Believing in Blue Read online

  “My mom told me this story because she knew how I was different, and she didn’t want my fear of not fitting in to stop me from living the full life she said I deserved.”

  While the girl told her story, Wren had been completely transfixed. She’d always loved a good story, but she wasn’t at all expecting a tale that seemed only the slightest bit removed from her own newly changed reality, a reality that was quickly replacing all that was ordinary with things that were truly exceptional and magical. And did the mother’s story mean that this girl was gay, like her? What about the raven in it, blue like the one she’d met the morning before? Was the girl possibly hinting at some involvement in the new, bizarre changes in Wren’s life?

  “My name’s Sia, by the way,” the girl said, standing and reaching behind her head. She pulled out the two chopsticks that had been holding her hair up, and it began to fall down around her in a rush of garnet and dark-amber waves. “I hope to see you again really soon,” she told Wren.

  Then Sia turned and walked off, and before Wren could even come close to recovering her cool, much less call after her like she wanted to, Sia had disappeared around the corner and was gone.

  Wren was still holding her mocha midair a while after the girl was entirely out of view, and it was a struggle to return to the world even once Sia had been gone for a few minutes. Then she became aware of the time and that she’d have to finish her drink quickly if she was going to make it back inside the café in time to start work. She only had two minutes till her shift began, so she gulped down the rest of the mocha. Wren wondered if the beginnings of brain freeze might possibly manage to push all the disruptive thoughts of Sia out of her head. There was no way she’d be able to concentrate on work if those thoughts stayed this firmly in her imagination. Wren’s last thought of her before she rose from her chair was a question. Could Sia be the person her father had told her about? But now all she was supposed to be thinking about was coffee, customers, and making change.

  Once she had reentered the café, Wren lifted up the counter to the left of the dessert case and went into the back room, where she put on a stiff, black apron and her best smile. It might not have been as real as the one she’d give to Sia if she ever saw her again, but it would have to do.

  It likely was the effect of tourist season on Wren’s town that caused the almost constant flow of customers that afternoon, and Wren was pretty tired by the time 5:29 rolled around. But right as she was heading to the café’s front door to flip the Open sign over, her friend Nicole burst through it, and the sight of her familiar, freckled face brought back some of Wren’s energy.

  “Hey, Wren. I hope I’m not too late?”

  “No, your timing’s fine, Nicole. Please, come in!” Her friend wrapped Wren in a sweet-smelling hug, her signature perfume comforting and welcome as Wren took in its slightly strong scent. “Do you want dinner?” Wren asked her. “I’ll have to fix mine and my parents’ at home, but I could treat you to a sandwich or something. And extra cornichons, of course.”

  Nicole walked over to her usual table, sitting down in one of the faux-velvet-cushioned chairs, and she winked over Wren’s shoulder, where, Wren saw, Shawn was just coming out of the back.

  “Nicole! Hey there, gal pal. Can we get you something?” Shawn took off her apron and laid it over the counter next to the register. “How about a chai latte? I can add some raspberry syrup. It sounds kinda gross when you hear about it, but trust me, it’s absolutely wonderful.”

  “That sounds great, Shawn. And how about a bagel with lox and cream cheese, hold the onions?”

  “Got a hot date?” Wren’s boss whisked the last bagel out of the case and put it into the toaster behind the counter.

  “Yeah, do you? With James?” Wren pulled a chair closer to Nicole and sat down, getting ready for the usual combination of jealousy and joy she experienced whenever her best friend’s boyfriend came up. Yes, she didn’t want her own boyfriend, though a female partner would have been more than welcome. But between her school’s lack of racial diversity, its lack of queer awareness, and its lack of acceptance of people who even seemed gay, it had been clear to her that dating wasn’t a good idea, or even an option. It would have to wait until after school ended, she’d decided, and maybe once she was out of high school the locals would be more forgiving of her orientation. Forgiving enough for a first date and then, hopefully, a first kiss.

  “James is…he’s taking me out tonight, and he told me he had something important to tell me. We’re going to eat at Le Nuit.”

  “Hot damn, Nicole, that place is fancy,” Shawn called out from behind the counter. “What do you think he’s going to tell you?”

  “You don’t think…you don’t think he’s going to ask you to marry him, do you?” Wren asked. She knew there was no way her college-bound friend would want anything to stand in the way of her four heavily-planned-out years. “Would you say yes, if he did? And if you did say yes, would you move to the school he’s going to?”

  “Whoa, Wren, slow down. First, no, I do not think he’s going to propose. Second, I would definitely say no, but I would let him down easy. And finally, ain’t nothing that would keep me away from Stanford. I’ve wanted to be a doctor ever since you or I can remember, and an offer of a ring and James’s hand in marriage, no matter how much I love him, isn’t going to stop me.”

  “Good. High five?” Wren raised her palm in the air.

  “Sure, you geek, but don’t let anyone know I still high-five you. It would ruin my reputation.”

  Wren and Nicole’s palms met with a sharp slap, both of them grinning and laughing. “So, Wren,” her friend asked, “what’s new since I saw you three hours ago?”

  “Lots, believe it or not.”

  “I thought so.” Shawn was coming up to their table with a steaming mug of pale-brown liquid and a plate holding the food Nicole had ordered. She put them down in front of Nicole and flipped a chair around, crossing her arms over its top as she sat across from the two of them.

  “What do you mean, ‘I thought so’?” Wren asked.

  “I saw you with that girl, outside. You looked like you were either in heaven or about to throw up when she walked over to you.”

  “That pretty much sums it up.” Wren laughed and looked down, unable to meet either of her tablemates’ eyes.

  “So, do you have a hot date for tonight, too?” When Wren looked up at the end of Nicole’s sentence, Nicole wiggled her eyebrows at her and nudged her in the ribs with her elbow a few times.

  “Not at all. She left before we could even have much of a conversation. I don’t think I’ll see her ever again,” Wren told them, although as she said those words, she realized she didn’t truly believe them.

  Nicole pressed her for information, and during the next ten minutes, Wren had to lie to her friend about her entire conversation with Sia. She couldn’t tell her about the story, because even if she left out her own opinion of the girl’s tale, she didn’t want to make her sound nuts. After all, even though she didn’t know the first thing about Sia, she had a good feeling about her, and she didn’t want her best friend or Shawn getting the chance to talk her out of her new crush.

  Right around six, once Wren finished doing her share of that day’s cleanup, she got ready to say good-bye to Nicole and Shawn. “I’m going to try a new recipe for meatballs tonight. It calls for fennel seed, and I just picked up a bottle of it at Nancy’s Fancies.”

  “Your stepdad doesn’t deserve food that nice, you know,” Nicole told her, her smile and squinted eyes replaced by a much more serious look as she stared Wren down. “And you shouldn’t be spending any of your income from here on expensive ingredients.”

  “I…I know that. I like doing it, though, and at least I enjoy the added complexity of the food’s flavors. But I have to go now,” Wren told her. Neither Nicole nor Shawn knew even half of what she had to deal with at home, just that it wasn’t always all that great. Despite her closeness to Nicole, she’d nev
er told her exactly how bad her stepdad got, or how much her mom drank, instead keeping her friend as far away from her home and the truth as she possibly could. “My stepdad’s going to be home at eight, and he likes to have his dinner ready when he gets there.”

  “I don’t know why your mom can’t make it. Didn’t she used to cook dinner for you and your dad every night?”

  “Yeah,” Wren said as she reached the door, holding in the sigh that was desperately trying to escape her lips. “She’s the reason I’m such a good cook.”

  As Wren started her walk home, she thought about her dad’s letter, and Sia, and the fact that as close as she and Nicole were, there were far too many things she could never, ever tell her friend. But she’d kept things from Nicole for years, so she was used to lying to her, despite the fact that all her secrets were often fighting hard to come out.

  At least with her wings, and her dad’s letter, and Sia’s possible involvement in everything…at least with them, she knew she was doing the right thing. Nicole couldn’t know about these three things. No one on the entire planet could find out. Because she’d either get locked up in the loony bin or locked away in a government lab to be studied, and she wanted to find out if the letter she’d received the day before held the truth. She wanted to know if she was finally going to see her dad again.

  And she wanted to know if, just like her, he had wings.

  Chapter Three

  Her mom was in the living room watching TV when Wren got home, her breath smelling strongly of vodka when she kissed Wren hello on the cheek. It was no longer a surprise to come home to her mom and have her be drunk. And her stepdad Tim’s insults, both to her mom and to her, were also something Wren had gotten used to. Not that they had ever stopped hurting, but at least she wasn’t as surprised as she used to be when one came flying in her direction.

  So Wren expected tonight to be business as usual: a delicious meal that Wren would make all by herself, a drunk mom, and a stepfather who wouldn’t even care how much effort she’d put into the food.

  Denise did care, though, proving this by asking Wren the question she made a point of asking every single night. The one that let Wren know she was still deeply loved, her mom’s voice full of that love, even if she always chose to be intoxicated when she asked it. “What’s for dinner, sweetheart? I’m looking forward to it already, whatever it happens to be.”

  “I’m making spaghetti with meatballs, and garlic bread. I’m trying a new recipe for the meatballs, too,” she told Denise, a weak smile finding its way onto her face while she looked down at her mom.

  “That sounds great. I’m pretty hungry, too, Wren. When will I get to eat your delicious meal?”

  “I’m going to head upstairs for a bit. Then I’ll be back down a little before six thirty, and if you want, you can come into the kitchen and watch.” Wren always extended this offer to her mom, but the answer was always a kindly worded “no.”

  “Oh, hon, I’m so sorry, but I’m really, really tired.” Her mom sighed and turned her eyes away from Wren and back to the TV. “Rain check?”

  Wren knew “tired” was code for “drunk.” She also knew her mom would never join her in the kitchen the way she wanted her to. She would never kick Tim to the curb, either, and so Wren was in charge of making sure her mom had it as easy as she could make it for her. It was why she wasn’t going away to college. Someone had to make sure Tim never got worse. She thought of her dad’s letter, then. Could she actually abandon her mom, even if an entire world was depending on her?

  It was a world where she’d never been and a father who had abandoned her, even if both were desperate for her help. But maybe it was time to place all of this torture firmly in her past.

  Instead of breathing any of these thoughts to Denise, she squeezed her on the shoulder and started to leave the room. “I love you, Mom. See you in short while.”

  “I love you too, Wren. Have fun in your room.”

  Wren went up the stairs and into her bedroom, where she shut the door and turned on her stereo; her favorite oldies station was in the middle of a song by a band her dad had gotten her into while he was still around. His leaving made sense now, or at least it seemed like it did. If he was telling the truth in his letter to her, she would gladly forgive him. She’d been mad at him for far too long, but her anger had never managed to overcome how much she missed having him around.

  After lying on her bed for a while, she pulled her journal out from under her mattress and began to write.

  Dear Me,

  First the wings, and then a letter from dad. From Torien, who I haven’t heard anything from, anything at all, since he left me and Mom…abandoned us. I wonder if he would have done that if he’d known what my stepdad would be like and how hard it would be for Denise to scrape by and keep me fed and in clothes until she met my jerk stepdad. I’d love to leave Tim behind, far behind, but my mom? Could I really force her to stay here, without me to help? All alone with HIM?

  I guess I am mad at her for staying with Tim, I think. But I still love her, very much. Just like Torien says he loves me. But I don’t know. I just don’t know!

  At first, I thought the wings were really cool, but now they seem like a problem. Sure, maybe someday I’ll be able to fly, which is pretty awesome.

  But my mom can’t fly…she doesn’t have wings, and I can’t leave her behind.

  If I even end up going…and if this girl even shows up, whenever that’s supposed to happen. God, was my dad’s letter ever vague about everything that may happen to me! I mean, WHY am I so important? Why do I suddenly matter so much?

  And speaking of girls, I do wonder if Sia…if that’s even her real name…is THE girl who’s supposed to show me the way into this other world, or at least teach me how to fly. I’ve tried every night in my secret spot, but although I have been able to release my wings from my back on command every time now, I haven’t had any luck at all with lifting off the ground. I’m probably just doing it wrong…and this girl, whoever she is (please, please let her be Sia!), may not even be able to teach me, maybe because I’m not in the right world to learn. No wonder I never felt like I fit in. I’m not even human!

  Wren closed her journal and hid it back beneath her mattress. Usually, no one came into her room, except for her mom on rare occasions, telling her that a show or movie she liked was on TV. Her mom did still love her, but not enough, not enough to leave Tim or to stop drinking. So maybe it was time to let go of all of her ties here and go to a place where she mattered, very much, to everyone there.

  But in this world, the way she mattered right then was in her ability to get a meal onto the dinner table in the next hour. She got up off her bed and steeled herself to go downstairs, to fix dinner for a mom she loved and a stepdad she pretty much hated. At least two out of the three of them would enjoy this dinner, as long as her meatballs turned out well.

  Wren walked down the stairs and past the living room, into the house’s large kitchen. She had been excited about the kitchen at first, looking forward to cooking with her mom on the fancy stove, shiny silver and brand-new. She’d also been excited at first about not being poor any longer, but although she stayed excited about the kitchen, her mom only cooked in it with her for about six months, before the bottle made her lose her interest. And the money, that had never made up for Tim being such an asshole. Not even close, not even when he had treated her to the occasional front-row-seat concert tickets or a fancy coat. It was almost as if he’d still wanted to earn her love, but that hadn’t made any sense, because it had been clear for a long time that he didn’t love her. No one spoke like that to someone if they cared about them.

  Wren got out a pan and sliced an onion, then crushed a clove of garlic. She poured what she hoped was the ideal measure of olive oil into the large pan, then added a bay leaf and a small spoonful of oregano along with the onion and garlic. While they browned, she turned on the kitchen stereo and tuned to her “cooking station,” one that was always
playing lively, danceable jazz. It was music she’d always thought was perfect for both cooking and kissing, although she’d never done the second to music. She’d never kissed anyone without it, either. She continued to make the sauce, humming a few notes here and there when slightly familiar songs came on, and even belting out the lyrics to one of her favorite songs from the forties. She might have been off-key, but that had never stopped her before, at least while she was alone.

  Once the sauce was ready to simmer for the required hour, she started on the meatballs. She was really hoping the recipe would turn out well—she always got a little nervous when she tried a recipe for the first time. A little of that nervousness came from not wanting to eat something gross. But most of her apprehension was from her stepdad’s responses all the times she’d either ruined a meal when she was much younger or when he’d said the meal was inedible crap, despite the fact that she’d followed the recipes perfectly. Her mom always seemed almost overly appreciative, proud of her cooking and then some. However kind her compliments happened to be, though, they had never quite made up for Tim’s polar opposite and often furious responses.