever.”
Kendall’s brain is still buzzing. She edges away from Nico’s desk, toward Jacián. “I’m too tired to even think of playing.”
“That’s because you’re not playing.”
“What do I have to play for?”
Jacián stares at her for a long moment. Then he just shakes his head lightly and turns to face the front of the classroom.
They sit there in silence and wait for Ms. Hinkler to start the afternoon work. For the next three hours Kendall can’t stop thinking about what happened with the desk.
And about hearing Nico’s voice.
By evening Kendall has reasoned away what happened. Her grief is playing tricks with her brain. Sure, her connection with Nico was strong—they were like twins in a way, the way they grew up and were always together. Of course she’s going to think she hears his voice now and then. It’s spooky, but it’s completely natural. And totally explainable. And completely sad.
It just makes her feel so lonely.
She lies in bed, window checked six times, moonlight streaming in through the soft white curtains. So lonely her arms ache with no one to hold.
WE
Too much!
We pull back, suck in Our hypnotic venom, but it’s too late. The heat, the life is gone. Too strong, too desperate. And you . . . unwilling? Nonmalleable? We curse now in the dark, quiet room. Our only option is
We groan and creak, inching along, Our built-up strength leaking out with each motion.
There is no other choice for Us.
NINETEEN
He’s alone in the morning in the pouring rain.
“Where’s Marlena?” Kendall asks, climbing into the truck.
Jacián chews on a toothpick, his dark eyes squinting through the sheets of water as his wipers fly from side to side. He flips the gearshift into drive. “Bozeman, getting a checkup at the doctor’s today. They’re taking the cast off.”
“Oh, that’s right. Cool.”
“She’ll still have to wear one of those boot things for a couple weeks.”
“Ew. Hideous. Serious fashion emergency.”
Jacián laughs and glances at her. “My parents and grandfather would like you and your family to come for dinner Sunday to celebrate. It’s Marlena’s sixteenth birthday. Can your family get away?”
“Just us?”
“No. Greenwoods too, and Marlena’s new sophomore friends. And maybe some others. I don’t know. My grandfather is going to call your parents but I thought I’d mention it.” He slows at the four-way stop in town and peers through the weather. “Maybe we can scrimmage with Eli and a few of the others if they come.” He looks at her again, and his eyes are so earnest.
Kendall half smiles. “I brought my clothes today,” she says. She pats her backpack. “Mom told me I’m too mopey and she’s giving me the day off. I packed them up before I looked outside and saw this mess.”
“You did?” He sounds shocked. Pleased. “A little rain is nothing,” he says, a smile playing on his lips. He pulls into the parking lot. “Let me know about Sunday. Two o’clock. Or, you know—tell Marlena, or whatever.”
“I will.”
He turns the truck off, and their collective breath steams up the windows. They sit for a minute, timing the rain, but it’s not letting up. Kendall looks over at Jacián. “Ready?”
He nods, and they make a mad dash for the school, splashing through the muddy parking lot to the doorway.
“Ever hear of concrete around here?” Jacián asks, looking at his jeans in disgust. They stomp their feet and go inside the school. “Or tar. Tar works too. They make roads out of it, and parking lots. . . .”
“Shut it.”
He goes into the classroom first and stops short. “Do you, like, need to be the first to enter the room too?”
“No.” She eyes him suspiciously to see if he’s mocking her, but he appears serious.
“Just wondering. I knew a kid at camp who always needed to be in the front. He’d go around getting all upset and saying ‘I’m the front! I’m the front!’ and everybody was mean to him, thinking he was just trying to be first in line all the time. They didn’t understand.”
“It’s different for everybody.” Kendall shakes the rain out of her hair and starts on her rituals.
A moment later Jacián says, “Hey, Kendall?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m not positive, but I think Nico’s desk is switched again.”
Kendall’s stomach twists. “Seriously?” She finishes up the curtains and walks over to Jacián. “You’re right.”
She looks around to see which one it’s switched with. “What the hell,” she whispers. “This is so not normal.” She looks at Jacián. “I know you probably think this is dumb that I’m all hung up over this, but this never happens. The desks only get moved out of the room for major cleaning during the summer, so they’re all scrambled in the fall. But they never get moved out of sequence the rest of the year. Never.” Kendall drops her backpack and wildly searches the room for Nico’s desk. She finds it in the sophomore section and wrenches it back as Jacián moves the other one out of the way.
Jacián touches her arm. “I don’t think it’s dumb for you to want Nico’s desk to be there, next to you. Waiting for when he comes back,” he says.
Kendall stops. Swallows hard. Trying to decide if she still believes he’ll come back.
Jacián drops his hand from her arm and steps out of the way so she can pull the desk back into its proper place. He lifts up the other one and moves it fluidly to the empty spot.
She’s still looking at him. He doesn’t meet her gaze. “Thank you,” she says. Stupid hot tears spring to her eyes. “That’s probably the nicest thing anybody’s said to me in all these weeks.”
“Well, that sucks.”
Kendall pulls it together and then narrows her eyes. “Why are you being nice to me?” She slides into her seat and sits sideways to face him. “Hmm?”
He looks into her eyes for a long moment, and she sees something there. Loneliness, or compassion . . . something incredibly human that she hadn’t noticed before. “I just want to play some soccer,” he says lightly. “Figure it’s time to bribe you with my charismatic personality.”
“Oh,” she says. Her voice is hollow, and she puzzles over how disappointed she feels that he told the truth. She should have known he wanted something.
Students arrive in exploding bursts because of the rain. Kendall turns away, rests her head on her desk, looking at Nico’s. She doesn’t see Jacián slump in his seat. Doesn’t see him close his eyes and shake his head, doesn’t hear the curse under his breath.
It rains off and on throughout the day. Kendall is tempted to sit at Nico’s desk, but she doesn’t want to do it when anybody is around. When it rains, everybody stays inside all day, eating lunch at their desks, so there’s no chance.
After school the rain has stopped, and Jacián and Kendall step gingerly to the truck, taking care not to soak the interior with mud, but it’s pointless. The air is crisp.
Jacián starts the engine and throws an arm across the backseat, looking over his shoulder preparing to back up. His fingers brush the tips of Kendall’s hair. She moves closer to her door. “Where to?” he asks.
She looks at him. “You too chickenshit to play in this?”
“No.”
“Well, then. Let’s go play.”
The car doesn’t move. His mouth twitches. “I didn’t mean what I said, you know. About being nice just so you’ll play. It was just a joke.”
Kendall bites her lip. She can feel his eyes on her, and she’s not altogether sure what the churning feeling is inside her gut. Maybe it’s just that some of her numbness is finally wearing off.
When it’s clear Kendall has no response, Jacián backs out of the parking area and picks his way slowly down the muddy road toward Hector’s, looking for new potholes to avoid.
They change inside the empty house and meet on the soaked, spongy grass. Kendall is glad she brought a thick sweatshirt, though one good fall and it’ll soak through. A little thrill goes through her at the thought of the fresh air and exercise, and it’s always fun to play in the rain, no matter what Coach says.
It’s been too long since she’s played, she knows that. She starts stretching.
They warm up, jogging in place. Kendall’s hair flops all around, and she’s mad she forgot a ponytail holder to keep her hair out of her face. They do a few exercises, dribbling, setting each other up. Each of them taking it slow, cautious of the sodden turf. Nobody needs a groin pull, that’s for sure.
As Kendall gets used to the conditions, she takes more chances. Her intensity multiplies, and soon she is in the zone—the brain-quieting zone where all of the whirring thoughts slow and stop for a while. It’s such a relief. Flooded with mind-dizzying endorphins, Kendall takes the ball, and Jacián, to task. She doesn’t even notice when it starts sprinkling and then full-out raining again. All she knows is that she feels relief for the first time in weeks.
Her depression dissipates and her mind goes somewhere else, somewhere quiet and peaceful, where nothing is there to trouble her. It’s like she’s floating as she darts around Jacián and takes the ball to the goal, leaving him breathless and staring at her.
Again and again she gets the better of him on this slick surface. It’s like the more d
When the enemy gets the better of her, messes with her mojo, she doesn’t think. She charges.
At top speed Kendall chases after Jacián. She pulls alongside him and grabs him around the waist, tackling him as the ball goes off, out of bounds. He slips and falls to a knee with a grunt and splashes in the soaking, muddy yard, grabbing Kendall’s arm as he goes down. He’s not going down alone.
Kendall lands on top of him.
“No way!” he yells, laughing in her ear. He rolls her over so she gets covered in the dirty rainwater too. She pulls out of concentration mode, realizes what’s happening. He lies on her, mud on his face and dripping from his hair. His clothes are drenched. He holds her down until he realizes she’s not struggling to move, just to breathe, and then he eases off. She just looks at him, panting, like she doesn’t know what happened. Her breath comes in rasps. “Did I score?”
“Uh . . .” He laughs. “No. Not even close. Are you okay?” he asks. He pushes her filthy hair out of her face, and his face grows concerned. “Hey.” His fingers are cold on her cheek.
She heaves and tries to catch her breath. “I think I’m going to puke.”
“No, you’re not.”
“How would you know?”
“I just know. You’re fine.” He rolls away from her just in case.
“I might drown first.”
“Distinct possibility.”
They lie gasping, rain pouring over them. Once Kendall can move, she struggles to an upright position. She looks at Jacián in his T-shirt and shorts, totally mud covered. “You must be freezing,” she says.
“Yeah.” He sits up too, and she can see goose bumps on his arms and legs. “You?”
“I think my sweatshirt weighs fifty pounds. It’s keeping me warm just by being so heavy.”