The Skeleton Flute, page 1
To my husband, Hugh, and to my daughter, Avery—
it’s never too late to chase your dreams,
and you both helped me see that
Chapter 1
HEIGHTS AREN’T MY THING. BEING up high makes my head spin and butterflies surge into my stomach. The high dive at Lake Ingershall stretches out over the blue-green water, twenty feet above the glittery surface.
Taunting me.
Everyone else in the seventh grade can make the jump. Heck, even most of the sixth graders have done it.
But not me.
My nine-year-old brother, Grayson—who says I’m a chicken and that’s why I won’t jump—plops down on the beach blanket. His curly black hair is dusted with sand, and his light brown skin is shiny from the sunscreen Mom made him put on when we got here.
He turns to me and frowns. “This is weird. Why did Mom and Dad let us skip school and come to the beach?”
“Who cares?” I say, watching our parents chase our three-year-old sister, Addie, across the sand. “We’re at the beach on a school day. Derek’s gonna freak when I tell him.”
What I don’t tell Grayson is that he’s right. This is weird. Of all the things I was expecting when I woke up this morning, a beach day wasn’t one of them. Math? Social studies? Embarrassing myself in gym class? All possibilities.
But lounging on the beach at eleven o’clock on a Tuesday morning? Totally weird. I wasn’t gonna argue, though. It’s giving me one last chance to prove I’m not a chicken.
“But, Sam,” Grayson says. “Don’t you think Mom and Dad are being strange?”
I shake my head. “Let it go, Gray. Just have fun. Who knows if we’ll get this chance again?”
It’s just like Grayson to try to ruin an epic day at the beach by being grumpy. Dude takes life way too seriously. I, on the other hand, have big plans for today—hot dogs from the concession stand, sunbathing in the last rays of sun before autumn sets in, making sandcastles with Addie.
And finally, once and for all, jumping off the high dive.
“Are you gonna do it?” Grayson asks, following my gaze across the lake.
“What?”
“The high dive. Are you gonna jump?”
I swallow hard and nod, but I can tell he doesn’t believe me. I’ve been saying I’m gonna jump for weeks now. I spent the entire summer trying to work up the nerve, and now, on our very last trip to the beach before it closes for the rest of the year, I’m not sure it’s gonna happen. The butterflies are already fluttering around in my stomach.
“Go on, then,” he says, almost like he’s challenging me. “Do it.”
“Shush, Grayson. Don’t rush me.”
He frowns and pulls a bright yellow bag of potato chips from the picnic basket. I scowl at him as he eats them—like some kind of monster—with his mouth open. The wet crunching sound makes the dark hairs on my arms curl up in disgust.
“Ugh,” I say, snatching the bag away from him. “Were you raised in a barn?”
He tosses a chip at me, and it hits me in the cheek, one sharp edge stinging my skin.
“Yes.”
I scrunch up my nose. “I knew it. The smell was a dead giveaway.”
“Hey!” Grayson shoots me a dirty look as Mom crosses the sand to the blanket, her sun hat flopping lazily around her face.
“Sam, be nice,” she says, even though I’m sure she didn’t hear what I said. Her mom radar is on point.
“He can’t be nice,” Grayson says. “He was raised in a barn too.”
Mom sinks down in her beach chair and shakes her head. “You two are something else.”
Grayson breaks into a fit of giggles. I peel off my T-shirt, and Mom hands me the sunscreen. I roll my eyes but rub it on anyway, because winning this fight would be like winning a pie-eating contest against a bear after hibernation.
Mom glances at the lifeguard stations. “Stay close and make sure you check in once in a while.”
“Okay, I will.”
She gives me a smile, but there’s something behind it. Sadness? Exhaustion? I never know anymore. This morning at breakfast her eyes were puffy and red-rimmed. Now they’re just sort of empty.
Something’s going on, but I’ve known that for a while. There’ve been lots of hushed conversations behind closed doors, super-awkward family dinners, and a feeling of wrongness. I’d have to be completely clueless not to have noticed.
A little shiver shakes through me. I don’t wanna think about that. Not today, not on beach day.
All buttered up, I wade out into the water toward the deep end. It’s gloriously warm. I move toward the high dive with purpose. This is it, Sam. It’s your moment to shine. On the other side of the lake, the ladder with peeling green paint thrusts out of the water, leading straight up to the high dive. The sun-warmed rungs smell tangy and sharp.
At least the beach is empty. The usual gang of boys from Stapleton Middle School is stuck in class today, so there’s no one here to laugh at me when I freeze up. Unless you count Grayson, and I rarely do.
I look up at the pale blue board hanging above me. It’s high. Too high. I place one hand on the rung in front of me, then another. My stomach clenches and I swallow hard.
I can do this. I can do this.
Sweat breaks out on my forehead—little quivering beads of cowardice. If the guys from school were here, now’s when they would be laughing at me and pointing.
I can do this. I can—
I can’t do it.
I let go of the rungs and drift backward through the water. This was supposed to be my moment. But I choked. Again. I sink into the water and roll onto my back.
Maybe next summer.
The sky is clear and bright blue. I stare up at it and it stares back, the sun warming my skin from the top as the water warms it from below. Small ripples float across the surface from Addie and Grayson playing in the shallow end.
Addie squeals and I sit up, watching them. She grabs a handful of sand and chases Grayson down the beach. Her black curls bounce around her head like a wild halo. Grayson runs away from her, his head thrown back. Addie catches up, ready to nail him with sand, but he tickles her before she gets a chance.
I scowl.
If I hadn’t chickened out, I’d be watching them from the top of the high dive right now. I sigh and wade back through the deeper water to the shallow end. When I plop down in the sand, Addie joins me, bucket and shovel in hand.
“Sammy, help?” she asks, looking up at me with big brown eyes.
I smile. “Yes, I’ll help you, Addie.”
We pile the wet sand into the bucket and pat it down tight with the shovel. She sits close to me, one chubby little hand resting on my leg. Every couple of minutes she looks up at me and smiles. At least she doesn’t know what a chicken her brother is.
“I thought you were gonna jump,” Grayson says, coming up behind us. He smirks, and I consider dumping the bucket of sand over his head.
“I changed my mind.”
Grayson opens his mouth to say something rude—I’m sure of it—when Dad sits down in the sand. “You’ll get it eventually, bud—don’t stress about it. I believe in you.”
My cheeks burn a little. “Thanks, Dad.”
“I didn’t like heights when I was your age, either.”
He winks and Grayson closes his mouth. Ha, got you there. He can’t tease me without teasing Dad, too. I smile. Dad might be telling the truth, or he might be telling a little white lie. Either way, I’m grateful for the save.
Grayson shrugs and turns to me. “Will you help me with my model later?”
I roll my eyes and sigh, pretending to be annoyed. “I guess.”
He grins. “Thanks, Sam.”
“Sandcastle!” Addie says as I tip the bucket over and pull it free of the sand.
I rub her back. “Yeah, good job, Addie.”
Addie stomps on the castle we just created, and my stomach growls loudly—that means it’s hot dog time. I leave Addie and Grayson with Dad by the water and wander up to the blanket. Mom has a book in her hand, but her eyes are focused on the sand in front of her. She jumps when I grab my T-shirt from the ground.
“Oh, Sam, you scared me!”
I frown. Mom’s not usually this jumpy. “Sorry. Can I get a hot dog from the concession stand?”
She reaches into her purse and pulls out a ten-dollar bill. “Get one for Grayson, too.”
I snag the money. “What about Addie?”
Mom glances at the beach bag. “I packed her some snacks. She’s way too busy to sit down and eat a hot dog.”
I shrug and wrap my towel around my waist, then jog off toward the bathhouse on the other side of the lake. For the first time in like forever, I don’t have to wait in a line at the concession stand. I order two hot dogs, fork over my money, and wait while the guy behind the counter puts them in buns.
Spiderwebs hang from the rafters above the window. I eye them, making sure none of the little eight-legged creeps up there decide to drop down on top of my head while I wait. I hate spiders.
Something rustles behind me.
On edge, I nearly jump out of my skin, then spin around. There’s a flash of movement between the leaves and branches of the tall bushes that line the walkway around the lake. They shiver and shake, like someone’s behind them, moving slowly.
I tilt my head. “H-hello? Is someone there?”
There’s no answer except for the rustling of leaves. I frown. Who’d be hanging out in the bushes? A creepy-crawly se
“Two hot dogs!”
The guy at the counter hands the hot dogs through the window. Heart thrashing, I grab them and turn back to the bushes. The movement’s gone, but the feeling of being watched follows me as I balance the hot dogs in my hands and step onto the walkway.
Halfway around the lake, I stop and look behind me. A man’s lurking in the shadows next to the bathhouse. He’s dressed in a full suit and brown dress shoes. His dark eyes peer out at me, but when I notice him, the man slips away and disappears from view. An uneasy feeling slides into my stomach.
I turn back toward our blanket, meaning to tell Mom and Dad about the creepy dude in the bushes, when Grayson spots me coming. He runs down the beach and practically tackles me, snatching a hot dog from my hands.
We eat them sitting cross-legged on the blanket while Dad chases Addie down the beach. That girl has more energy than a Chihuahua.
“Hey, Gray, I think you got some ketchup on your shirt.”
Grayson looks down at where I’m pointing, and I poke my finger into the tip of his nose.
“Hey!”
“You’re not even wearing a shirt, you goof.”
He narrows his eyes and goes back to eating his hot dog. I lean back, prop myself up on my elbows, and smile. If I could, I’d freeze this moment in time—the warm breeze blowing off the lake, Grayson with ketchup and mustard smeared across his mouth, the sound of Addie laughing. Except for the weird dude watching me from the bushes, it’s been an epically perfect morning.
The good mood follows me through the rest of the day, all the way home, and into the evening. A day at the beach is tiring in the best way possible, and Grayson and I lounge on the couch watching TV until dinner. Mom’s making spaghetti and meatballs. Everything is right with the world.
I’ve completely forgotten about Mom’s puffy red eyes and the sad smile on Dad’s face as he carried the beach chairs to the car this morning. Nothing can ruin my good mood.
That is, until Mom sets her fork down during dinner and clears her throat. Her eyes are red again. She pushes her plate away and laces her fingers in front of her. Dad runs a hand over his short, curly black hair.
“Your dad and I need to talk to you both about something,” Mom says quietly.
An uncomfortable feeling surges into my meatball-filled stomach, chasing away the happy memories of the beach.
I knew something wasn’t right.
The ticktock of the clock in the kitchen is a hundred times louder than normal. The silence stretches, and stretches some more until I’m sure I’ll explode. Whatever’s going on, someone needs to spit it out. Now.
I swallow a lump in my throat. “What’s wrong?”
Mom looks down at her hands. “Dad and I are separating.”
Chapter 2
SHE FLINGS THE WORDS INTO the air like she can’t stand to have them inside her a minute longer. I flinch as they tumble from her mouth. Ah, there it is. It’s all clicking into place. The last-minute trip to the beach on a school day to soften the blow.
Well played, Mom and Dad, well played.
Heat rises into my cheeks, spreading into my neck. Grayson’s next to me, twirling spaghetti around with his fork, while Addie’s using her fingers to make a masterpiece in the sauce on her plate. I turn my head and stare out through the thin curtains, trying to focus on the shapes beyond.
Anything not to think about what Mom just said.
“What does that mean?” Grayson asks, frowning. There’s panic in his voice. The poor kid doesn’t know “separation” is code for “divorce.”
Dad shifts in his seat. “It means I’m going to move out, and you kids will stay here with Mom.”
I squeeze my eyes shut. Separation? This is like a baseball bat upside the head when you’re not expecting it. Not that you’re ever expecting a baseball bat upside the head, but that’s beside the point.
The space in my chest fills with fluttering.
I’m breathless, my heart thudding now. “You’re getting a divorce?”
“No, sweetheart. We’re taking a break. To work things out.” Mom’s voice wavers, and something inside me begins to unravel, like a spool of thread in the pit of my stomach slowly coming undone. If I’m not careful, it’ll unwind into a tangled mess all over the floor.
Grayson’s chin trembles, his brown eyes filling with tears. I know what he’s thinking. There are too many kids at school whose parents “took a break,” and now they’ve got two rooms, separate birthdays and Christmases, and a shiny new stepmom or stepdad trying to be best friends with them.
I swallow, scared of the answer, but needing to ask anyway. “When are you moving out?”
My question hangs in the air until Dad finally says, “The day after tomorrow.”
I bite down on my bottom lip, trying to hold back the next question that jumps into my head. I don’t wanna say it, I mean really don’t wanna say it, but the words just kinda pop out. “Can’t we live with you?”
Mom sucks in a sharp breath. There. That’s why I didn’t wanna say it. Her blue eyes cloud with hurt as she looks down at her hands. I love both my parents, but Dad and I are closer. I can’t even think about not seeing him every day.
He shakes his head, and my cheeks sting like someone slapped them. How can he just leave us like this? That’s like child abandonment or something.
“I’m staying with Uncle Chris for now, in his guest room,” he says, his eyes going misty. “It’s just temporary, Sam. I’ll visit on the weekends.”
Visit on the weekends? Dads aren’t supposed to visit. A wild laugh bubbles up in my throat. Do they even hear themselves? The ridiculousness of it makes me uncomfortable. And when I’m uncomfortable, I make jokes. But I can’t think of a single thing to lighten the mood right now. Besides, there’s nothing funny about any of this.
My eyes dart back and forth between my parents’ faces. They can’t be serious. Can they? I never thought anything like this would happen to us. Maybe other people did, because Mom’s white and Dad’s Black, and people sometimes look at our family like we’re a puzzle they can’t put together. But we’ve always been happy.
Well, until recently.
Addie points at the spaghetti-sauce drawing on her plate. “Look, Dada. I make it for you.”
He smiles and pats the top of her head. “Thanks, peanut.”
I scowl at Addie, then instantly feel the sting of guilt. It’s not her fault, but I am kinda jealous. What I wouldn’t give to be that clueless. She has no idea what’s happening right now. No idea that everything’s about to change.
“Do you have to go?” A big tear rolls down Grayson’s cheek, the question quivering on his lips. He grabs my hand under the table. I squeeze it back and fight my own tears, anger sparking to life in my chest. He might be my annoying little brother, but I hate seeing him cry.
Mom shifts off her chair and around to Grayson’s side. She tucks her dirty-blond hair behind her ears, pulls him into her arms, and smooths his curls off his forehead. “It’ll be okay, sweet pea.”
I scowl. “Why don’t we have a say in this?”
“I know this is going to be hard, guys,” Mom says, ignoring my question. “Change isn’t easy.”
“But why does Dad have to go?” I ask, sounding whinier than I mean to. “Can’t you work things out here?”
“We need a break,” Dad says. “It’s hard for you to understand at your age. Trust me, bud, if we thought there was a way around this, I wouldn’t be leaving.”
I press my lips together, the little spark of anger spreading like wildfire. What does my age have to do with anything? I don’t have to be an adult to know this isn’t fair. Parents shouldn’t get to make big decisions like this without giving the kids a choice. We’re part of this family too.
But they’ve made up their minds, and now my life is crumbling around me like a soggy cookie left in a cup of milk for way too long. If you’re not careful, you get a pile of mush in the bottom of your cup. And that’s what this feels like. Cold, yucky mush.
Dad stands, pats me on the back like that’s supposed to make me feel better, and walks away, mumbling something about needing to start packing.
I’m trembling in my seat now, the heat inside my chest spreading through my body, into my arms and legs, a fire about to send me up in flames.
