Sky

The wrench clanked to the ground, just out of Sky’s reach. Grunting, she ensured that the tire was secure before lumbering over to it. Just one more bolt, she promised herself.

Earlier, that day the midnight black BMW had arrived in Al’s Mechanic Shop. No one had gotten around to it, so Sky’s boss had assigned her the task of changing its tires. “Oh, joy,” had been her sarcastic reply.

Sky laughed quietly at the memory. Whenever her boss, Mr. Murray, got offended or angry, his three chins would waggle indignantly and he would cough violently. Then he would wobble away to his office and sit down in his nasty, squeaky, orange chair that made Sky’s eyes want to bleed.

The wrench emitted a satisfying click, notifying her that the bolt was tight enough. She chucked it back into her rusty, red toolbox with a whoop. It wasn’t that Sky didn’t enjoy her job; she was fascinated by car mechanics. It was just she would rather be eating dinner at 19:00 on a Sunday night than changing BMW tires at work.

She grabbed the handle of the red jack holding the car up and twisted it, slowly lowering the BMW to the ground. The jack groaned and screeched the more she turned it, until the car finally rested on the cold stone of Al’s Mechanic Shop. She wheeled it into its corner with the other jacks and grabbed the toolbox.

“Mr. Murray?” Sky called out, lumbering across the garage toward his office. The stout, red-faced man with a body that contained three chins, but no neck, appeared. His small, circular glasses were resting on the tip of his nose, as if they were going to fall off at any second and he had a lingering scent of smoke on him. Sky glimpsed a packet of cigarettes in his shirt pocket.

Mr. Murray was the only person Sky knew who smoked. Not that she knew many people in general. It was an uncommon thing for people to do in the New Age after a chemical in new cigarettes killed a bunch of people in the war. But Albert Murray was always one to do things old-school.

“Finished, Ms. Danforth?” he asked in a gruff, impatient tone.

Nodding, Sky passed him the metal toolbox. His face, impossibly, became redder. Grunting, he quickly set it on the ground with a wheeze. Obviously, it was too heavy for the man. Sky fought back a smirk.

“Well then, I’ll pay you extra for coming on a Sunday,” Mr. Murray added, not noticing, or ignoring, Sky’s snickers. “And put in a good word for me to Marlene.”

“She’s married, sir. I think that would be most inappropriate.” Sky replied with ease. She always enjoyed her conversations with her boss, he reminded her of her late grandfather.

His eyes swiveled around the room uncomfortably and he nodded sternly. “Yes, well. I’m only joking, of course. Harry’s a good man.” He cleared his throat loudly, an evident dismissal. Bidding her boss a goodnight, Sky sauntered into the parking lot.

Not three steps in, she recognized her best friend. Victoria Brant leant against her mini cooper with her arms crossed lazily. She shook her brown curls out of her eyes and limped forward when she saw Sky. The limp was an unfortunate remnant of her family’s tragic death.

Sky and Tory lived in Oak Island Orphanage, which was located on Oak Island; a nearly abandoned isle, just off the coast of Nova Scotia. Tory had been there for three years and she had one more year living there before she became 19 and was considered an adult. She’d been there ever since her house had caught fire three years ago.

It had been the middle of the night, Tory had told Sky. Their fire alarm hadn’t been working and Tory had just gotten home from her friend’s birthday party. She had been the only member of the family awake. She had sensed the fire coming from the kitchen stove and yelled for her family to get out of the house. She had called 9-1-1 then. As she made her escape, a burning cabinet had fallen onto her leg and she had hit it with a blanket and wriggled out from beneath it. Her family had been lost to the fire and there wasn’t a doctor in Canada, or maybe even the world, that could fix her leg. So she was stuck with a limp.

“I hate it,” Tory had confided in her one day. “Every time I feel the blasted thing I think of how I could’ve saved them. Of how I should’ve saved them.”

Sky had hated hearing the story. It was dismal; not only how they died, but also how Tory somehow thought it was her fault. While Sky didn’t exactly know how her family had die―disappeared. They had disappeared. They! Were! Not! Dead!

“Yoohoo!” Tory called out, waving to her. “Earth to Sky!”

Her vibrant green eyes glimmered against the dying sunlight as she giggled joyfully. Shaking her head, Sky pulled herself from her thoughts. Besides, there was no reason to think about that; no one believed that they were alive. She plastered the most realistic grin she could muster on her face and jogged toward her friend.

The world around her was slowly turning into dusk. The sky was littered with various hues of pink, purple and orange that seemed to warm Sky on the inside. She’d missed living out in the world. Even though she’d had two months of freedom now, she was still amazed by its beauty. She would never let herself forget those years locked in her house.

Tory bobbed her head, saying, “I thought you had forgotten who your best friend is.”

“I thought I told you. You don’t need to pick me up from work,” Sky replied, stopping in front of her and crossing her arms.

“Ah,” Tory threw her arms up, “I don’t mind. Besides, how else would you have gotten home?”

“The bus?” Sky said, raising an eyebrow. She knew what Tory’s reply would be, but she needed to hear it anyway.

“It’s late. You shouldn’t be taking the bus by yourself. Especially when…”

“Especially when, what, Tory? Especially when I’ve never done it alone before? Or at all for that manner?”

“Let’s just get home.” Tory turned around to face her car.

Sky forced the rest of her argument to the back of her mind and walked around the car, schooling her face into nonchalance. She reached for the car door when Tory shrieked at her to stop. Huffing, Sky looked up, “What is it, Tory?”

“Your hands are covered in grease. What did you do? Soak them in it?” She opened the door for her and Sky was sure not to touch anything in fear Tory would slap her if she got grease on her car. Glancing at her hands, Sky realized that Tory was right; it did look like she had given her hands a grease bath. Her fingernails were blackened and her hands were completely covered in the dark substance. She wouldn’t be surprised if there was some on her face as well.

She snorted and wiped her palms on her crimson hoodie. It was her favourite article of clothing. Though its edges were frayed and it was always dirty, Sky hated taking it off. Her mother had given it to her when she had been 15, a year before her, Sky’s father, and brother disappeared. And now, at 16 years old, Sky still wore it all the time.

“Oh, Sky,” Tory sighed. “Why do you always wipe your hands on that sweater? If you love it so much, why do you insist on getting it filthy every day?”

“But… I don’t mind that it’s dirty. It just shows how… how…” Sky searched for the right words, “loved it is.”

Tory shook her head in exasperation and turned back to the wheel. The white mini cooper growled as the engine ignited. Tory was Sky’s only friend with a driver’s license. As soon as she had turned 16, Tory had pounced on the prospect of being able to drive. She had perfected her driving skills at 17 and now Tory was Sky’s main, and only, mode of transportation.

Soon, the 18-year old was talking animatedly about what had happened while she had been at work, “Mrs. Holt got super angry with Jackson when his baseball almost broke a window. Asher and I were trying our hardest not to laugh, but the look on her face was priceless!”

Sky chuckled slightly, but zoned out, fiddling with her hair. It was white-blonde and straight as an arrow. She sometimes wished she looked more like Tory. Her hair was limp compared to Tory’s and her figure was more points and angles than curves. She glanced into the rearview mirror and studied her symmetrical face with ice blue eyes that were too close together and a mouth that hadn’t completely smiled since her family left. Was she really that girl? The girl people avoid because they always seem so anti-social and rude? The girl who kept herself hidden from the real world?

She zipped her sweater up even more despite the heat. Sky narrowed her eyes in thought.

Wait. That didn’t make sense. Nova Scotia was usually blanketed in snow during January. Why was it so dry and hot?

“I’m sure there’s some dinner left,” Tory continued, oblivious to Sky’s confusion. “Mrs. Holt would be sure of that. Asher and Jackson will―Sky?”

Sky jerked her head up, “Huh?”

Tory sighed, “What’s the matter with you today? Were you listening to anything I was just saying?”

“Of course I was!”

“Prove it.”

“Jackson almost broke a window… and you and Asher were laughing… and um…”

Tory put the car in park. “You weren’t, were you?”

Sky bit her lip. Her stomach growled in impatience. “No?” It came out as a question.

Tory sighed loudly and bounded out of the car. Sky followed, albeit less gracefully. Tory closed the door behind her and locked the car as Sky tried to brush of some of the grease off her clothes. It’s no use… she thought and continued on after Tory.

“Wait,” she told her friend. Tory stopped and turned to look at her like she was insane.

“What?” Tory quipped, sticking her hands on her hips and raising an eyebrow.

“Haven’t you noticed the weather?” Sky looked around her, partially in a daze. It was warm. Way too warm for January.

“What are you talking about, Sky?” Tory seemed to think she was crazy, but Sky watched as her friend fiddled with her peace sign necklace, her nervous tick. Tory had noticed it too.

Sky elaborated, “It’s too warm and stuffy for January in Nova Scotia. There should be snow, shouldn’t there?”

Tory stared at her for a moment. Sky knew she was analyzing what she’d said, perceiving just how odd it was. But she shrugged her shoulders. “Global Warming really is a terrible thing.”

Sky flared her nostrils in anger, but didn’t say anything as Tory turned toward the building in front of them.

Oak Island Orphanage was a tall, narrow building with rows and rows of windows piled on top of each other. It was a light brown, brick structure with a double door entrance. The orphanage looked gloomy on the outside, but was actually a bright, lively place on the interior.

Sky ambled into the building and instantly felt at home and safe. The walls were a pastel blue and a wooden desk sat in the middle of the floor. The small plaque stated that it was the desk of Marlene A. Holt.

Mrs. Holt looked up and smiled widely, “Sky! Welcome back! How was work, dear?”

Sky grinned as well, “Tiring, but thanks for asking.”

Marlene Holt and her husband, Harry, were the owners of Oak Island Orphanage. Though they had never told her themselves, Sky had heard from Tory that Mr. Holt had made a fortune when he found the legendary gold mine on the island. From there, they created the orphanage from the money when they were engaged.

Mrs. Holt was always at the orphanage, while her husband was only there on evenings and weekends. She was a very pregnant, middle-aged woman with strawberry blonde ringlets reaching down to her shoulders. Her eyes were large and night black, and Sky couldn’t tell where the iris ended, and the pupil started. Her nails were painted burgundy and she was sporting her favourite, blush coloured, maternity dress, that read in bold letters “HAPPY MOM, HAPPY BABY”.

She stood from her chair, with great effort while clutching her baby bump, and circled the desk. She had to lean down slowly to look Sky in the face as she examined her forehead. “My Lord! What’s all over your face?”

Tory snorted. “Grease, Mrs. Holt. She got it all over my car.”

“I did not!” Sky crossed her arms over her chest.

Mrs. Holt straightened again. “No arguing girls. I’ve done enough yelling today with Zaef’s little stunt. I can feel the baby getting upset.” She strode down a hallway to the left, with Sky and Tory in tow. Mrs. Holt was the only person who called Jackson by his first name, Zaef. He always hated it, but he knew it would never change.

“You still don’t know the gender?” Tory asked in astonishment, a small smile growing on her face.

“No,” Mrs. Holt replied, balancing herself on the walls around them. “Harry and I want it to be a surprise.”

The hallway they travelled down led to a large room containing two doors, a staircase, a long wooden table, and an enormous window. The window had cracks riddling the pane that spread out like a spider web. Sky winced internally as she imagined Mrs. Holt’s reaction.

Two teenage boys sat at the bench on the side of the table closest to Sky. Both were laughing boisterously and gripping their stomachs in their fits of giggles. One of them was even crying from laughter. There were only three others at the table. They didn’t look up as Sky entered, but continued their whispering. Sky didn’t recognize any of them.

Mrs. Holt cleared her throat and looked pointedly at the laughing boys. They turned toward her.

“Oh! Hey, Marley!” Zaef Jackson said, pulling a hand through his black greasy hair that was pulled into a small ponytail. He was Tory’s boyfriend and immediate friends with anyone he met, a full on extrovert.

Jackson turned his gaze to Sky. “Sky! Hey there!” He smiled, flashing her with a perfect set of straight, white teeth and a dimple on his chin. His stormy grey eyes crinkled at the movement.

Sky raised an eyebrow. “I heard you almost broke a window. I really can’t leave you alone for a few hours without you breaking something, can I?”

“Seems like it,” Tory said, then, “Aren’t you going to say hello to your girlfriend?”

Swiftly, Jackson got off the ground and launched himself on Tory. “Of course!”

Sky rolled her eyes and looked at Mrs. Holt. “Is there any dinner left over?”

She nodded and set to work about preparing the leftovers. She disappeared behind one of the doors.

The other boy stood up and came toward her. Asher Tiberuse was 17 years old with short, sandy blond hair and brilliant blue eyes. His long, lanky legs always seemed to find a way to help him trip, but most of the times they were spread out to make him seem more in control, as they were then. Asher was what others called a people-pleaser. The opposite of Sky, who was a born introvert.

“How was work, Sky?” Asher asked. They both sat down on the bench as Mrs. Holt entered the room again and placed Sky’s dinner, and a hand wipe, in front of her. Sky thanked her.

“It was good, Asher. Thanks for asking.” She glared at Jackson who had an arm wrapped around Tory’s waist. He smiled wryly and shrugged.

Sky huffed and looked down at the leftovers. A cold piece of pork and some beans. This is what happens when you have to work late on a Sunday. Silently, Sky began shoveling food into her mouth, completely ignoring the wipe. She heard Mrs. Holt sigh and could practically feel the woman rolling her eyes in annoyance. Sky flashed her a quick, apologetic smile

“Someone’s hungry…” Asher teased.

Sky slapped his arm playfully. “Shut it.” She didn’t miss the grease stain she left on his top and smiled to herself. But it wasn’t a real smile. None of her smiles were really real.