If These Wings Could Fly - Kyrie McCauley Page 0,75
be back down.”
“Okay. Study hard.”
As soon as I step into my room, something cracks against the window. It’s Joe on my windowsill.
This time I don’t open the window slowly, waiting for him to leave. I throw it open to the cold December air. He still doesn’t fly away, just shuffles his feet in irritation. I reach for my backpack and pull out the few packets of crackers I stashed for him. I squeeze the packet until the crackers break and the bag bursts. A little cloud of salt dust is released, and I can taste it in the air.
Joe waits patiently for my offering, and when I sprinkle the crackers onto the outer sill, he bows his head and drops something. It lands softly on my carpet, and glimmers in the moonlight.
A rusted little key. I drop it onto my nightstand, next to the screw and matchbook he left me at Liam’s house. I keep forgetting to give them to Juniper, but then again, her own collection has grown so much. Nearly a dozen marbles, twice as many feathers. Buttons and coins.
When I return to the window, Joe is gone, and I close it against the cold.
My window faces our front yard: the street, the truck, the tree. But it’s dark outside and bright in here, so all I see is my own reflection. Window Leighton looks kind of tired, dark circles under her eyes. I can’t see them right now, but I can feel the crows on the other side of the glass.
They are not polite guests who clear their dishes from the sink or remake their beds every morning. They aren’t visitors.
They are Vikings.
They’ve conquered this town. They now flood the sky in droves, darken Auburn like there’s a storm rolling in. They caw day and night, until the noise is part of us. Until we can’t remember what it’s like to not hear them.
And yet.
I like them.
I like the crows because they can’t be shut behind a door, or hidden behind blinds. People can’t turn away and shake their heads and say, “It isn’t our problem.”
I like the crows because they refuse to be ignored.
Chapter Fifty-Five
I’VE MADE A HUGE MISTAKE.
I promised Liam I would be at his game, but now that we are here, I regret it. We are out of town, and I feel the loss of the crows’ presence more than I thought I would.
The noise is layers deep. The low, constant murmur of people talking in their seats. The shrill whistles from the referees, and the heavy, meaty sound of so many bodies colliding on the field. The cheerleaders are right below us, in perfect unison. But something is off tonight. The clanging cowbells feel like a warning.
It is strange to have my whole family here, sitting on the bleachers in a row. Around us, it looks like the entire town showed up: the familiar faces of my teachers, and the game warden from the township meeting. Bill DiMarco is sitting two rows behind us, and he chats with my dad for a while before we take our seats at the start of the game. I spy the Auburn fire chief, who has worked with my dad to evaluate fire-damaged structures before the construction team moves in. The few times I met him, he always struck me as the most serious person I’d ever seen, even in third grade when he taught us to stop, drop, and roll and how to call 911 in an emergency.
The first quarter ends, and the bleachers feel like they could collapse under all the people jumping up and down. The Wolves are winning.
But the fire chief doesn’t look worried tonight, about the structure of the bleachers or anything else. He’s even smiling and waving a maroon-and-silver pom-pom around while he stomps his feet with the rest of the crowd.
“Huge night for Auburn’s Wolves. They haven’t gone this far in almost twenty years. Maybe this time they’ll go all the way!” This comes over the loudspeaker.
Mom nudges me. “Leighton, let’s go get some hot cider with the girls.” Her voice holds tension that is such a contrast with the mood of everyone around us. She noticed it, too. I saw it when we were all getting ready, when for a moment he thought he’d misplaced his keys, but they’d just slid to the back of the fridge, and Mom found them quickly. And on the drive here, how angry he got when someone didn’t let him merge in time,