Part 4: Concerning Mistakes

It was raining outside, much the same as it had been for a week. The school grounds were mostly flooded, and the few spots of land that weren’t underwater were slippery with mud. The air was humid and smelled of mildew, or perhaps that was just the dirty laundry lying on the floor of Skyler’s room.

Skyler, the irritable seventeen-year-old, sat in front of his expensive cedar desk with his chin on the back of his hands, miserable.

“Come on, mate,” said Trent. He’d been sitting in the same room as his friend for five whole minutes before he’d gotten the courage up to speak. Skyler was so ill tempered as of late, that he wasn’t above throwing heavy objects. “It’s hurting me just looking at you.”

Skyler glanced at his friend, then looked away. He saw rain pouring, slapping the ground hard as it fell angrily down. “Why?” he asked in a hollow voice.

Trent shifted in his seat. “Because you’re my friend,” he paused, looking down at his shoes. “Or, you were my friend... at some point in time, even though you don’t seem to remember.”

The blonde haired boy tilted his chin downward and let out a sigh, as if a great weight had just been placed on his shoulders. “I remember,” he said. “It’s just hard.”

“You have only yourself to blame,” said Trent, in an uncharacteristically depressing way.

Sky looked at him with narrowed-eyes. “Thanks very much, ass hole.”

“Look,” shouted Trent, getting to his feet. “I’m just telling you the truth because you refuse to face it yourself.”

Sky stood up. “Oh, really?” he asked, stepping up to his friend.

“Yes, really.”

“Really?”

“DON’T START, SKY!” Trent yelled, standing his ground. His chest moved up and down with each rapid inhale and exhale. “I’m so SICK of you and your moping!”

“Oh, go to-”

“Shut up!” Trent commanded, refusing to back down. “You’re all broken up over some girl- excuse me, the girl. The one you’ve been in love with since eighth grade when she first stuck her tongue out at you. You loved her then, even though you were too hard headed to notice or admit it.” A clap of thunder sounded close by and it shook the very foundation of the school, but neither of the boys in the dormitory noticed. “You loved her and I’m quite certain she loved you. But, you, being the ass you are, screwed it up for good. It’s sad, it’s your fault, now it’s time to move on or bloody talk to her.”

Sky stood as rigid as a board, his eyes as hard as stone. “If you are my friend,” he said after a short moment of recovery. “Why won’t you give me the support I need?” The wind changed directions and suddenly rain was crashing into the large glass window.

Trent stepped forward and shouted to be heard over the storm, “This is what you need.”

“Oh, that’s brilliant! You come here and berate me, tell me everything’s my fault, have a good ‘Ha-Ha, Sucks to be You,’ at my expense.” He crossed his arms over his chest, “This is not what I need. All you’re doing is pouring salt in my wounds.”

“No. I’m giving you a kick in the ass.”

Sky laughed, “On, I see now. I would hate you for salting my wounds, but for good ass kicking, I’ll thank you. Makes perfect sense.”

Despite the look of anger and sarcasm on his friend’s face, Trent placed a hand on Sky’s shoulder. “Listen,” he said in a much more brotherly tone than before. “I know you. I know how your mind works.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Sky said, jerking away from his hand. “My mind is a labyrinth: complex and advanced. You couldn’t possibly understand how it works.”

Trent raised an eyebrow. “I know you don’t need a watered down version of what’s going on. You need to have everything told to you straight. That’s the way you like it.”

“In other words,” Sky began, sitting back down in the high backed chair behind his desk. He stretched his legs out and put his hands behind his head and continued, “Vodka, not beer, is the drink for me.”

Trent stared at Skyler, then shook his head. “I take it back. I don’t know how your mind works.”

Sky flashed his characteristic grin, “I told you.”

The storm stopped raging and all that was left was the rhythmic tap tap tap of raindrops meeting the window ledge, and lots of mud. Trent picked his hoodie off of the back of the sofa he’d tossed it on earlier and prepared to leave. “Sky...” he said, trying not to look at the other boy.

“What?” Skyler grumbled.

“Don’t be angry with me.”

“Too late. I’m angry,” Skyler said while he brought his hands down and placed them on his desk. He looked up and gave a faint, tired smile. “But people can be angry with each other and still be friends.”

Trent returned the half-smile, then walked up to the door. Skyler resumed his favorite sulking pose- his eyes focused on a tree out the window, while his chin rested on the back of his hands.

“Hey, Skyler,” Trent mumbled, turning around.

The blonde boy grunted, but didn’t turn his head to look.

“Get some sleep. You look like death warmed over.”

Sky blinked, then swallowed hard. “What a compliment,” he ground out.

“What are friends for?” Trent said, closing the door behind him.

***

“Heavens above,” whispered the Home Ec. teacher as she opened the door to her kitchen classroom. Her hand rose to her broad chest and her large brown eyes darted around the room, unsure of what to focus on first. The cupboards were all open. Dishes were soiled and tossed haphazardly in the direction of the sink. Flour, chocolate, walnuts, and all manner of ingredients decorated doorknobs, countertops, cooking utensils, and the face and clothes of one girl who lay asleep on the floor. “Miss Shumake!” exclaimed the teacher in her high-pitched voice, “Get up! Get up! Get UP!”

Sage Shumake blinked, then rolled over, mumbling something along the lines of, “Go away, you old prune.”

The teacher’s face turned an angry shade of red (only increasing the resemblance), then she slammed her massive handbag on the countertop. “Well I never,” she breathed. “Get yourself up right this moment, Shumake, or I’ll put you in detention for the rest of the quarter.”

Sage curled up into a ball and weakly banged her fist on the floor. She made a noise of protest and annoyance as she tried to sit up. An empty glass bottle rolled across the floor and stopped as it came into contact with Mrs. Johnson’s peach colored shoes. The home economics teacher reached down and picked up the glass, whose label read, La Belle Creole, rum of the Caribbeans. Sage looked up with watery eyes, obviously miserable. If this hadn’t been the third time that month she’d wrecked the kitchen, the teacher might have had pity on her.

“This must stop, Miss Shumake. You’ve got to get a hold of yourself,” the teacher helped Sage to her feet, then quickly took a step back. “My goodness, you smell pungent. How many of these did you drink?”

Sage shook her head and shrugged her shoulders. Her eyes were blurry and all she could think about was how depressed she was.

“Two... four? I don’t know,” sighed Sage placing her hand at her temple, “Do you mean today... or... or this week?”

“Tell me; why do you keep doing this?” Mrs.Johnson crossed her arms over her chest. “Why do you come in here, wreck my kitchen, and drink yourself into a stupor?”

“Because...” Sage staggered a few steps to the left, to where her bookbag and jacket were laying on the floor. She attempted to pick them up, but fell to her knees instead. “Because I’m worthless,” she wailed.

The teacher rolled her eyes. As challenging as the sharp witted, fork-tongued Sage was, she was much more tolerable than the blubbering, drunken Sage. The teenage girl was leaking tears and laying on her side, holding her bookbag to her chest like a much-loved teddy bear.

“Come, now,” said the teacher, “I’m running out of patience.”

“I’m worthless,” groaned Sage, “No one loves me at all. Not my dad, not my mom, not- not...” her eyes grew wide and a fresh stream of tears rolled down her flushed cheeks.

“Really, child, stop this nonsense,” Mrs. Johnson attempted to help Sage to her feet, but the girl was resisting her. The teacher’s feathered hat fell off her head and into a bowl rimmed with cookie dough. “Oh!” she yelled. “Detention for a month!”

Sage simply cried louder, which drew an audience from the hallway. Students dressed in uniforms packed into the doorway of the home economics classroom, titillated at the scandal of a drunk student being found in the kitchen. Giggles broke out among them, as well as a fresh batch of rumors of what Sage had done this time. Mrs. Johnson, having had quite enough of students, shouted, “Out! Get out all of you!” She placed her hat back on her head, covering up her gray hair. “Wait!” she commanded suddenly, “You there, the boy with the innocent expression on his face. Don’t you hang about with Shumake?”

The boy, also referred to as Trent, looked at the ground where Sage lay and nodded his head ‘yes’. He looked as though he’d rather eat rotten tomatoes than call attention to himself.

“Good,” said Mrs. Johnson, removing the peach colored gloves from her hands, “Take her away while I start cleaning up this mess.”

Trent looked horrified. Even though the fight was between Sage and Skyler, they were both taking their anger out on him.


“Get to it!” fussed the teacher. “Help her up and get her out of my classroom unless you’d like to join her in detention.”

Trent, recognizing that as a legitimate threat, hurried to perform the task he was given. Sage was still curled into a ball, which made picking her up rather easy. She was light, but when he picked up her bookbag, it nearly sent Trent to the ground. Fortunately, he regained his balance and was able to get out of the classroom and down the hall rather easily.

“Hey...” Sage blinked the tears from her eyes and looked up at him. “What happened?”

“Judging by the kitchen, I’d say the Apocalypse.”

She rolled her eyes. “Quite the wit. Now, really, what’s going on?”

Trent looked down just long enough to see the glossy-eyed death glare and answered. “How do you mean?” he asked with the hint of apprehension.

Sage tilted her head so that it rested in the crook of his shoulder. “I mean why are you carrying me. My legs aren’t broken.” A worried look crossed her face, then she said, “Are they?”

“No, you’re fine,” Trent said. But after giving her another look he continued with, “Well, you’re legs aren’t broken anyway.”

She glared. “You can put me down now.”

“Fine,” he humphed, setting her gently on her feet. As soon as she was standing on her own, she gripped his shoulder for balance.

“The floor is on the ceiling,” she announced. “WHY is the floor on the ceiling? She shielded her eyes with the palm of her hand. “I am positively dizzy,” she grumbled.

“I bet you are,” Trent said, doing his best to fight back the urge to rub it in her face that she was hung over. He remembered a time when she did not give him the same courtesy, but he was not that vindictive. “Perhaps you should sit down,” he offered.

She took a look around the deserted hallway, saw that there was nowhere cushioned to sit and said, “Perhaps you should carry me to my dorm.” She climbed back in his arms, and he did not stop her.

He walked on and they continued in silence until Sage could no longer contain what she’d been dying to ask.

“How is Skyler?” she averted her gaze as she spoke.

“He’s....” Trent hoisted her up and repositioned her in his arms. “Grumpy,” he finished.

“Ah,” Sage said, sounding disappointed.

“And miserable,” Trent continued. “Completely wretched. It’s pathetic, really.”

The emotion on Sage’s face was a mixture of happiness and sorrow. Happy that Sky was suffering as well, but sad that the boy she loved was wretched. In the end, sorrow won out and she was quieted by her thoughts.

Trent made his way through the halls, silencing curious students with a harsh glare and a shake of his head. Sage curled up and shielded her eyes with her tangled and unkempt brown hair. As they neared her dorm Trent ventured to speak.

“Sage?”

She grunted in response. Trent swallowed hard. “Why don’t you talk to Skyler?” He felt her shoulders stiffen.

“Why doesn’t he talk to me?” she retorted, bringing her hands to her lap.

“You know how he is,” Trent huffed. As light as she was, his arms were beginning to ache.

“Yeah. Stubborn, arrogant, annoying-”

“You realize you’re describing yourself,” Trent said, hoping Sage would see the irony.

She jabbed his sternum, “I’m going to- Hold on...” she dug one hand in her coat pocket then announced, “There’s a cookie in my jumper.”

Trent could not help but laugh, which was rather risky as he was walking down a narrow flight of stairs. He wobbled slightly, but righted himself.

“Why is there a cookie in my jumper?” asked a wide-eyed Sage.

“I imagine you put it there some time last night,” Trent said, shifting her in his arms. At the foot of the stairs he set her down, saying, “I need a rest.”

Her legs wobbled and she clung to the banister for support. “I need a new body,” she groaned.

“Aww, poor you,” Trent grinned. He stretched his back, then sat down on the last step.

“Yes. Quite,” Sage agreed, attempting to walk.

“It’s your own fault,” Trent said, stretching out his legs.

Sage’s expression turned angry and hostile. “It is NOT my fault,” she insisted. “This whole thing is HIS fault.” A short, excruciating silence followed. It was broken by them both speaking at once.

“Well, you know...”

“He is such an ass!”

Sage’s vehemence and volume drowned out Trent’s comment, so she continued.

“He’s an ass. What was he thinking? He should never have said those things to me. Never!” As she spoke, she waved the cookie around, which caused her to lose her balance. She fell forward only to be caught by Trent. She continued as if nothing had happened. “I’m so mad at him- I’m glad he’s miserable. Serves him right for ruining everything.”

“No,” Trent said, prying the cookie from her fingers. Sage sat in his lap, looking up at him. His arms were around her shoulders to keep her erect. “Serves you both right for being so hard-headed.”

“I’m hard-headed?” she shrieked. “No, Skyler is hard-headed. He’s a cocky, dim-witted, hard-headed son of a-”

She gasped as she saw the very boy she was speaking of round the corner. He looked like a stranger to her. His skin was pale- even more than usual, and he was much thinner than the last time she’d seen him. Though he was still a good deal away from her, the dark shadows under his eyes were pronounced. Whatever emotion he may have been feeling, he hid it well.

Trent realized how compromising the scene looked- Sage in his lap, both of them on the floor. He looked at his hand and said the first thing that came to mind. “Cookie?” he asked, offering the morsel to Skyler in his best attempt at sounding innocent.

The blond boy laughed a mirthless laugh and crossed his thin arms over his chest. “Well, I’ve been called some nasty things in my life, but never an a cocky, dim-witted, hard-headed son of a cookie.” He glared at Trent but could not bring himself to look at Sage. She, on the other hand, could not help but stare.

“And I suppose it took both your intellects combined to come up with that winning insult,” Skyler continued, standing rigid as a statue. “Well, bravo,” he said, unable to hide the hurt in his voice. “I’ve never been so insulted.” He took one last look at the two of them- his ex-best friends- then stormed away.

Trent was up like a flash, leaving Sage to sit on the floor. “Sky, wait!” He yelled, rounding the corner. Skyler was already at the end of the hallway. “Skyler! Come back!”

The other boy did not stop walking, only shouted, “My wounds are sufficiently salted, thanks. Now piss off!”

“Bugger,” Trent swore under his breath. He walked back to the staircase. “That did not go too well.”

“Thank you, Master of the Obvious,” Sage spat. “This is great. Just great. Now he thinks that you and I-” she pointed first to herself, then to him. “That is to say, he thinks that you and I were...” She crossed her arms over her chest and shook her head, “Preposterous.”

Trent did his best not to look insulted, but he was not as good at concealing his emotions at Skyler.

Sage hobbled around on shaky legs, one hand at her temple, the other on her waist. She paced the carpeted floor and let out a huge sigh. “He did not look well,” she said, half to herself.

“Thank you, Master of the Obvious," he mocked. "I’ll be sure to let him know your thoughts.”

“No, don’t!” She ordered. “You know how he is.”

“Yeah. Cocky, arrogant-”

“Let’s stop talking about him,” she interrupted, leaning against a wall. She sounded tired and defeated. “I can’t handle it.”

Trent looked away as Sage’s eyes began to water. “I’ll just be on my way,” he said, handing her her bookbag. She nodded and draped it over her back. Trent gave her a gentle pat on the back, then turned to walk away, but she grabbed him and pulled him into a tight hug. Because hugs from Sage came so rarely, Trent was a little stunned, but after the initial shock it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

“See you,” she said with a slight sniffle. “And... take care of him,” she said, pulling away. She turned and began to stagger down the hall. Trent looked after her just long enough to see she’d made it to the girls dormitories, then turned and made his way up the stairs.

“Are you going to eat that?” asked a round-faced boy, eyeing the cookie which was still in Trent’s right hand.

“Oh,” said Trent, looking down. “No.”

The boy broke into a wide grin as the cookie was handed to him. “Thanks,” he said, biting into it.