Indigo Sky

CHAPTER THREE

When I was eleven, I watched that Robin Williams movie Hook with my parents and Nate. I liked it a lot—I mean, who didn’t?—but for me, it was more about the pirates and less about the Lost Boys. Although, when you really think about it, the Lost Boys are kinda just kid pirates, aren’t they? And if I thought about it that way, maybe Nate and I were lost boys, and maybe that was why everything eventually went to hell.

But anyway, we watched that movie, and the thought of wearing an eyepatch all at once seemed cool. Up until that point, I’d just rocked the empty socket and scar with little pride and less confidence, inciting fear in everyone who dared to look at me.

But then I saw the pirates in their eyepatches, how cool they looked.

Nate turned to me, his finger pointing at the TV, and he said, "Dude, you should totally get an eyepatch. Nobody would mess with you then."

"They wouldn't," I said dreamily ‘cause nobody messed with a pirate.

"They'd be scared of you instead."

Mom huffed a disapproving sound from behind us. I looked over my shoulder as she asked, "Why would you want anybody to be afraid of you?"

Nate scoffed and rolled his eyes. "If they're scared of you, they don't hurt you."

"Well, it's not nice for people to hurt you—of course not—but scaring people isn't nice either. Two wrongs don't make a right, Nate."

It was an uncomfortable conversation. I thought about Nate's arm. I thought about his bruises and cuts and how hungry he always was, and I wanted to tell Mom she was wrong. If Nate's mom or the guy who lived with them or … whoever hurt him was scared of him, they wouldn't hurt him; they'd just run away instead. And that was better, right? It had to be.

Nate didn't say anything else to my mom, but I watched his fingernails work tirelessly at the skin around his thumbnail. Picking, picking, picking until his thumb was red and bleeding, and he kept on picking still.And I guessed that was because something was always picking on him.

***

Nate had been right about the eyepatch though. Dad picked one up from the drugstore a few days later, and I wore it to school with my nerves zipping and begging for relief. But, man, not a single kid said a thing to me, and when they looked at me, they didn't flinch or cower or run away the way they used to with that empty socket looking back at them.

No, they complimented me and said it looked cool—which was the craziest shit in the world—and I felt good for the first time in … fuck, probably since I’d lost the eye in the first place. I felt like they had meant it, that it might be true, and at lunch, a couple of kids even asked if I'd sit with them.

But they didn’t ask Nate, and I felt bad about leaving him to sit by himself, so I stayed at our table. But I smiled to myself as Nate and I ate our peanut-butter sandwiches.

"They're just saying it to be nice," Nate muttered, not even bothering to look up at me. "But they're scared of you now. Everybody is scared of the pirate, like Captain Hook. Remember that."

And I did remember, and for another three years, I went through middle school sitting at the same table as Nate and nobody else while donning the eyepatch with confidence. I grew taller and more secure in myself, and when our high school announced a school dance, I confessed to Nate that I was thinking of asking someone out.

The prick actually laughed at me. " You're gonna ask someone to that stupid dance?"

"Yeah," I replied, shrugging casually while my cheeks burned with my embarrassed flush. "I want to ask Becky."

" Becky ?!" He threw himself back on my bed, cackling like it was the funniest thing in the world.

But I didn’t find it particularly funny at all. Becky sat next to me in English and Science. And she was always nice to me. I knew she didn't have a boyfriend, and I liked her. It didn't seem like some crazy risk or some shit, nor did it seem like anything to laugh about.

I mean, if I was being real here, he was pissing me the hell off.

"If you wanna go to the dance, we can go," Nate finally said, returning his attention to Super Mario 64 on the TV. "Maybe it'll be fine. Could be fun."

"You could ask someone too—"

"God, Rev, Becky's not gonna go with you," he replied with a snicker. "She's probably gonna go with Jordan. She hangs with him all the damn time."

"Jordan?"

He stared at me sidelong like I had lost my damn mind. "Yeah, you know that idiot on the football team?"

"I know who he is, but I didn't know Becky—"

He interrupted with a laugh. "You don't know Becky, Rev. Come on. She's got a boyfriend already. Stop dreaming. But we can go if you want. It's cool."

That was when I stopped talking because for all I knew, he was right. I didn't really know Becky outside of the couple of classes we shared together, and there was as good of a chance as any that she really did have a boyfriend and I just didn’t know about it.

So, long story short, Nate and I went to the dance together.

My mom dropped us off in our button-down shirts and black slacks, looking like we'd planned to match when we didn’t. The gym I knew from class had been transformed with streamers, balloons, tables of refreshments, and a disco ball. Every kid I knew from my classes and every other kid I didn't know at all were all dressed to the nines, thriving on the dance floor. Kids my age kept a safe distance from each other while the older kids couldn't seem to get closer, and I couldn't stop staring.

Fuck , I wanted to be that close to someone more than I’d ever wanted anything in my life.

I wanted to be that close to Becky.

"Let's get something to drink," Nate shouted over the thumping party music.

"Okay," I answered through a fog of hormones and curiosity, wondering if Becky had come and if she was, in fact, there with Jordan.

But more than anything, I wondered if she’d wanna be that close to me too.

We moved our way through the crowd and found ourselves at a table cluttered with cups and a punch bowl. The principal, Mr. Robbins, nodded a greeting and poured us each a cup of the bright red drink. I thanked him, and we were once again weaving our way through the dancing kids and speckled lights. Nate found us a corner to stand in and pulled something out of his pants pocket … a bottle of some sort.

"Give me your cup," he ordered.

"Why?" I asked, already handing it over.

Because that was how it always was with him. He told me to do something, and I listened.

"I'm gonna make this shit better."

He uncapped the little bottle and poured half of its contents into my cup, the other half in his. He handed the cup back to me. I sniffed and was immediately hit with a burning sensation in my nostrils.

I wrinkled my nose. "Really, dude? I don't wanna drink."

"We're not drinking ," he insisted, already taking a sip. "It's one little shot of vodka. Come on. It's not gonna do anything."

And the crazy thing was, if it had been anyone else, I would’ve told them to shove it up their ass—or, you know, something to that effect. But Nate? Nah. I trusted him—more than I should’ve—and drank, surprised that it didn't bother my throat as much as it had bothered my nose. Hell, the more I drank, the more I even thought it was nice to have that warmth sloshing around in my belly. It was comfortable, like a fuckin’ hug, and by the time I finished my cup, I was raring to find Becky and tell her all about how often I thought about her and her boobs while lying awake in bed at night.

The cup was dropped into the garbage can beside me, and I turned, determined to find the girl of my teenage dreams, only to realize that not only did I not see Becky, but I didn’t see Nate either. He had been beside me two seconds ago, and then he was gone.

Oh well , I thought. He’s probably just looking for a girl to dance with .

And, man, I couldn’t tell you why that was the first thought to pop into my head when I had never seen Nate dance, nor could I imagine him starting with some random chick from our high school. But, hey, if I was two seconds away from doing it myself, thanks to a cup of booze and punch, then maybe he was too.

I made my way through the throng of classmates, but not without having my feet stepped on a dozen times. I looked around relentlessly, trying to find either Nate or Becky, but found neither.

“Hey, Revan.”

I turned at the sound of my name to find Joe Weston, my former best friend from before I lost my eye. I kept my lips pressed into a thin line as I stared at him, and he offered a sheepish, apologetic smile.

“You looked like you were trying to find someone. I thought you needed help.”

I was about to thank him for the offer when Nate barreled past Joe and grabbed hold of my arm.

“Dude, that bitch Becky—"

Joe’s eyes narrowed with suspicion and defense. “Uh, Becky isn’t a bitch. Don’t call her that.”

I glanced first at Joe, then gave Nate my full attention. “Wait, what? What happened with Becky?”

“I was just on my way to the bathroom, and she grabbed me and kissed me. When I said to stop, she said she was gonna tell everyone I made her do it.” Nate was talking a mile a minute, and I was barely keeping up.

Like, what the fuck? Becky had kissed him ? She didn’t even know him, not that I knew of. Why the hell would she kiss him?

“What?” Joe was as disbelieving as I was.

“Look!” Nate pointed to the right of me, and I swiveled my head to see Becky, talking to the principal. “She told me she was gonna tell someone, and that’s exactly what she’s doing!”

My stomach felt hollow as precisely what Nate had said would happen played out in front of me.

Principal Robbins walked right up to Nate and asked him to leave, and when Nate told him what he claimed to have occurred, Principal Robbins said, “Then, I will insist that you both leave. But let me warn you, Mr. Manning, if you don’t leave, I will have to suspend you from school for assaulting another student. Do I make myself clear?”

Assault? I knew that word, yet I’d never heard it used in regard to a kid my age, let alone my best fuckin’ friend.

He wouldn’t assault anyone. He said some messed-up shit sometimes, but assault ? It felt insane.

But that was before I knew what I know now, but … we’re getting to that.

“Mr. Robbins, he said he didn’t—"

“Mr. Waters, I would advise you to refrain from making any commentary,” Principal Robbins replied, eyeing me with a stern glare. “This doesn’t concern you.”

I bit down on my tongue to keep myself from speaking, but it did concern me, didn’t it? I liked Becky. I wanted her to kiss me . But she had kissed my best friend instead. A jealous ache crushed painfully against my chest, and I hung my head, unable to believe my horrible fucking luck.

“Come on, Rev,” Nate said, already turning to leave.

Joe, who I hadn’t realized until this moment was still there, nudged my hand with his. “You don’t have to go if you don’t want to. Nobody’s making you leave.”

He was right. I mean, nobody was kicking me out. But I shook my head because I wanted to go. My only reason for coming had hurt me—she’d betrayed me without even realizing it, as far as I knew at the time—and the only reason I’d stay was leaving.

“It’s okay,” I said, turning around. “I don’t wanna be here anyway.”

***

Now, at this point, you’re probably thinking that I was a pretty naive moron. And I don’t want to give anything away, so … let’s just say, you’re probably right.

But understand something, okay?

I was a kid . A moody, hormonal, disabled kid, who was trying desperately to find some comfort in his own skin again. The last thing I wanted to think—no, the last thing I could consider—was that the only friend I had could be manipulating me in any way whatsoever. The last thing I could fathom was that he could force himself onto a girl I liked for his own bizarre, twisted benefit.

But little did I know, that was only the first strike of the freakin’ proverbial matchstick because not long after that came the fire.