Finding Sky

I shivered and closed my eyes, holding up a hand, palm towards him. I felt dizzy. ‘Please—don’t do that.’

‘Don’t do what?’

‘Look at me like that.’ I blushed a furious red. He would now think I was completely mad. I’d imagined the thread after al . I turned on my heel and strode off into the nearest building, leaving him the bench, but he fol owed.

‘Look at you like what?’ he repeated, kicking aside a fal en plank of wood in his pursuit. The whole place groaned; one puff of a strong wind and I was sure it would col apse on our heads.

‘I don’t want to talk about it.’ I marched ahead, making for the empty-framed window overlooking the val ey. ‘Forget it.’

‘Hey, I’m talking to you.’ He caught my arm, but seemed to reconsider. ‘Look … er … Sky, isn’t it?’

He cast his eyes upwards as if seeking guidance, not quite believing what he was about to do. ‘I’ve got to tel you something.’

The breeze got under the eaves, making the tin roof creak. I suddenly realized just how far we were from other people. He released my arm. I rubbed at the places where his fingers had dug into my skin.

He frowned, reluctant even to speak to me, but made himself do so. ‘There’s something you need to know.’

‘What?’

‘Be careful at night. Don’t go out alone.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘The other night I saw … Look, just be careful, OK?’

No, not OK. He was one scary guy.

‘You’ve got that right.’

What? I hadn’t said that aloud, had I?

He swore and kicked the broken mining gear in frustration. The chain clanked to and fro, reminding me of a body swinging on a hangman’s scaffold. I hugged my arms to my chest, trying to make myself a smal er target. This was my fault. I’d done something—I don’t know what—something to set him off.

‘No, you haven’t!’ He said the words sharply.

‘None of it is your fault, you hear?’ He dropped his voice. ‘And I’m just scaring the hel out of you, aren’t I?’

I froze.

‘Fine. I’l leave.’ He strode off abruptly, disappearing

between

the

empty

buildings,

swearing at himself under his breath.

So, that went wel .

Three weeks into the se

mester and high school had

proved to be mostly fun apart from the weird feeling left over from Zed’s warning. What was that boy on?

And what did he think he had seen? How could it possibly have anything to do with me not going out after dark? The last thing I needed was some bad boy to take an unhealthy interest in me.

I tried to shrug it off. Too much else was going on. I had a few bad moments with some of the students teasing me about my accent and ignorance of things American, but on the whole they were OK. A couple of the girls in my social studies class, including the cheerleading Sheena—ones I’d privately tagged as Vampire Brides due to their preference for blood-red nail varnish—stole my ID off me for a joke when they’d heard me moaning to Tina about how bad my picture was. Unfortunately, the Draculettes agreed with me and dubbed me the ‘blonde bu

‘Activities day next week—Juniors can choose to go rafting,’ Nelson told me one Friday afternoon as he walked me home. He was on his way to fix his grandmother’s lawnmower for her. ‘Wa

I wrinkled my nose, imagining Robinson Crusoe lashing together tree trunks. ‘Rafting—you have to build one or something?’

He laughed. ‘This isn’t the Boy Scouts of America, Sky. No, I’m talking white-water, white-knuckle, high octane excitement on the Eyrie River. Imagine an inflatable boat with room for six or seven. You’ve got the main man on the rudder at the back, the rest of us with the paddles sitting on the sides, just barely holding on as we plunge through the rapids. You’ve gotta give it a try if you want to count yourself a Coloradan.’

Whoa, high school wasn’t like sixth form col ege after al —this was immense. I could see the images flashing before my mind now as I expertly navigated my way down a foaming river, saving the child/dog/injured

man,

music

swel ing

to

unbelievable heights, heavy on the strings, tight with tension …

Yeah, right.

‘They’ve got a begi

‘Nope, go

I could do this: start smal , graduate to hero status once I’d got the hang of it. ‘OK. Do I need any special kit?’

He shook his head. ‘No, just wear some old clothes. Sky, I don’t suppose you’d ask Tina if she’d like to come in our group?’

My suspicions were instantly alerted. ‘Why don’t you ask her yourself?’

‘She’l think I’m coming on to her.’

I smiled. ‘Aren’t you?’

He rubbed the back of his neck in an embarrassed gesture. ‘Yeah, but I just don’t want her to know it yet.’

The day of the rafting trip and the weather looked a little cloudy, the mountains a sul en grey and breeze stiff. There was a definite chil in the air, even a few spots of rain. I’d put on a thicker hoodie, my favourite one with ‘Richmond Rowing Club’ on the front which I thought was fu

When we arrived, the rafting school receptionist doled out helmets, waterproof shoes, and life jackets. We then gathered on the bank to listen to a briefing given by a stern-faced man with long dark hair. He had the dramatic profile of a Native American, broad forehead and eyes that seemed eons older than his years. It was a face made to be drawn or, better yet, sculpted. If I’d written a melody for him, it would have been haunting, plaintive like the South American panpipes, music for wild places.

‘Great—we’ve got Mr Benedict—Zed and Yves’s father. He’s the best,’ whispered Tina. ‘He total y rocks on the water.’

I couldn’t pay attention, my eagerness to launch myself out on to the rapids dwindling now I actual y faced the turbulent river.

Hearing our murmured discussion, Mr Benedict gave us both a keen look and I had a sudden glimpse of colours surrounding him—silvery like the sun on the snowy peaks.

Not again, I thought, feeling that strange sense of dizziness. I refused to see colours—I wasn’t letting them back in. I closed my eyes and swal owed, snapping the contact.

‘Ladies,’ Mr Benedict said in a soft voice that stil managed to carry over the noise of the water, ‘if you would listen, please. I’m ru

‘You OK?’ Tina whispered. ‘You’ve gone a little green.’

‘It’s just … nerves.’

‘You’l be fine—there’s nothing to worry about.’

I hung on to every word Mr Benedict said after that but few of them lodged in my brain.

He finished his little lecture, stressing the need to obey orders at al times. ‘Some of you said you were interested in kayaking. Is that right?’

Neil from cheerleading raised his hand.

‘My sons are out on the course right now. I’l let them know you want a lesson.’

Mr Benedict was gesturing towards the upper reaches of the river where I could just make out a series of striped poles suspended over the cha

Three red kayaks were racing down the rapids. It was impossible to tel who was in each boat but they were evidently al skil ed, playing the river in a series of almost bal etic movements, pirouettes and turns that brought my heart into my mouth. One shot through to the front of the trio. He seemed to have an edge over the others, able to anticipate the next churn of the water, the next flip of current, a fraction ahead of time. He passed under the red and white finish post and punched the air with his paddle, laughing at his brothers lagging behind.