The Skeleton Flute, page 2
“Sam?” Mom asks quietly. “You okay?”
I shake my head, tears stinging my eyes and blurring my vision. Is she serious right now? How could I possibly be okay? Our family’s splitting up. There’s nothing okay about that. In fact, it’s the most not-okay thing that’s ever happened to me.
What are we gonna do without Dad?
I push away from the table. The longer I sit here staring at Grayson’s pitiful face, the more the heat will build. I wanna scream and yell at them, tell them they have no idea what they’re doing to us, how hurt I am. But I can’t, because I know it won’t come out right. I’ll start crying and trip over my words, and they won’t take me seriously.
So instead, I grab my backpack, walk through the kitchen, and step out into the backyard. My bike is against the house where I left it yesterday. I gaze up at the sun, low in the sky but not down yet. I still have time. I need some air. I need to get away from the heavy sadness in the house. I need to think, just for a minute, before I suffocate.
I yank my bike from the bushes and swing onto the seat.
Mom’s voice carries out to me through an open window. “Sam! Sam, come back here!”
I should go back. I shouldn’t ignore her. But my feet push hard against the pedals, carrying me down the driveway and left onto the sidewalk instead.
The neighborhood goes by in a blur, and the clickety-clack of the playing cards in the spokes of my back wheel rises up around me. It’s a trick Dad taught me. The sound of the stiff cards smacking against the spokes of the wheel as I pedal helps take my mind off what just happened.
Sweat drips down my forehead and soaks the neckline of my shirt. I’ve never pedaled so fast or so hard in my life. It’s calming in a weird way—the speed, the burning in my legs. But no matter how much distance I put between myself and home, I can’t change the fact that Dad’s moving out. If my bike was a time machine, I could ride it right back to the beach, back to the last moments before everything went wrong.
A tear slips from my eye. I can’t stop it, no matter how bad I want to. I thought our family was safe. Mom and Dad are always telling the story about when they met in college, how it was love at first sight.
How did it go from love at first sight to this?
Dad’s a science teacher, so you’d think this would be a formula he could work out—how to keep Mom happy. It can’t be that hard, can it? I mean, they argue sometimes, but everyone does. Dad must’ve forgotten how to fix things—some dark chocolate, a bouquet of flowers, maybe a foot massage. He’s done it before.
So there has to be something I missed. Something so big, it worked itself between them, prying them apart. Am I just as clueless as Grayson?
At the end of the street, I turn left toward the park, still within the limits of where I’m allowed to go on my own. Weird how you think about things like that even when your life is crashing down around you.
I pedal straight under the stone arches, past the parking lot and the playground, onto an overgrown trail Derek and I ride our bikes on sometimes. Branches and leaves slap at my ankles, stinging my skin. I put my head down and push forward.
The wind whipping across my face makes me feel alive. Its sharp teeth bite into the soft skin of my cheeks and chase away some of the numbness. The trail loops around behind the playground, barely wider than my bike tires. Trees and bushes thrust out of the dry earth on both sides, a blur of green and brown.
My vision clouds as more tears slip from my eyes. The ache in the center of my chest gets sharper, the hurt smoldering inside me. I turn my face toward the sky, and the words burst out of my mouth.
“I wish they’d just stay together! It’s not fair!”
Up ahead, the trail curves sharply to the right. A weird, thick fog clings to the ground, swirling across the trail like a living creature. I don’t remember seeing fog here before. The smell of cigar smoke curls into my nostrils.
What the heck?
Fog or no fog, I know the trail like the back of my hand, and I’m going way too fast to make the turn safely. I can’t count the number of times Derek and I have wiped out in that very spot. A dark, shiny scar on my right knee is proof of that. I need to slow down before I—
A man appears on the path.
One minute there’s no one there; the next, he’s right in front of me. My heart jumps into my throat and I slam on the brakes. My wheels shudder against the hard-packed dirt, and the brakes squeal like a dying animal.
“Gah!”
My rear tire slides sideways, tilting me dangerously to the right. I throw myself to the left to keep from toppling over, and the bike comes to a stop inches from the man. He doesn’t even flinch. The smell of cigar smoke and something else, something sickly sweet and wrong, gets stronger.
Chest heaving, I let my eyes travel upward from the man’s dusty brown shoes. The dude’s huge. His clothes are worn and tattered, some strange getup that kinda looks like the suit Dad wears for special occasions. Only it’s not at all like Dad’s. Dad’s is charcoal gray and has creases running down the legs.
This guy’s suit looks like it was patched together from a bunch of different suits in all different colors. Blue, green, yellow, purple, deep red. A blue-ticket special from the thrift store if I’ve ever seen one. There’s something familiar about it I can’t quite put my finger on. But I’d remember seeing a suit like this.
I stumble off my bike and thrust it between myself and this strange man. Just in case he gets any ideas. “Sorry, mister.”
The man has black locs kinda like Derek’s, only they’re long and bunched up on top of his head, flowing down over his shoulders. His skin is dark and pitted with scars. He smiles, revealing a gold tooth that glints in the dying sunlight. He runs the tip of his tongue across it.
“Hey, son, you okay?” His voice rumbles in his chest, deep like distant thunder.
“Yeah, I’m fine. Sorry, I didn’t see you there.”
“No harm done.” He smiles again, but this time a shadow passes over his face.
I shift my backpack on my shoulders, grab my handlebars, and go to step around him. He raises a hand to stop me. Something’s not right with this guy. Goose bumps prickle across my arms, my Spidey senses activated.
“Hey, not so fast, son. It’s almost dark,” he says. “You shouldn’t be out here by yourself.”
“Oh, I’m not by myself.” My eyes dart toward the park. “My parents are over at the playground, waiting for me. I told them I’d be right back.”
The lie comes out so easily, so smoothly, even I believe it. Not bad.
The man grins. “Okay, just looking out for you.”
I know I should go—I definitely should not stay and talk to this guy—but curiosity gets the better of me. Derek and I are always out here on this trail, and we never see anyone. It’s why we like it so much. We can be as loud as we want without getting yelled at.
I tilt my head. “What are you doing out here on this old bike trail anyway?”
“Taking an evening stroll,” the man says. “It’s good to clear the mind.”
I shrug. “Yeah, I guess.”
The man narrows his eyes. “Something on your mind, son? You look troubled.”
“No, I’m fine.”
There’s a flash of something white in his hand. I narrow my eyes, squinting to see what it is. It’s long and straight, with dark circles down the front of it, like some kind of musical instrument. A flute, maybe? He glances up at the darkening sky, then back at me, moving the instrument from one hand to the other. A half smile pulls at one corner of his lips as he slips it into an inside pocket of his jacket.
“There’s nothing worse than family troubles,” he says.
His dark eyes pin me to the trail, and a block of ice plops down in my stomach. I didn’t say anything about family troubles. Who is this guy and how does he know I’m having family troubles?
“I’m good, really, mister.”
I need to get out of here, but I weigh my options first. I could turn around and go back where I came from, but I’m not so sure about turning my back on this guy. I could go around him, but then I’ll be within arm’s reach. Neither is a great option.
“Okay, okay. I gotcha. But old Bones here is a good listener if you need to talk. Sometimes it’s hard to know who to trust. I’m always here if you need me.”
Bones? That’s not a name.
I take a step backward. “I really have to go before my parents get worried.”
“Not so fast. I have something for you. Something that might help.” The man reaches into his jacket pocket again and pulls out the flute I just saw him playing with.
“I don’t need any help—I—”
“Old Bones has the sight,” he says, tapping a finger against his temple.
I shake my head. “What does that mean?”
“It means I can see into your heart. Your hopes, your dreams, what you want most in this world. I can see what troubles you.”
My legs start to tremble. This is getting weird—I mean weirder. Why am I still standing here talking to this guy?
He holds out the flute and nods at it. “Go on, take it. It might be useful.”
“Useful? For what?”
I can’t help but feel completely ridiculous, reaching out to take the flute from him. I turn it over in my hand. The man grins in a way that makes my insides quiver, his mouth spreading wide to reveal that gold tooth again. His tongue darts out of his mouth and moves across it, almost like he’s caressing it.
“It’s a very special flute. I think you can use what it has to offer.”
I narrow my eyes. “And what’s that?”
“Your greatest desire, of course,” the man says. “All you have to do is play it and make a wish, and so it will be.”
Is this guy for real? I can’t just blow into a flute and get whatever I want. This isn’t a movie or a tale in some storybook. Real life doesn’t work that way. I wish it did, but it doesn’t. Still, I play along.
“What’s the catch?”
The man laughs. “Catch? Who said anything about a catch?”
“I—I just—”
He squints at me. “What wouldn’t you give to have your greatest desire?”
I can’t think of a single thing, but I don’t tell him that. Nothing about this feels right. The skin on my hand is even starting to tingle. Tiny shock waves of static electricity travel up my wrist, crackling and fizzing into my fingertips.
I thrust the flute out. “I don’t think I need it. Here.”
The man shakes his head. “Tell you what. Why don’t you think it over? If you change your mind, you can bring it back.”
“No, I can’t—”
“Think about your parents,” he says sharply. “If you could keep them together with nothing more than a wish, don’t you owe it to them?”
I swallow the lump in my throat. How does he know about my parents?
The man smiles again, and my grip tightens around the flute. If what he says is true, if it’s as simple as playing this thing and wishing for my parents to stay together, how can I say no?
I grab my bag and slip the flute into the side pocket. I’m not gonna make a decision now. I’ll think about it, like the man said. No promises.
I look up to tell him that, but the trail is empty. He’s gone. Something about the way he disappeared causes my heart to skip a beat. A memory from this morning at the beach washes over me: a man in a suit wearing brown dress shoes, watching me from the shadows.
It was him.
Chapter 3
I SHOOT INTO THE DRIVEWAY just as the streetlights come on, and let out a breath. That was close. Mom and Dad would kill me if I was out past dark. As it is, I’ll probably be grounded for a month for ignoring Mom when she called me. I lean my bike against the house.
“Hey, Sam!”
I jump and spin around, still spooked from the encounter with the stranger in the park. Derek’s poking his head through his bedroom window, which looks out over our driveway.
I let out a breath. “Oh hey, Derek.”
A line of concern creases the smooth brown skin of his forehead, and he runs a hand over his short black locs. “Where were you today? You weren’t in school.”
“Mom and Dad let us skip. We had a beach day.”
His dark eyes widen. “Lucky! Thought you were coming over to play video games.”
“Shoot, I forgot.” We made plans over the weekend, but Mom and Dad dropped a bomb and it slipped my mind. “Sorry, D.”
“It’s all good. Maybe another night.” He tilts his head. “You okay?”
I stare down at the driveway, tracing a line of cracks with my eyes. I have to tell him. He’s my best friend. He’ll know if I’m lying.
“My parents are separating,” I say. “They told us after dinner.”
“Oh man.” Derek frowns. “They did it after beach day?”
“Yup.”
He shakes his head. “That’s harsh.”
“My dad’s moving out on Thursday.”
“I’m sorry, Sam.”
“It’s okay.”
I bite down on my bottom lip, unsure what else to say. My mind is spinning, filled with thoughts of Dad packing boxes, loading them in the car, and driving off down the road without looking back.
Derek sighs, awkwardness hanging between us like a third person. “I don’t know what to say….”
“It’s all right. I gotta go.”
“See you tomorrow, Sam.”
Mom and Dad are waiting in the kitchen. They shoot up from the table when I walk in the door. And they don’t look happy. I can feel the tension in the air, as heavy and as suffocating as when I left.
“Samuel Jacob Windsor!” Mom’s voice rises so high, I expect the glass on the counter to shatter. Surprisingly, it doesn’t.
“What were you thinking, taking off like that?” Dad asks, frowning.
I look down at the floor, anger flaring in my chest. They don’t have a right to be angry. “I just went for a bike ride.”
“Didn’t you hear me calling you?” Mom slaps her hands down on her hips and glares at me. I shrivel a little. She can be scary when she wants to be.
“I’m sorry,” I mumble. “I went to the park… to clear my mind.”
The stranger’s words come out of my mouth without me even realizing it. I blink, remembering the glint in his eyes and the way he smiled at me. I might not have meant to echo his words, but they hit home. Mom’s eyes soften. Dad bites down on his lip. Good. They owe me one after the bomb they dropped tonight. Giving me a pass for this is the least they can do.
“All right,” Mom sighs. “Get upstairs and get your studying done. Lights out at nine thirty.”
I climb the steps with my backpack slung over one shoulder and step through the baby gate at the top. In the upstairs hall, tinny twinkling music floats through the air. I pause beside Addie’s bedroom door. It’s open a crack, and through it I can see her narwhal-shaped night-light projecting a rotating scene of stars and moons on the ceiling.
She’s beneath her covers, reaching her little hand up toward the lights, humming softly. She’s so little, she won’t remember this. Any of it—the good or the bad. She won’t remember how happy our parents used to be, and she’ll forget all about our perfect day at the beach… and how Mom and Dad ruined it.
“Where’d you go?” Grayson is in his doorway, a sour look on his face. He takes a page out of Mom’s book when it comes to scary facial expressions.
“To the park.”
“You said you’d help me with my model,” he says, his voice breaking.
Guilt tugs at my insides. “I’m sorry, Gray.”
“Can we do it now?”
I shrug and follow him to his room. He’s already found out his parents are separating. I can’t let him down too. Besides, I could use something to take my mind off everything. Even if it’s just for a little while.
The model of a robot sits on his desk, so close to being done. We’ve been working on it for ages. Sheets of pressed metal sit beside the model, along with a small tin snipper and a pair of pliers. Grayson picks up the tools and plops down on the rug in the middle of his room. I grab the robot and the final sheet of metal and sit next to him.
I examine the sheet. “These last pieces are gonna be hard. We have to be careful with them.”
Grayson hands me the snippers. I clip the tabs on the next piece and hold it out to him so he can bend the sides inward. Once the piece is formed, I hold the robot still while he fits it into place. I watch his face as he works, his tongue poking out of the side of his mouth. I can’t help but wonder what he’s thinking. Is he as angry, frustrated, and confused as I am?
“Hey, Gray?”
He looks up. “Yeah?”
“You okay?”
I snip the next piece out and pass it to him.
His eyes shift to the floor. “I dunno.”
“Me either,” I sigh.
He raises an eyebrow. “Really?”
I shrug. “I mean, I know I’m pretty awesome, but I don’t know everything.”
“Coulda fooled me,” he says, a smile pulling at his lips.
I nudge his shoulder with my fist. “You know you can talk to me about stuff, right?”
He nods. “Yeah, I guess.”
“Okay, good.”
He pauses, fitting another piece into the model. “I don’t want Dad to leave,” he whispers. “I want us to stay together.”
“Me too.”
“Do you think they’re gonna get a divorce?”
The word flashes in my head like the title screen of a video game. Divorce! Divorce! Divorce! I squeeze my eyes shut, my breath catching in my throat. “I don’t know that either.”
“Today was fun, wasn’t it?” Grayson asks, a sad smile revealing a gap where his two front teeth should be.
I nod. “Yeah, it was.”
“What if we never go to the beach all together again?”
I clear my throat and suck in a breath to stop the tears burning behind my eyes. Can’t let Grayson see me cry. I have to be strong. The truth is, I wanna tell him everything’s gonna be okay, that of course we’ll go to the beach together again. But I can’t.
