Icarus, p.6
Icarus, page 6
Julian watched him, worried, but Icarus just grimaced and cleared his desk into his backpack.
He took one last sip of the smoothie, handed it back to Julian, and followed Mr. Harrison into the hallway.
Great
Mr. Harrison had a hammy red face and brown hair that was starting to salt and pepper. Icarus rarely spent much time talking privately with teachers, because he was simply too boring and average to catch their notice. He was a straight B student. He never caused the sort of problems that would warrant negative attention or made the kinds of achievements that would earn positive attention. His freedom depended on it.
It was uncomfortable to be in a mostly abandoned hallway alone with this man.
“Are you doing okay?”
That was not what Icarus thought he would hear.
“Uh, I’m fine, I just . . .” Icarus thought quickly. “My upstairs neighbors just had a new baby and the walls are thin.”
Mr. Harrison nodded and crossed his arms with a short chuckle. “That would explain it. All that wailing and you don’t even get to have a cute baby in the house. My wife and I didn’t sleep for four months after our first. I was a mess, even walked right into a stop sign.”
Icarus smiled and rubbed his eyes. “Yeah, it’s . . . all night long and first thing in the morning. I’m sorry about earlier.”
Mr. Harrison shook his head, “No problem, kid. I get it, but I’m still going to have to send you to the guidance counselor for the rest of the period. Talk to her, take a nap, whatever.” He handed Icarus a bright pink hall pass, then put his hand on the doorknob to return to class.
Thinking again, Mr. Harrison turned back to him. “The key is to stop sleeping when you’re supposed to and start sleeping whenever you can,” he said. “See if the guidance counselor can work through your schedule to come up with one that works better for you. Good luck. And try not to let this happen again.”
Icarus nodded and shoved the pass in his pocket.
Drake
The guidance counselor’s office was small, cramped, and hot.
Her desk was at the back of the room in front of a window, which was wide open to let in the fall chill. There was a slender blue cot surrounded by a privacy curtain, where they sent kids who were sick if the nurse’s office overflowed. There were two bean bag chairs and a small bookshelf filled with volumes with titles such as Divorce and Me and Discovering My Sexuality and Children of Addicts.
The guidance counselor herself, Mrs. Drake, seemed nice in a “lady you hope you never have to talk to” sort of way.
She looked up when Icarus opened the door, mid-bite of a sandwich.
“Oh! Sorry, excuse me. Come in,” she said, waving him over and rewrapping her lunch. “What can I help you with?”
Icarus gave her the pink slip and settled into the chair across from her desk. “Mr. Harrison sent me here.”
“So, what’s going on?” She brushed crumbs off her pink sweater.
“I’ve been distracted because I’m tired,” Icarus said bluntly. “He said I could sleep here?”
Mrs. Drake tilted her head to the side. “What has you so tired these days?” she asked, in a Therapy Voice.
Great.
Icarus closed his eyes and then opened them. “My neighbor just had a kid and it’s loud in the middle of the night,” he lied.
Mrs. Drake smiled. “So is this more of a recent thing?”
Icarus shrugged. “Yeah, it’s only been a few days. I’m sure I’ll get used to it and it won’t be a problem in class anymore.”
Mrs. Drake turned to her computer to figure him out. “Well, I haven’t gotten anything from the other teachers about you, so you can feel free to use the cot. But while you’re here, is there anything else you might need to talk about?”
There absolutely was, but Icarus instantly regretted his hesitation. He knew he had to say something, and something truthful or she would start digging.
“I’m . . . uh . . . anxious about what I’m going to be doing after graduation.” That sounded safe. “I’m not sure what kind of jobs I’d be good at and it’s . . . stressing me out.”
“Oh! That’s not a problem. I can set you up with a meeting with the post-secondary coach and he can advise you on college programs and trade schools. We can talk about it if you want. But discussion needs action like a cake needs salt,” she said chipperly. “Want me to set an alarm for you?”
“Yes, please.” Icarus got up and slung his backpack next to the cot. He took off his sweater and rolled it up into a pillow, then pulled the curtain shut around him.
He could hear Mrs. Drake take her sandwich back out, and let the crinkling and the hum of the boiler put him to sleep.
When the alarm rang, Icarus had a new hall pass and a meeting with the college coach that he had no intention of attending.
He didn’t need it. He already had his occupation.
Rise
When Icarus got home, he threw together a lasagna and went to pick out his outfit.
Normally, Icarus wore Chelsea boots to school, but he did have tennis shoes. His gray corduroys had the most stretch for climbing, but they were too bright. He settled on navy blue chinos and just decided to be thankful they weren’t jeans.
Icarus had a wool beanie that he had cut eye holes into years ago when he had to do a job and his balaclava was in the wash. He could probably roll it down in an emergency to shield his face, though it wouldn’t be much use if Mr. Black grabbed him.
Icarus wore climbing gloves when he had to scale exteriors, but they just looked too professional, so instead he decided to tape his fingers with foam flex tape.
It wasn’t the most . . . fashionable . . . outfit. Helios had only ever seen him in his insulated tights, tactical jacket, mask, and socks. So, he’d probably assume that however Icarus was dressed tonight was how he dressed all the time. This bothered Icarus more than he’d like to admit.
Angus scanned him from head to toe when Icarus settled down at the dinner table.
“You’re going out tonight?”
Icarus nodded, but kept quiet.
Angus made a gruff noise in the back of his throat, but didn’t ask any more questions.
Light
Icarus rubbed his hands together and looked at the side of the Black mansion. This was going to hurt.
Helios’s room was on the third floor, which meant three stories without gloves, rope, or protective padding. Icarus clenched his hands into fists and let them go, spreading his fingers out wide, then took a deep breath and jumped. His fingertips caught the familiar jut of the first-floor window and he swung the bottom of his body up to brace himself on the wall.
There were large trees on this side of the building, so he always entered from here and made his way wherever he needed in the house. The second floor had the easiest entrance, and the first was the hardest. The third was somewhere in the middle.
The wind rustled the leaves around him, loud enough to cover the scrape of his shoes against the brick. His fingers were already smarting from the uneven pressure of holding himself up. Icarus turned and reached out for the thick tree branch that you could only reach from fifteen feet up and with a sigh of relief, slithered onto it. He glanced down at the freefall beneath him, and then back up to the dark closed window.
Climbing the tree was much easier. Bark was worse on his hands than brick or siding, but at least if he fell, he would probably hit a branch and have a chance to catch himself, as opposed to just clean sailing right to the ground.
He slid up a weaker branch and edged toward the end of it, just managing to grip the bottom of Helios’s windowsill. With a strength he was sure Luca would be jealous of, Icarus dug his elbows into the brick to brace his feet on the vertical surface once more. Then he hoisted himself up until the tips of his toes were on the sill. The curtain was half drawn and the room was completely dark.
Normally, with his gloves, rope, and gear, he’d be able to hook himself to the outside so that he could use both hands to pry the window lock open and let himself in. But now if he leaned back at all, he would go hurtling twenty-five feet down. He pulled his pointer finger away from the window frame and tapped quietly on the glass.
The wind blew hard and he closed his eyes, hair whipping around his face, as he tightened his grip and tried not to fall.
Rush
The window creaked quietly as Helios opened it with a dour expression. It shifted quickly to alarm as Icarus reached out and grabbed his forearm tight.
“Pull me in,” he demanded. “I don’t have ropes.”
Helios hoisted him in. Icarus dropped to the floor on his toes, silent as a cat.
Helios rubbed at his arm, which was no doubt bruising rapidly.
“Why are you . . . where’s your stuff?” Helios whispered, taking in Icarus’s disheveled casual appearance.
Icarus shrugged.
“I’m here. What now,” he said bluntly.
Helios moved back from Icarus and the window, slipping into the darkness behind him. Moonlight blue flowing down his form like the tide.
“Here,” he said and slipped back onto his bed, pulling the curtain to the side for Icarus to follow him.
The drapery around the bed was thick enough to block most of the light and a good deal of noise. It was warmer behind these cloth walls and smelled curious. Like animal, like dust: this combination of young and old Helios.
Helios stuck his arm outside the curtain and rummaged around on his nightstand to pull in a flashlight as Icarus toed off his shoes.
Then, they were face to face, legs crisscrossed. The light between them casting their features in pink, red, and shadow.
“How have you been?” Helios asked. “Were you able to return the statue?”
Icarus hesitated for a moment, then nodded. “It’s back where it belongs.”
The silence between them was heavy. Icarus could feel the warm puff of Helios’s breath in the small space. His knee was close enough to touch, but Icarus made sure they didn’t.
Helios followed Icarus’s gaze.
“It feels weird to be able to talk to you, but now you won’t say anything,” Helios admitted.
Icarus cleared his throat and tried.
“Do you still have my mask?”
Helios rolled his eyes and reached beyond the curtain again. Icarus heard a drawer opening and closing, then Helios shoved a familiar piece of cloth at him.
Icarus snatched it gratefully and without thinking, held it close to smell it.
“It reeks of chemicals. You do too,” Helios commented, leaning back. “Like a Home Depot.”
“That’s probably what my house smells like,” Icarus admitted, pulling the mask over his head.
“Wait—no. Don’t put it back on!” Helios exclaimed.
Icarus paused. “What? Why?”
“I want to see your face.”
Icarus grimaced. “It’s not special.” He tugged the rest of the mask on anyway.
Helios’s frown was exaggerated by the flashlight underneath his chin.
“You seemed really upset when I took it off the first time. Worse than just the shock of getting caught,” Helios said, clearly to himself. “I don’t know why I expected any different now.”
“I wasn’t—it wasn’t. I don’t know you, and you were touching me,” Icarus hissed.
“Oh. I was planning to ask about that. You’re really weird about that. You don’t seem to have any difficulty manhandling me, but god forbid we do the reverse.”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Icarus huffed; his face was starting to get hot.
“I’m not the kind of person who violates boundaries, dude, don’t worry. I’m not going to touch you if you don’t want.” Helios threw both hands up defensively, accidentally dropping the flashlight in the process.
The beam wheeled crazily around the canopy, then before either of them could grab it, it fell onto the floor with a loud thunk.
“Shit,” Helios hissed, snatching it off the ground.
He held up a hand in a quick gesture for silence and they both paused to listen. With a thrum of dread, Icarus heard footsteps advancing quickly toward the room.
Helios’s clear eyes snapped to Icarus’s in terror.
Icarus tugged back the bed’s drapery and snatched his shoes from the ground. He hid in the corner of the bed, lying flat across the mattress, shoes tucked under his chest.
As Helios threw the thick comforter over Icarus’s head, the door swung open.
Cry
“What are you doing in here?”
Mr. Black’s voice . . . Icarus had never heard it so loud or so close.
Helios scooted up the bed, pulling Mr. Black’s attention farther away from where Icarus was hiding.
“I’m sorry, I was reading. I dropped my flashlight, I’m sorry.”
The footsteps came deeper into the room until Icarus could hear Mr. Black’s breathing. He clutched the edge of the comforter tighter.
“When I say go to bed, I mean go to bed.”
“Please, I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” Helios stuttered apologies like punctuation.
There was a sound like nails scraping cardboard and a gasp as the bed jolted. Silence, then the unmistakable sound of a book slamming into a wall.
Then it was very quiet.
“Why is your window open?” Mr. Black demanded.
Icarus held his breath as Helios’s father looked around the room.
“I . . . I . . .” Helios sounded truly shaken.
Mr. Black wrenched the window open farther to look outside it, then slammed it closed.
“I’m going to sleep, I’m sorry. It won’t happen again! I’m sorry!” Helios begged shrilly as Mr. Black did something Icarus couldn’t hear, but could feel as the bed trembled.
Icarus reached out a hand under the comforter and clasped Helios’s ankle, firm. It wasn’t much, it wasn’t. But he hoped it helped.
Whatever Mr. Black was doing, he stopped, and Helios gave a soft gasp of relief.
“Go to sleep. Now,” Mr. Black snapped.
The door slammed and his footsteps echoed down the hallway.
They took a solid two minutes to make sure he wouldn’t return before Helios reached down and covered Icarus’s hand with his.
Move
Helios wouldn’t meet his eyes.
“Is he always like that?” Icarus asked quietly.
Helios just huffed, an angry frustrated sound. His hand was clasped firmly over his ear. His face was red, with embarrassment or anger or pain. Something.
Icarus reached out, then faltered.
“You don’t have to stay,” Helios said, sharply.
“It’s . . . it’s not—” Icarus pressed his lips together in frustration, trying to find the right words. “You didn’t even do anything.”
“You don’t know that; you don’t even know me,” Helios snapped.
“I don’t have to know you to know that was unwarranted,” Icarus said firmly. “Don’t be embarrassed about this. So what if you were scared in front of me? He’s frightening. You’re the one acting normal, he’s not. That’s all there is.”
Helios shut his eyes very very tight and turned even further away.
Icarus pulled the curtains open and got up from the bed. He heel-toe soft-walked silently across the room and picked up the book that Mr. Black had thrown, bringing it back to Helios’s nightstand.
“I won’t leave you here alone in this situation,” he promised.
Helios stayed facing the dark.
Icarus grit his teeth. He didn’t know what else to say, so he slipped his shoes on and fled.
Ream
The next day felt like a thick soup.
He walked through the halls and sat in class, ate lunch, and went back to class in a haze dense enough to catch Celestina’s notice.
She dragged him out behind the school and into the woods.
Icarus walked beside her in comfortable silence, thinking. He could still feel the bones shifting beneath Helios’s skin. His skin had been so soft; softer than anyone’s he’d ever felt. Hairy too. He thought about the scrape of Helios’s ankle monitor against his forearm; the wire brushed metal was a tad too sharp. It should have been rounded and smoothed down for comfort, but it hadn’t.
And in a house as grand as that, it had to be intentional. A part of his punishment.
The bed had shaken beneath him like nothing else Icarus had ever felt before. He’d only ever been in a bed alone. Sitting on someone’s bed politely is one thing, but lying flat, his cheek crushed into the sheets, warm beneath the covers, and touching—regardless of the circumstances—was new.
New enough that, once the fear passed, his heart raced at the thought of it. Playing like a skipping track.
Celestina waved a hand in front of his face.
“You’re really out of it today, huh?” she said sprightly.
Icarus forced a smile. If the look on Celestina’s face was any indication, it didn’t land.
“Are you okay?” she asked, her pretty eyebrows pinching together.
Icarus closed his eyes and tilted his head back. He opened them to the green canopy above them and stared up to the sun filtering through.
“I’ll be okay,” he said. “I just had a rough night. One of my . . . friends is having a hard time.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
Icarus shrugged one shoulder uncomfortably.
“Not really? It’s nothing anyone can really do anything about.”
Celestina looked very very sad for a moment.
“Come with me. I want to show you something.”
Roth
Celestina grabbed his hand and the feeling slammed him from the haze of memory and back to the now.
The vivid green of the woods around them, the rustle of the wind through leaves, and her hot grip. He was pulled forward and over a pile of rocks to a glittering expanse, brown as a pebble and lightly burbling.
