Midnight on Strange Street, page 2
“He’s used that line before,” said Avery, putting her hands on her hips and shouting back, “Super original, Jensen!”
Dani smacked her friend’s shoulder. “Don’t engage, remember? That only makes him do it more.”
Avery shrugged, a little smile curling up her sunburned face. “He makes himself an easy target.”
Dani rolled her eyes. In a lineup of nine registered race teams, theirs was one of only two with any girl members. Hazard Hill was a sea of guy skaters, all slapping each other’s backs and calling each other “bro.” If anyone made for easy targets, it was the Sardines, a team composed primarily of girls, and the only one in the league with a girl captain: Dani.
“Mitchell’s a giant turd,” said Bastian Gil, the Sardines’ only boy member. “Just avoid the smell.”
“Bastian,” said Lola, tugging on her slider gloves. “Don’t be mean.”
Bastian tapped his twin sister’s daisy-printed helmet. “How many times has he given you crap for this?”
Lola’s mouth twisted.
“A lot of times,” Bastian answered for her. “He’s the enemy.”
“Pfrsh!” Lola blew out a puff of air. “It’s all in the way you look at things.”
“Thank you, Lola,” said Dani, “for those motivational words. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to add some of my own.”
The team huddled in a circle, placing their arms on each other’s shoulders and ducking their heads until their helmets touched.
“Okay,” said Dani, her heart beginning to pump with adrenaline. “We’re ready for this. We’ve done the work, we’ve put in the practice, and we’ve beaten our best time. Most days, it’s about the love of the sport. But today, it’s about beating that jerk and his stupid team.”
“Dani,” protested Lola, but Dani continued. This was her motivational speech.
“They’re the actual worst,” she said. “We can’t let them get first.”
“Hey.” Avery grinned. “You rhymed.”
“No interruptions!” said Dani. “If we—”
“Yeah, Avery, stop interrupting,” Bastian interrupted.
Dani gave all three of her teammates an irritated glare, but soon smiles cracked on every face, including her own. Dani guessed they wouldn’t be the Sardines if she could ever get through a pep talk in one go.
“If we concentrate,” she said, “and we listen to each other, and we focus on the goal, there’s no way we can lose. Today is our day. We’re gonna pulverize those Grackles. Are you with me?”
“Totally,” said Avery, putting a hand in the middle of their huddle.
“Yep,” said Bastian, adding his own.
“I guess,” sighed Lola, gingerly placing hers atop the others.
Dani topped the right-hand pileup and shouted, “Today’s our day!”
“Today’s our day!” the others echoed, throwing their hands in the air.
Dani tried to ignore the snickering at her back. Mitchell and his teammates had started a chant of their own: “Smelly sardines! Smelly sardines! Smellyyy sardines!”
Super original.
“Hey,” said Avery, leaning in close to Dani. “You cool?”
Dani shook the sound of the taunting Grackles out of her ears. Who cared what they said? What mattered was what Dani did. She gave Avery a thumbs-up.
Dani didn’t have to ask Avery the same question. When it came to glowboarding, Avery Miller was always cool. She’d only been doing this for a year, but she was the second-strongest skater on the team. That’s why Dani had placed her at the back of the draft train. Avery had the best control, as well as a knack for knowing the precise right time to whip up and cross the finish line.
Dani, the strongest skater, led the train. She took the brunt of the draft, set the pace, and forged their path. There was nothing Dani liked better than the few windswept moments between start and finish, when she was zipping into that wall of wind, her teammates at her back.
Dani loved skating the hill individually, too—just her and her board, leaving behind an aftershock of glow in the hot night air. That kind of skating required different skills, like better balance and navigation. But there was something special about draft train, and not just because it was the only Junior Glowboarding League event that the Sardines were old enough to qualify for. No, there was magic in a draft train. Together, linked hand in hand, the members of the Sardines became something beyond themselves, something bigger. When they were skating in perfect rhythm, Dani swore she could hear three other hearts beating in time with her own. Drafting made them a team.
Draft train was all about seconds and fractions of seconds. The teams skated one at a time, their only challenger the clock as they raced to see who could speed down the hill and whip up their crosser the quickest. Teams had to remain connected—hand in hand—until the last moment, when the crosser broke ahead of the pack and skated over the finish line, securing their official race time.
Today, the Sardines were last in the race lineup, which was both the best and worst position. Best, because the team knew the exact race time they had to beat: two minutes, eighteen seconds, set by the Grackles. Worst, because everyone knew the exact time the Sardines had to beat. And everyone was watching. The pressure was on.
We’ve done better than 2:18, Dani reminded herself. At last week’s practice, the Sardines had managed 2:15. They were ready.
Dani switched on her glowboard, which hovered inches off the ground, and concentrated on its familiar hum. There were a few stutters and coughs as it started up—to be expected, with a beat-up secondhand. But the board hadn’t failed Dani yet, and it wouldn’t in this race, either. It couldn’t.
She crouched into position and tilted her chin up, focusing on the game official’s laser flag. That flag was synchronized with the timekeeper’s watch at the finish line.
Time. It was all about time.
“Mark!” the official shouted.
Dani’s muscles tensed, all taut rubber bands ready to be flung free, over the starting line.
“Set!”
Today was their day.
“Go!”
The official brought down the flag.
And Dani was off, pushing her left sneaker against the asphalt track. From here on out, there could be no more contact with the ground; the team had to let their boards, the track’s incline, and their formation do the rest of the work.
Dani’s form atop her board was perfect, her timing just right. Every afternoon, on school days and weekends alike, she’d practiced until each muscle was in place.
Dani gained speed, the asphalt flashing beneath the board. Time to link, she thought, and in that instant she felt pressure on her hands, which she had clasped at her back like a duck tail. The pressure turned to a grip, as Lola curled her fingers into Dani’s. Behind Lola, Bastian clasped his sister’s hand, and behind him, Avery completed the chain. Dani felt the change and accommodated, tipping her head at exactly the right angle to press through the oncoming air.
Now came the very best part of the race. Dani shut her eyes as the growing speed thrilled up her bones. She felt alive. Deep inside, right above her stomach, a concentrated heat pulsed like a blue-hot star, urging Dani on, whispering, Faster, faster.
She opened her eyes to the rushing world—cedars, shrubs, and jagged stone walls—turned purple in the shadows of twilight. For this minute, the world was silent, save for the hum of four glowboards in alignment. Dani guided the train, leaning into the curves, shaving off milliseconds of race time with the precise bend of her knees. Then the Sardines swung around the final bend, and the finish line came into sight.
Spectators were shouting, some holding up phones, others signs. Dani blocked them out, keeping her head down and her thinking sharp. They neared the glowing red line, closer and closer. They had practiced this a hundred times before. Bastian would swing out Avery, and she’d cross the line ahead of the team, quick as could be. Closer and closer to the line until—
Now, Bastian! Dani thought.
But she didn’t feel the change of weight in her hand.
Dani frowned. Bastian knew his cue. There was still time. Any moment now, he’d act. The moments passed, though, and only then did Dani feel the whip. Avery sped close by, but her balance was off, and she pinwheeled her arms as, together, she and Dani crossed the finish line. The Sardines broke away from each other and crouched, spinning to a stop with the aid of their slider gloves. For a moment, they were quiet, puffing out breath.
Around them, the crowd was cheering, but a cold surge of defeat filled Dani’s body. They’d messed it up. How could they have messed it up? They’d practiced so much. Why had Bastian hesitated? Avery turned to Dani, like she was about to speak, but then Lola and Bastian were on their feet, locked in the arms of their parents, Mr. and Mrs. Gil.
“Way to go!” Mr. Gil cried. “We’re so proud of you.”
Dani stood, her arms tight against her chest. Mr. Gil was nice—much nicer than Dani’s parents, who never showed up at races—but he was wrong. The Sardines had screwed up.
Mrs. Gil released Bastian from her hug and beamed at the rest of the team. “Well, you all are something,” she said, pumping one fist in the air. “Go, Sardines!”
Dani smiled halfheartedly. Inside, though, a blue flame burned at her ribs.
“OFFICIAL TIME!”
A race official in a glowing green jacket was shouting into a bullhorn. Mitchell and the rest of his buddies had run down Hazard Hill to join the crowd at the finish line.
No, Dani thought. I don’t want to hear the time, not now.
“Sardines!” the official called out, holding up his stopwatch. “Two minutes, twenty seconds!”
There was a giant whoop in the crowd. The Grackles were shouting and hugging, and Mitchell, who stood in the midst of it all, shot a big smirk right at Dani.
The Sardines had lost by two seconds.
Two whole seconds.
It wasn’t their day after all.
Bastian Gil sat in the dark, looking up at fake stars.
He’d created these constellations using a stepladder and sticky tack. There was Babe Ruth Major, a baseball bat in mid-swing, and Avast, the pirate hat. His favorite was Martimus caninius, a runaway dog mid-bound, leash flapping useless behind him.
Whenever Bastian got fed up with his current art project—a papier-mâché or a pastel self-portrait or a new glowboard design—he’d flip off the lights of his bedroom and crane his neck to trace the stars. But today, it wasn’t a project that had Bastian frustrated. It was the May Day Draft Train Bonanza, and what had happened in the final seconds of the race.
As many times as Bastian had tried to reshape the memory, Dani’s words were still there: Now, Bastian!
He had heard Dani speak—not in his ears, but in his head.
That wasn’t right, though. Dani didn’t belong there. No one belonged there but Lola. Bastian couldn’t remember a time he hadn’t shared thoughts with his sister. Twin telepathy—that’s what they called it. That’s what Bastian had always thought it was. He and Lola had never told another person about their secret.
But yesterday, on the racetrack, Dani had changed all that.
Bastian had been so shocked that his mind had gone blank. He’d missed the whip, throwing Avery out way too late. The Sardines had lost the race, and Mitchell Freaking Jensen had bragging rights again…and all because of Bastian.
He hadn’t been able to face Dani or Avery after that. He’d stayed close to his parents, who, oblivious to the team’s glum mood, had offered to take them all out for ice cream to celebrate their fourth-place “victory.”
Of course Dani and Avery both had places to be, so in the end it was just the four Gils waiting in line at the Frozen Spoon. Bastian’s double-scoop chocolate coconut fudge had tasted more like dirt than sugar.
At least Lola hadn’t brought up their race time, or the fact that the Grackles’ winning streak remained unbroken. For Lola, glowboarding was never about ranks or prizes, so at least she didn’t hate Bastian. On the drive home, she’d reached across the backseat and squeezed his hand. Don’t worry, she’d told him. There’s always next time.
Bastian’s skin had prickled at his sister’s message. Maybe, if Bastian hadn’t known what that connection felt like, he would have brushed off the incident at the race entirely. He would’ve explained it away, convincing himself that he’d made up Dani’s voice. After all, whose first guess would be telepathy? But Bastian knew what telepathy was; he and Lola shared it every day. He knew, without a doubt, that Dani Hirsch had been inside his mind.
Had she felt it, too, on the racetrack? Did Dani know why Bastian had screwed up? A part of him wanted to walk down Cedar Lane, two yards over, knock on the Hirsches’ front door, and explain everything. But what if Dani was still red-hot angry? She had a problem letting things go. Take Mitchell, for instance, or worse, Zander Poxleitner.
Then there was Avery. She would forgive him, Bastian knew, but he’d made her look like the bad skater.
How was he going to face the team again?
“Hi.”
Bastian looked down from the stars, back to earth, where Lola was peeking through a crack at his bedroom door.
Time for Nando and dinner, she told him.
The thought was sudden, slicing through Bastian, and he winced.
“Bastian?” Lola said, concerned. “What’s wrong?”
She pushed open the door and walked inside, flooding the bedroom with light. Bastian’s constellations faded away to nothing but plastic adhesives.
“It’s…nothing,” Bastian said. “I’m okay.”
“No, you’re not.” Lola knelt beside him, and Bastian felt a familiar soft prod at his brain. “You were like that in the car yesterday. What’s going on? Are—” The prodding stopped, and Lola looked up, eyes big. “Are my thoughts hurting you?”
The twins had learned how to keep each other out of their heads when they were younger: They could build a wall, brick by brick, with thoughts that said Private, Keep Away, None of Your Business. Bastian built that wall now. Lola fell back, her butt smacking the floor. Then she readjusted her tilted flower crown, giving Bastian an injured look.
“You don’t have to do that,” she said. “Just tell me you don’t want to talk.”
Bastian looked away, to the framed photo sitting on his dresser. There was Nando in his college graduation gown and cap, one arm around each of the twins. What would Nando say if he were here now?
The door is always open, he’d told Bastian, the day he’d left for DC.
Bastian gritted his teeth. Before Nando had left Callaway, he and Bastian used to talk about things—really talk. About school, and about glowboarding, and especially about Bastian’s art. His parents and Lola didn’t understand. Mrs. Gil would say, Oh, how beautiful! And Mr. Gil would say, That’s impressive work. And Lola would say, I wish I could draw like that. It was all nice stuff, but that was the problem: Bastian didn’t want to hear nice things about his work. He wanted to hear true things. Like what he’d gotten wrong and what he could improve. For a long time, Nando was the only one who told him those real things. He told Bastian when his pastel landscape was oversaturated with green, and he told him when he thought Bastian needed to be more daring in his glowboard designs. Nando got art.
Then Bastian had met Zander—a new neighbor on Cedar Lane—and they’d become friends. After a while, Bastian had decided to share his designs. For the first time, someone other than Nando got Bastian’s work, too. Zander had spent hours in Bastian’s room, looking over his artwork. He’d told Bastian what he liked and didn’t about his glowboard designs. Bastian had trusted his opinion; he’d trusted Zander.
Then Zander had moved away from Strange Street to another part of town and turned traitor, and once again, Nando was the only person left that Bastian could go to.
But now Nando was in a faraway city, where he’d grown a beard and changed his last name to Jones. Now he only called once a week, to talk to the whole family. He no longer looked at Bastian’s art, and Bastian had no one else to ask about it. Now Bastian had no one to ask about this: Dani’s unexpected thoughts in his head. He didn’t want to tell Lola and freak her out. He definitely wasn’t going to tell his parents.
The door is always open, Nando had told him. Bastian just wished Nando’s door wasn’t fifteen hundred miles away.
“Fine,” Lola sighed, and Bastian realized that she had been waiting, all this time, for him to speak. “If you don’t want to talk, that’s fine.”
Lola stood, her paper flowers bobbing on her head. She looked so serious, and Bastian felt a pang of guilt. On instinct, he made a funny face he knew would lighten things up and said, “It’s a guy thing, that’s all.”
Sure enough, Lola broke into a smile. “Gross,” she said, backing away. “Then I don’t want to know. You are still coming out, right? After dinner?”
It was Sunday night—Sardines Night. And as much as Bastian didn’t want to face Dani and Avery yet, not showing up would only make things worse. Sardines Night was a sacred tradition.
With a sigh of resignation, Bastian toppled the half-formed wall, opening his mind to Lola again. Wouldn’t miss it, he thought, pushing the words to her.
“Good,” Lola said, and then she set off down the stairs.
Bastian didn’t follow right away. His blue flame welled and sparked, just behind his ribs, as he settled his gaze on his glowing desk lamp.
The lamp wobbled slightly, and then, in an instant, clicked off.
The lightbulb was still sizzling as Bastian headed downstairs.
The Gils ate family dinner together every night. No one had removed the fifth chair at the table, even though Nando had moved away ten months ago. He’d been hired to work a government job in Washington, DC, that was so secretive he couldn’t say a word about it during his weekly video calls. Instead, Nando talked about the traffic and the cherry blossom trees, about his annoying coworker, Vincent Smith, and how the nation’s capital was everything and nothing like it looked on TV.
