Chapter 4

Henry walked into biology class behind Charley, and they made their way to their seats. Biology class allowed lab partners, and their teacher, Mrs. Ball, a lingering hippie from decades ago with long blonde hair and a silk flower headband, liked to give them the freedom to choose their partners. Sometimes she spent half of the class recounting stories of her former glory days and how she learned to “walk with the breeze,” as she would say. Then she would stick them with homework anyway.

“Sit down, sit down,” Mrs. Ball said. She reclined in her chair, feet crossed on the desk, showcasing her bargain-value white sneakers from underneath her ankle-length denim skirt.

Henry sat down and stretched out his long legs. The tension unwound from his spun muscles. His head lolled back over the seat and he groaned.

“Made it. Whew!”

The three electronic tones of the bell resounded off the cinder block walls in the small classroom. Mrs. Ball ambled toward the door in her sensible sneakers and shut it.

“Hey, where’s Rachel?” Henry asked.

Charley looked around the room. “I was thinking the same thing.”

“We need her to complete our assignment.”

“I know. She’s the reason we haven’t killed each other yet over this thing.”

“Did you see her today?”

“I talked to her right after lunch.” A quizzical look appeared on Charley’s face. “It’s not at all like her to skip class.”

“Do you think she’s okay? You don’t think the screaming was her, do you?”

“No, way! She looked fine. I told her I liked her new frock sweater and her topaz necklace.”

“What’s a frock?”

Charley sighed. “Never mind, Henry.”

Silence for a few moments.

“Something’s not right,” Henry said.

“Maybe.”

The class started with its normal drone, with Mrs. Ball at the white board reviewing basic anatomy. It sent Henry into a stupor, the kind where he couldn’t focus on the material but couldn’t muster intelligent thought about anything else. He leaned over.

“Charley . . .”

No response. Automation had taken her over, and she was lost in thought.

Henry tipped his chair to the side and whispered louder.

“Charley! Hey, do you know what the trigonometry assignment was?” Henry mumbled to hide his need for help.

She popped open her binder with the flip of a finger and slid it in front of him, pointing at the assignment she had scribed into her assignment log.

“Thanks,” Henry said. He found his own loose paper and scrawled down the notes.

Charley continued following Mrs. Ball’s haphazard trail through the anatomy of the human body. She was focused. He wanted to unearth her from the emotional trench Trevor had dug but he didn’t know how. “Do you have gymnastics today?”

She shook her head.

He wished she did. Gymnastics became the way for her to channel her emotions when they began to stew, when the hopelessness began to open its mouth, hungry, and wanting to swallow her whole.

She was only four years old when she started. It was something her parents had wanted her to do. Henry had baseball, Charley had gymnastics, and they only ever spent time together for schoolwork. Except for the rare baseball game Charley attended just because she couldn’t study with him.

“Ugh,” Henry said and rubbed his sleepy face. “I wish I could take my eyeballs out and put them in my pocket to rest.”

Charley shook her head and continued writing.

Henry slumped down in his seat.

A faint sound echoed outside the room. A long, drawn tone, muffled and distant.

He lifted his head up. His ears tingled. He was certain the sound was the same, just far off. He sat up, looked at Charley. She hadn’t moved.

“Charley . . .”

She put her finger up to her lips to silence him. “Not now,” she said. “Pay attention!”

He looked around the room. No one else seemed to notice.

Panic rose inside him. Should he say something? What if it was nothing . . .

Again the sound came, this time closer. Like the dying call of an albatross as it falls from the sky before it lands lifeless on the shore. The icy grip squeezed at Henry’s neck again and rose into the base of his skull.

“Charley!” He was insistent. “Listen! Do you—”

The door flung open.