Race the Night Read online

  “What do you smell?” Teacher asked.

  Nothing, really. Eider breathed in and thought. Breathed out and thought. The harder she concentrated, the more she noticed the different flavors in the air. The salty sharpness of sagebrush and creosote. The other kids’ breath. The musty dusty forever scent of the desert all around them.

  “There’s a whole lot going on,” Teacher said, “isn’t there? More than you ever realized. The sounds were always there—it’s just easier to find them in the dark.”

  “The darkness helps?” Avis asked.

  “It helps us focus. Life is full of distractions—even here, in the middle of the desert. Sounds and sights and smells, all competing for attention. Sensory overload!”

  Linnet giggled, then covered her mouth.

  “But we have much more control than we think. It’s all about choosing what signals we tune in to. Like turning a radio knob. White noise sharpening into the essentials we need to hear, to see, to know.”

  Eider liked that. It made her feel more powerful, somehow. Even if the power was only over herself.

  “Now, what do you see?”

  “Nothing,” Jay said. “The lights are off.”

  “Jay,” Teacher warned.

  But Jay was right. Eider couldn’t see anything. How could any of them? It was pitch-black inside the shelter, without even a speck of light….

  “Look harder,” Teacher said. “Be patient. I have faith in you kids.”

  Patiently, Eider looked harder.

  And then…she realized she could see. Not much. But she could make out the shadowy ghosts of her fingers when she wiggled them in front of her face. A moment later, she could see Avis doing the same thing beside her.

  “See anything now?” Teacher asked.

  Everybody said they could. Well, everybody except Jay, who was still grumbling that he couldn’t see.

  “Be patient,” Linnet whispered.

  Jay quit grumbling. After a few seconds, Eider heard him say, “Oh.”

  “So the darkness isn’t complete, after all,” Teacher said. “Maybe it never was. The power to overcome it was always inside you. Because you’re brilliant and special. You’re different. You are more.”

  A thrill stirred in Eider’s chest.

  “And you’ve just had your first Extrasensory lesson,” Teacher said.

  “Extrasensory?” Finch said. “What’s that?”

  “A new kind of lesson. I’ve been planning it for a long, long time. But before I introduced it, I wanted to make sure you were ready. Until I knew every last one of you was focused on your lessons. Ready to look inward—instead of Beyond.”

  In the not-quite-complete darkness, Eider couldn’t see Teacher’s face. But she felt her gaze, just the same. Had Teacher been waiting on Eider this whole time?

  Eider chewed her thumbnail, feeling ashamed. And a little guilty, too. Because despite what she’d told Teacher after their trip to the sea, she definitely wasn’t finished looking Beyond.

  “And you’ve all done very well,” Teacher said. “Just like I knew you would.”

  With a click, Teacher’s lantern illuminated everybody’s face. The other kids were beaming, even Finch. Eider smiled a little, too. She couldn’t help it.

  “I’ll explain more next time. But now, it’s time for your reward.”

  Avis grabbed Eider’s hand and squeezed. Rewards were rare but memorable. Like Eider’s ballet slippers had been, before she’d lost them. She held her breath as Teacher opened the door and led the kids into the desert night, the desert sameness.

  “Look up,” Teacher said.

  Eider looked up. And gasped.

  The stars had come to life.

  Sure, Eider had seen shooting stars before, when she remembered to watch the sky. But tonight, it was like the entire heavens were dancing. Pinging, zipping, rocketing, soaring. Eider’s eyes danced too. She didn’t even know where to look. It was like the parties she’d read about in the old books—a party in the sky, bright hot and white and golden blue, endlessly dancing, dazzling. So many stars.

  We were the stars.

  Eider inhaled sharply. She glanced around, but everyone else’s face was still tilted upward.

  The brightest stars in the whole sky.

  A wave of dizziness hit her. She stared at the sky until her eyes watered, but that only made the dizzy feeling worse. So many stars. Too many stars.

  Brighter than the sun.

  Her knees began to shake, and she grabbed Avis to keep from collapsing. Avis thought she wanted to link arms. “So beautiful!” Avis said.

  “It’s like star soup,” Linnet whispered behind them.

  Eider squeezed her eyes shut. She was shaking now, not getting enough air.

  “Hey, are you okay?” she heard Finch ask.

  “Teacher!” Avis called. “Something’s wrong with Eider….”

  Eider tried to hold on to the excitement of Extrasensory, the warmth of Teacher’s pride, the dazzle of the stars.

  But as the stars went black, all she could think about was Robin.

  “The sky’s a lot like the sea, don’t you think?”

  In Eider’s memories-that-weren’t, nighttime was all about stars. She and Robin would climb aboard the slabs, lie on their backs, and gaze up. Sneaking out at night hadn’t felt like such a big deal then.

  “I don’t know. The sea is made of water and filled with living things. The sky is nothing but empty space.”

  “It’s not empty. Look all those stars!”

  “Sure, but the space between them is still empty.”

  “Doesn’t matter. The stars are what’s important. The space between them doesn’t matter as long as they exist.”

  Eider couldn’t always tell whose voice was whose. But it was Robin who put words to their biggest ideas. Robin who claimed they came from the stars.

  “We danced around up there. Jumped from star to star to star. We were stars. The brightest stars in the whole sky. Brighter than the sun.”

  Lying on the cement slabs with her sister, floating through the vastness of space, Eider believed.

  “Everyone had to squint when they looked at us. Or else they’d burn up.”

  They stayed at the slabs for hours. Almost falling asleep, but never quite. Enjoying the shared dream of stars and sisterhood.

  But Eider had really been alone at the slabs, no matter how real her make-believe seemed. Just Eider and the imaginary waves and imaginary mermaids.

  And her imaginary sister.

  EIDER WOKE TO DAYLIGHT, FEELING FOGGY. For a moment, she had no idea where she was.

  “Hello?” she said, sitting up.

  Then she noticed Nurse, dozing in a chair. Eider was lying on a cot in his office. Though the kids had checkups every couple weeks, she hadn’t been sick enough for bed rest in years. Not since she’d slept through ten days of fever—in this very same cot.

  Eider’s skin prickled. “Hey!” she shouted.

  “What? Huh?” Nurse said, then noticed Eider. “Oopsie! Must have conked off.”

  Nurse was short and squat, with a bald, rather flat head. Once, Jay had said a giant had probably stepped on him as a baby. Eider had laughed, even though she liked Nurse. He was definitely loopy, but he was nice.

  “You gave us a fright, there, kiddo,” he said. “Feeling better?”

  “What happened?” Eider asked.

  “Teacher brought you here last night. It seems you had a bit of a spell.”

  “A spell?” She rubbed her eyes, but the fog remained.

  “Teacher was very worried. So of course, I was worried too.”

  “I don’t have a fever again, do I?”

  “The thermometer said nope. But let’s check again.”

  Eider watched Nurse unlock a cupboard. Each had its own tiny padlock—another form of structure, she supposed. Like the padlocks on the gate and on the door to Teacher’s office. And the lock on the shelter door….

  Last night’s events fla
shed through her fog in quick succession. The shelter, the night lesson, the Extrasensory announcement, the storm of falling stars. The memories-that-weren’t, and after that, the dark.

  “Did I say anything?” Eider asked worriedly. “Last night, when I had my spell?”

  “Oh, only nonsense things,” Nurse said.

  “But…but did I talk about—”

  “Under your tongue.” He handed Eider a skinny glass tube.

  With a little sigh, she did as he ordered.

  Ever since her fever, Eider hadn’t been able to talk about Robin to anyone. Not because she didn’t want to—but because nobody would let her. They’d change the subject, the way Nurse just did. Avis would scoff or stamp her foot and say, “Eider, come on!” Finch would flush with silent discomfort. Linnet would burst into messy tears. Jay, though, had been the worst—he’d make fun of her or threaten to tell Teacher.

  At first, Robin’s name had slipped out often. Then less and less. When Eider finally buried her sister’s name deep down, the entire desert seemed relieved.

  But thoughts, of course, were harder to control. If Teacher knew how much Eider thought about Robin, she’d know Eider still wasn’t fully focused on her lessons. That her phase wasn’t over. Not even close.

  “Let’s have a look,” Nurse said, removing the thermometer. He checked it, then smiled. “No fever. How are you feeling?”

  “All better,” Eider lied.

  “Teacher will be so glad. And you won’t have to miss lunch. I’m heating up your favorite: canned spaghetti.”

  Eider tried not to make a face. “Super.”

  “Enough for two helpings.” Nurse winked. “It’ll help you reach that famously elusive potential of yours.”

  Canned spaghetti wasn’t the worst meal Nurse cooked, but it definitely wasn’t Eider’s favorite. Squishy noodles. Bright red sauce. She had to finish her entire bowl, just in case Teacher came around to check.

  Teacher rarely ate in the dining area anymore, though. She almost always had important things to do in her office: “Work, work, work,” she’d say.

  Her absence meant Jay and Avis dominated every mealtime conversation. It was hard to say who was more obnoxious, although Eider would never have admitted that to Avis.

  “Listen up, everyone!” Avis yelled, banging her fork on her mug. “We’re playing a game. If we all changed into animals, what kinds would we be?”

  “With that hair and face, you’d be an orangutang,” Jay said, snickering.

  “No, I wouldn’t.” Avis glared at him. “And it’s orangutan, jerk.”

  “That’s what I said. Orangutang.”

  “I know. And it’s wrong. Right, Finch?”

  Finch shrugged his narrow shoulders. He didn’t like arguments. Neither did Linnet, who slouched in her seat.

  Neither did Eider. In a world where all she wanted was a point, their same old bickering seemed so pointless. Then again, that was probably how Eider’s fairytales seemed to Avis. And how her secret papers would seem, too.

  Eider poked at her lunch. She thought of her sushi paper, its colorful little bundles. They didn’t look edible, but at least they were cute, unlike the food at the desert ranch.

  They ate what they got.

  That’s what Teacher told the kids, time and again, when they came across something tasty-looking in the World Book. Or when she shared a memory during Circle Time. “Fresh cookies,” she’d said once, a faraway look in her eyes. “With chocolate chips that melted on your fingers. Now those were delicious….”

  “Maybe we can track some down,” Nurse had suggested. “For the kiddos.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Teacher had said. “There aren’t any cookies left. We’re lucky to eat what we get.”

  The storage rooms were packed with food, which never seemed to diminish. But all of it was old food, left over from Before. Which meant very little was delicious. Rice and spotted beans mixed together. Weird little sausages. Pancakes with no syrup. Pickles. Yellow soup with chicken squares and teeny tiny stars.

  Star soup was pretty great, actually.

  It probably wasn’t delicious, but it was fun. Eider loved swirling it with a spoon until the stars surfaced, winking in and out of the yellow broth. Like last night’s storm of stars. Or the falling stars she’d seen while lying on the slabs, gazing up…

  “What about you, Eider?” Avis asked.

  Eider looked over guiltily. “Huh?”

  “Huh?” Jay mocked, then laughed.

  “Ugh, you’re so annoying.” Avis threw a noodle at Jay, then turned to Eider. “If you were an animal, what would you be? Like, Finch would be a—”

  “A rabbit!” Linnet exclaimed, giggling.

  “Yep, a rabbit,” Avis said. “Linnet would be a baby mouse. Jay would be a buffalo, obviously.”

  “What? That’s not what I said!” Jay protested. “I said a wolverine!”

  “Obviously a buffalo. So what would you be?”

  “Maybe you could choose for me?”

  “Okay.” Avis pointed at Eider with her spaghetti fork. “You’d be a—”

  “A penguin!” Jay interrupted. “A dreamy, stupid penguin, running off into the ice and snow.”

  Linnet covered her mouth.

  “She would not,” Avis argued. “Penguins can’t fly. And if any of us could fly, it’d be Eider.” She smiled at Eider. “I think you’d be a butterfly.”

  Eider wasn’t sure about that, but she smiled back.

  AS THE KIDS HEADED TO THE CLASSROOM AFTER LUNCH, an angry bark stabbed the air:

  Woofwoofwoofwoofwoof

  The Handyman had arrived.

  Besides Teacher and Nurse, the Handyman was the only person they knew. Or saw, anyway, since he rarely spoke. He only came on occasion, to fix or deliver things. He lived outside the desert ranch, braving the dangers Beyond—which made him seem dangerous, too.

  Oh, and he had a dog.

  “Hi, dummy,” Avis said.

  The dog was tied up in the shade outside Teacher’s office. It had black fur and yellow teeth. Its breath smelled like hot garbage. When it was excited, it would jump in a circle, over and over again, barking and barking and barking:

  Woofwoofwoofwoofwoof

  “Don’t get so close,” Eider said to Avis, who was making faces at it.

  “Why? It’s not going to do anything. It’s too dumb.”

  Eider agreed that the dog was dumb, but a bite from it would still hurt. Even bites from smaller animals hurt. The scar on her ankle proved it. It looked like two pink, shiny eyes. Snake eyes, peering from inside her skin. “Shh. The Handyman might hear you.”

  They glanced at the Handyman’s truck. He was reaching inside for something, his ropy arms even more sunbaked than Teacher’s. Before he could look their way, Avis pulled Eider toward the classroom, giggling.

  “Good afternoon, girls,” Teacher said. She tugged on Avis’s braid, then Eider’s. “Feeling better today, Eider?”

  Eider searched Teacher’s face for disapproval and was relieved not to find it. “Definitely. Ready to focus on today’s lesson.”

  “Glad to hear it. However, today’s lesson won’t start for a couple hours. I have some preparations to do first.”

  “Is it an Extrasensory lesson?” Avis asked.

  “You got it.” Teacher smiled. “Until then, you’ll be having Free Play. I recommend a quiet indoor activity, so you won’t be late.”

  Free Play! Eider really did intend to focus on her lessons—but suddenly, she was preoccupied by the familiar thrill in her toes, spreading upward. She used to be able to dance away the feeling, but now there was only one solution.

  “What do you want to do?” Avis asked, as they walked away.

  Teacher had only recommended an indoor activity, right? And a couple hours was definitely enough time. Eider could focus afterward.

  “Because I’ve got a great new idea for a hairstyle,” Avis continued.

  “Actually, I thought I’d—�
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  “You know that old painting we saw in the Queens section? The one with the braids wrapped around her head? I want to try it on you.” Avis raised an eyebrow. “You can read me your mermaid story if you want.”

  Eider hesitated, but only for a second. “Actually, I think I’m going to go—”

  “On a walk,” Avis finished for her. “In this heat? You’re crazy!”

  “It’s not so bad.”

  “Plus, Teacher recommended an indoor activity. Sitting in front of the swamp cooler and doing hair sounds perfect. Except now I’ll have to ask Linnet. And she yelps.”

  “That’s not her fault.” Avis wasn’t very careful about pulling and pinching.

  Avis smiled, then turned serious. “I hate that you go out there,” she said. “Promise you’ll be careful?”

  “Always,” Eider said.

  Eider walked under the twin windmills and up the rise. At the top, she paused to look around. On hot, clear days like today, she could see more that wasn’t the desert ranch than was.

  But on windy, hazy days, it wasn’t hard to believe the desert ranch was all that remained. A planet in a galaxy of empty space. An alien world of broken doors and abandoned rooms, of things that used to be but weren’t anymore. Leaving the desert ranch was like stepping off the earth into the night sky.

  Not something anybody in her right mind would ever do.

  But Eider wasn’t in her right mind. Probably because she hadn’t just read her fairytale stories—she’d ingested them. Chewed them up and swallowed them. Now they lived in her body forever, a bone-deep kind of wonder.

  And the only solution was to wander.

  Finding the gap in the fence had been difficult. In fact, Eider had almost gotten caught. She’d been walking along the fence, pulling, pushing, searching for weak places. There weren’t many—the Handyman had made it strong. And then:

  “You’re not planning on trying to leave us again?”

  Eider had whirled around to find Teacher, standing just a few feet away. How long had she been watching? “No!” Eider exclaimed. “No, of course not.”

  “Then what are you up to?”

  “Just…taking a walk.”