AN: Firstly, I'd like to confess that I've never been to Buckeye – or anywhere in Arizona, actually. I didn't neglect to do my research, but I apologise for any mistakes or misconceptions. Secondly, thanks a million for your reviews (all two of you, haha); they really gave me some things to think about. Lastly, the next chapter will probably take twice as long as this one (I think this has been 6 days?) because I'm going away until Monday, sorry.
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~ I ~ gravity ~
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c-h-a-p-t-e-r o-n-e
I :
g ra vi ty
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chapter song:
florence + the machine – what the water gave me
and oh, poor atlas
the world's a beast of a burden
you've been holding up a long time
and all this longing
and the ships are left to rust
that's what the water gave us
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~ I ~ gravity ~
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MAX
Afternoons on that side of Buckeye, AZ were generally pretty tranquil. It wasn't hard, with the sun breathing down your neck and only the soft chorus of cricket croaks to keep you company, to forget that the place's population was probably somewhere over 56,000. It was especially effortless for that little tidbit to slip your mind when you were jogging home with titanic gusts of wind and rain drumming down your neck and only the sickly squelch of your sodden socks to keep you company. Why? Because every single person with even a shred of common sense had brought the freaking washing in already and wouldn't be suffering from hypothermia.
I was not one of those people.
I was actually one of the people who didn't even notice the temperature suddenly plummeting, or those great hulking storm clouds rolling in because they were too busy annihilating their friends at B-ball – thereafter I became one of the people trying to see past their stringy, water-logged hair and the constant stream of falling water to check for cars, hoping to all hope they would get home before they could get hit by lightning. Or, rather, I was the only person doing that. Go figure.
My phone had been buzzing in my pocket, shielded from the elements by my faux leather messenger bag, for the past five minutes, give or take. That was probably either my mom, worried, my best friend Sam, also worried, or my half-sister Ella, scavenging a ride home. Whichever way, if any of them expected me to risk assisting Mother Nature in the brutal murder of my phone, they could think again.
As I rounded corner after corner, I wondered how far it really was from my house to the park. In the sun, this trip would usually drain ten minutes, but it felt like the streets had stretched and every intersection was a million miles away. I recognized the houses I was passing, but I couldn't piece together where I was exactly. Nothing was making sense.
I stopped under some overhanging branches of a tree growing in someone's front yard, scrabbling for even just a minute of respite from the howling wind and growling thunder. On the road, the raindrops battled like sword-wielding soldiers, leaping and crashing into each other. The gutters were already overflowing and the drain plates let out tinny whines as they too faced the water's assault.
I checked my watch (waterproof, thank the Gods). 5:51pm.
Stepping back out from my makeshift shelter, I ran on into the storm.
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~ I ~ gravity ~
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"Mom?" I hollered, finally through the door after my 5000-year-long sprint through the fall lightning storm. "Mom, I'm alive!"
I tossed my keys on the kitchen counter and dumped my bag on one of the chairs around the island; I was about to thump up the stairs when I heard a weak "That's nice, honey!" from the garden. What was my mom doing out in the back, in this weather? I loped through the utility room and hovered in the open glass door.
"Uh, mom?"
She was at the washing line, throwing damp garments into a plastic basket at full tilt. She shrugged a shoulder in greeting, but didn't take her attention off the task. I shook my head, lips turning up at the corners as I trotted out to help. As I ripped my sister's tees off the wire, I glanced up at my mom. Her hair and clothes were only speckled with rain, so I guessed she hadn't been outside for long, but that wasn't what got me.
What with her being so warm and breezy most of the time, I wouldn't have been surprised to see such a thoughtful expression on her face; she couldn't always be in Mama Mode. I just wasn't expecting her to look so… troubled. Everyone worries about things once in a while, some more than others. My mom, though, looked more than just worried. Her dark eyebrows were drawn up, as if afraid or confused, her lips pursed tightly and her chocolate brown doe-eyes forlorn and sorrowful. That was the kind of look you'd expect from Valencia Martinez when pigs flew.
Then she noticed me watching and it was gone, erased entirely as if it had never been there. Mama Mode was back in business. I heard her say "Thanks for helping, Max," from somewhere distant, but she was only feet away, still moving hurriedly around the line, and I realized that I'd stopped pulling clothes off.
A little spooked, I got back to work.
Jeez, I guess those pigs managed to figure out how air travel works after all.
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~ I ~ gravity ~
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I was still sopping wet when I pulled up at Ella's friend's house, but I'd laid out our dog's waterproof blankets over the front seats before I left. I parked on the curb and hopped out to help Ella, who was already standing at the door saying goodbye, with her overnight bags.
I swear this girl had another sleep-over with another friend every night. I did alright with remembering their names at first, but their faces just ended up blurring together and I couldn't think whether there were two friends called Robin and Kylie or there was one friend called Rylie (which might have been odd because I had a memory like an elephant, but I'm not kidding when I say there were probably a hundred of them. I honestly didn't know how she coped).
We eventually managed to get her newly dripping bags into the trunk (how much stuff could she have needed to take?) and I eventually managed to wrestle my newly dripping sister into the front seat because she wouldn't stop trying to yell to her friend over the rain. We drove in comfortable silence at first, before I remembered something.
"By the way," I began, still unsure myself, "Mom said she has something important to tell us,"
Ella didn't seem fazed. "Like what?"
"I don't know. She didn't say anything but that," I confessed, training my eyes on the road. We were quiet again for another couple of minutes, but I needed to say something. "I was helping her take the washing in earlier, 'cause it was raining–"
"It still is raining, Max. It is raining like the Devil's anu–"
"– and she looked like something was really bothering her. Whatever this 'news' is about, I have a feeling it's not going to be a good thing,"
Ella looked at me and I glanced back at her, but quickly turned back to the road. She carried on studying me carefully for a few minutes – if I couldn't see it, I could definitely feel it – before frowning into her lap for a moment and gazing out of her window, resting her elbow at the base of the glass with her chin in her palm.
The silence we fell into wasn't really comfortable or uncomfortable. It was more of an 'I'm thinking, don't bother me' silence. The dead air ruled for the rest of the ride.
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~ I ~ gravity ~
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I sat on the hard wooden sill below my bedroom window, listening to the storm. It was some time past seven and I'd just taken a shower; Ella had somehow managed to get to the bathroom before me, but she wasn't prepared for my mighty arm-wrestling skills, so I'd claimed the next 15 minutes of shower time as my own. ("Face it, Ella – you'll never defeat the great Max Martinez! Bow to your queen!" I'd told her while graciously accepting my prize. I may also have cackled.)
I'd cracked the window open and sat on the recessed ledge with my back up against the hinged side. I actually felt pretty peaceful there, listening to the spatter of raindrops on the glass pane and watching the clouds light up in flashes, with the cool air blowing in over my bare legs. That's probably why I had a full-body spasm and ended up bashing my head against the short stretch of wall behind me when my dog decided to make a surprise guest appearance.
"Oh my God, Magnolia," I growled, rubbing at my scalp. I rolled my eyes, looking down to see her standing to attention in the middle of the burgundy carpet. "Alright, come here, you little sausage,"
She wasn't watching me, though. Mags was gazing mournfully up at the open window and slowly lying herself on the floor (which didn't take long, considering how basset hounds are all low-to-the-ground, fat kind of dogs). I slid off the sill and my brows drew together as I made my way over to comfort her, assuming that she'd been frightened by the choppy downpour. I crouched and laid a hand on her back; she quickly responded by rolling over, the universal belly rub signal, but let out a long whimper and flopped on her side when I began to pet her stomach.
That was weird.
Just as I was about to go and find my mom – she was a vet, she would have known what was up (and something was definitely up;no dog can resist my belly rubs) – the woman in question called up the stairs.
"Girls, would you mind coming to the kitchen for a second?"
Ah, typical Mama Martinez technique #374: get your kids to do what you want by phrasing an instruction like a request, as if they have a choice. I noted that she'd realized we knew how she did that, so she'd upped the dosage and thrown in trademark technique #235 as well: get your kids to go where you want by telling them to meet you in the kitchen, so they'll bother to do it because think they're getting cookies.
Actually, there was a kind of chocolate-y, vanilla-ish scent wafting through the open…
Mine.
Like lightning, I scooped up Mags and shot down the stairs ("Max honey, stop running on the stairs, you'll rack up a ton in hospital bills!") to the source of the holy scent: the promised food. Mom was just taking a second tray out of the oven and laying it down next to the first; both of them were blanketed in the chow of the Gods. I set Magnolia down at the door and stuffed a couple in my hamster-pouch mouth while mom was busy closing the oven door.
"Do I detect – whoa!" cried Ella, suited up in a fuzzy bathrobe and loose towel turban, almost tripping over Mags. The dog had plopped herself on the floor in the doorway. "You put her there on purpose, didn't you?" she accused, casting me a scornful look through strands of her newly wet hair as she stepped over the hound.
"Wheh, whoh on Erf wooh meh you fink dah?" I answer innocently through a mouthful of hot, mushy Heaven.
Mom chuckled as she slid her oven gloves off and set them down neatly next to the cookie trays, quickly deflecting Ella's snaking hand with her own, before going to take a seat on the opposite side of the wooden island. "No cookies yet, they're still hot," she said, lifting a finger to hush Ella's cry of indignation before it began, "Max only got one because she stole it while I wasn't looking," she finished sternly, turning her scowl on me.
"Yup," I confirmed, popping the 'p' and pulling up a pew, "and I got the other one because you still weren't looking,"
She rolled her eyes; her hands now intertwined and stretched out in front of her in the 'we need to talk' signal used by moms everywhere. A still-grumbling Ella parked herself reluctantly next to me.
"What up, Mama V?" I prompted, given that I didn't think she was going to start any serious conversation herself.
"Well, I, um," she began tentatively, looking down at her linked fingers, resting on the island counter-top. "I got a call today, from work. I found it a little odd – they called me around a quarter to six, so I knew they didn't need me in, or else they would've called earlier. They actually, ah… they offered me a promotion,"
Ella lit up. "That's great, mom,"
Mom nodded cheerfully, but still looked tense. "Yes, it is,"
And then it clicked.
"Mom," I said slowly, dangerously.
"What's up, Max?" she tried casually. Tried.
"Mom," I repeated, but with less inquisitiveness and more solidity this time. "Mom, where exactly will you be working now?"
She made a weak attempt to look at me, but her eyes only made it to the fruit bowl in the center of the island. She cleared her throat guiltily.
"Mom, where have they put you?"
Ella hovered on her seat next to me, but the expression I saw in the corner of my eye revealed that she still hadn't caught on. Her milky brown eyes, usually soft and welcoming, but now wild and panicked, flickered frantically between me and our mother.
"Honey," she said lightly, which only set me on edge even more, "Honey, I'll be working at the NYCI,"
That was all I needed to hear. I slumped back on the stool, having stood up at some point, my eyes wandering like they were lost somehow. My throat was dry and closing up, but that wasn't going to stop me making my case.
"Mom," Ella started, but I guess she wasn't in the mood to be babied either, because she stopped and turned to me instead, "Max, what does that mean? What's the NYCI, is that a bad thing?"
"Oh God, not this," I whispered sharply, avoiding the question. "I mean, on top of all the other obvious reasons why I am so not okay with this, it's… that's so cliché,"
"What?" Dr. M (motherhood card temporarily revoked) looked taken aback.
"I'm seventeen," I spat, my face scrunching up defiantly, "I'm about to go into my last year of high school and you're going to make me do it somewhere completely new, with completely new people. This is like a freaking teen sitcom – a really bad one at that, if they're even looking twice at tropes like this,"
"Completely new place, completely new people," Ella echoed quietly. Suddenly, her head shot up and she eyed mo– Dr. M distrustfully. "That doesn't mean what I think it means, does it?"
I sighed angrily, but it came out as more of a childish huff. "Of course it does, Ella," I narrowed my eyes at the woman sitting opposite us, aloof and agitated. "Freaking Hell, I can picture the segregated cliques in the big white cafeteria now. Let me guess: short, sweaty, balding, sweater-vest-clad home room teacher," I began, ticking off on my fingers, "Cool, calm, collected female principal, complete with Tybaltesque, snarky, grudge-holding vice," I barked out a cold laugh.
My sister sighed next to me, dejected. "We might as well be reading fan-fiction," she agreed solemnly.
I shook my head again, assessing Dr. M's facial expression and body language. She looked hopeful, but the way she sat was meek and passive, fully planning on letting us soak this up on our own. I looked at Ella then. She didn't seem to have much fight in her either, but I could tell she wasn't happy about it from the way her features were all screwed up together. There was a curious kind of fire in her eyes as she met my gaze.
"Where?" she demanded.
"My friend, I do believe we're headed for the Big Apple," I said, though I knew the question wasn't really for me.
Dr. M seemed to see it that way too. "NYCI stands for the New York City Institute," she explained. She inhaled deeply before trying out a different approach. "I wanted to tell you two as soon as possible; waiting would have only made it harder on all of us. I mean, it was a surprise for me too – the call came straight out of the blue – and of course, I haven't officially agreed yet, there's paperwork I need to fill out for that…"
I wasn't listening anymore. I stared blankly over her shoulder, looking more at the window than out of it. Hail was bouncing off the glass in frenzied legions as if it were trying to break in; I could hear the claps and rumbles of thunder not far off too. The raucous weather was still going strong, even after over an hour – it must have been a multi-cellular cluster. I'd have to mention that observation if things got any worse; those things could be lethal.
My head turned itself to look at Mags. She was still sitting in the threshold, but she'd laid flat on her stomach with her paws covering her ears, like she wasn't pleased with the news either. The realist in me concluded that the storm was upsetting her, but there was still another part of me, nagging at me that that wasn't the whole story.
Dogs got scared easily, storms happened all the time and sometimes, storms happened at the same time as milestones in people's lives. That didn't mean a thing. That didn't mean anything at all.
My eyes settled back on the window behind Dr. M. The clouds were practically racing past up above. Sporadic stabs of lightning illuminated the streets more brightly than street lamps ever could.
It didn't mean anything. But my jaw tensed anyway and I gulped all the same.
Houston, I have a bad feeling about this mission.
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~ I ~ gravity ~
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AN: Thanks for reading!
(I do recognise that the frequent skips make for jolting, choppy reading and I will try to use less in the future, but as I only kept the important bits, not using them would've meant writing out the boring, pointless in-between parts, too. Sorry about that, anyway)
- Leo