The Sky Looked the Same

The Sky Looked the Same

Marissa Dike

Copyright © 2021 Marissa Dike

All rights reserved

First Edition

PAGE PUBLISHING, INC.

Conneaut Lake, PA

First originally published by Page Publishing 2021

ISBN 978-1-6624-5325-0 (pbk)

ISBN 978-1-6624-5326-7 (digital)

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

About the Author

To Erin, Marie, Olivia, and Trey—for seeing all the things I couldn't see anymore.

To Jacob, for believing in me when I don't believe in myself.

To anyone who might read this in the future,

Today, I asked for a pen and a notebook.

I always wanted to be a writer when I grew up, and growing up is coming to me sooner than I expected. I'm constantly starting stories but never finishing them. I don't know if I'll finish this one. Right now, I just feel like I need to write everything down because in a hundred years, when I'm long gone and I have no idea what the world will look like, I want at least one person to know what it was like—what it was really like—to live right now. Forget what your history books tell you. Forget what the government tells you. If, by some miracle, this book makes it into your hands someday, I want you to know that I am absolutely 100 percent telling the truth.

Okay? Good.

Today's date is November 14, 2088. We aren't supposed to know that, but I know a bunch of us have kept track anyway. The official date is the seventy-sixth day of the eleventh year. Today, I am sixteen, but I don't know how old I will be by tomorrow. I have a mom that hates me and a dad that barely tolerates me. I don't blame them. I've been a pain in their asses since the day I was born.

I'm sitting in my holding room, waiting for them to bring me my dinner even though I probably won't eat much tonight. I don't get nervous very often, but tonight, I'm nervous. It's not a welcome feeling, and I hate that I can't control it.

There were five of us in my group: three boys and two girls. We found each other five years ago at the beginning of sixth grade. We were the only kids that didn't fit in anywhere else, so we clung to each other. Jorge was the oldest. He had gotten held back a grade; I can't remember which one. He had six younger brothers and sisters, and he had to take care of them most of the time. His dad had run off years earlier. His mom worked eighty-plus hours a week most weeks. She loved her kids, and she loved their friends. She made sure we were all fed even if it meant she had to skip a few meals herself. She was so much more like a mom to me than my own mom was. I'll always love her for that.

Matty was tall, gangly, quiet, and the most unassuming kid I've ever met, who somehow grew ten inches and gained at least one hundred pounds in the span of two years. By the end of eighth grade, he could barely cram his body into the crappy metal desks at school. He looked menacing and could easily take out anyone who wanted to mess with us. But to his friends, he was a gentle soul, a brother, someone who would give you his undying devotion. He was so easy to love. I don't think I'll write anymore about him because I get choked up just thinking about him, and I don't need any more emotions controlling me right now.

Juniper was my best friend. She had a bunch of sisters, and they were all named after trees: Willow, Maple, Sycamore, and there was one more but I can't remember what her name was. Her parents were barely parents at all. They were more like cool older siblings that let us smoke pot with them whenever we wanted. Juniper once confessed to me, while we were super high and no one else was around, that her dad had molested her when she was little, and she was worried that he would do the same thing to her little sisters. She made me swear not to tell anyone, and I didn't. I guess it really doesn't matter now.

Then there was Elliot. My sweet, sweet Elliot. From the first day we met, we were inseparable. I remember seeing him for the first time, and I just couldn't keep my eyes off him. He had dark brown skin, he had dozens of braids cascading down his back, and his eyes were the most stunning shade of green. When we were fourteen, we kissed for the first time, and the first thing I said was, What took you so long? We bonded over being the only child in both of our families and having apathetic parents. He held my hand gently while I softly cried and told him I was pregnant, and he responded by telling me that he would be there with me, from doctor's appointments and looking through potential adoptive parents' profiles to holding my hair while I threw up in the school bathroom. I miscarried four weeks later. He asked me how I felt, and I took a deep breath and told him the truth: I felt relieved. We couldn't be parents. I was too afraid to get an abortion, and I was even more afraid of giving birth. So it was for the best, all of it, and we made sure to be way more careful from then on.

And then, finally, there was me. Mia. I'm not beautiful even though Elliot told me he thought I was the most beautiful girl in the world. I'm not smart even though my teachers all told me that I could be a great student if I applied myself. I'm not particularly good at anything, truthfully, other than lying my way out of trouble. My parents had me after years and years of trying, and from the moment I was born, I was a disappointment. I cried constantly. I didn't talk much. I couldn't read. I threw temper tantrums. And their solution was to ignore me. I don't blame them for how I ended up, but sometimes, I wonder what I could have been if they had paid attention to me even just a little bit.

Someone just knocked on the door. My dinner's here: some sort of microwaved green vegetable, instant mashed potatoes, and a dry, gray pork chop. I know I should try to eat it, even just a part of it, because who knows when they'll feed me next. Sentencing days are notoriously unpredictable from what I've heard.

I'll take a break and come back after dinner.

—Mia

November 14, 2088

Day 76, year 11

I've introduced myself. Now I'm going to tell you why I'm here.

The short version is I made a mistake. A really bad mistake. And now my friends are dead and my parents won't see me and everyone else probably hates me, and I don't blame them at all. Whatever happens next, you should know that I deserve it, all of it, whatever's coming.

It all happened seven days ago. But even before it happened, things in our group had started to change.

Jorge had come to school with bruises on his face. He told us he'd been in a fight, but he wouldn't tell us who he'd fought with even after Matty swore he would kill whoever it was.

The bruises never healed. They just moved around. Whenever one would start to fade, another one would show up right next to it. It's no big deal, he'd said. He had been getting into some fights, he'd said. He didn't want us to know anything else.

We all knew better though. We knew that, whatever was happening to Jorge, we couldn't leave him to fight his battles alone. So one day, Elliot and I skipped our last-period class so that we could hang around the outside of the school and wait for Jorge to come out so that we could follow him home. We walked so far behind Jorge that we could barely see him, slowly and quietly, hoping he wouldn't notice us. He seemed completely paranoid, looking around his shoulder with every turn. It was almost impossible for us to stay hidden, but we somehow managed it.

What I saw next is still hard to write. It's all so damn unfair, and anytime I think about it, my mind goes blank and my fists clench, and I end up punching my wall and getting bloody knuckles.

Out of nowhere, three giant guys came up to Jorge. He froze. I could tell even from far away that he recognized them. They exchanged words, first by talking then by shouting. And before I knew it, two of them grabbed Jorge's arms and wrenched them behind his back while the third one punched him over and over until he was barely conscious, and then they just left him lying on the ground and walked off. Jorge stayed on the ground for a few moments, and he was gasping and coughing, and he spit up a little bit of blood onto the ground. But then, he cautiously stood up, brushed himself off, and continued on his way home as if nothing had happened.

Elliot and I just stayed frozen in place hiding behind a dumpster the whole time. Whether it was out of fear or shock or numbness, I'm not sure. All we could do was look at each other, each of us waiting for the other one to say something. I remember the flies and the smell of rotting garbage swirling above our heads and Elliot looking lost and afraid.

This was a problem that would take all of us to solve. I sent a message to Matty and Juniper, telling them to meet us at Jorge's house. Then Elliot and I stood up and began walking. We didn't say a word to each other the entire way.

Jorge opened the door for us. I'll never forget his face. He looked so much worse up close, with his purple lips and swollen eyes and broken nose. One of his front teeth was chipped. Blood was dried and crusted around his ears. I hugged him. I didn't know what else to do. I felt him start to sob on my shoulder, and all I could do was whisper, What is happening to you?

After we got Jorge to his room and helped him clean himself up, we got the full story.

It had all started at a party he'd gone to a few weekends prior. It was mostly for the popular kids only, but Jorge had gotten an invitation because he was a friend of a friend of the party's host. While he was there, he met a girl. He didn't really think much of her at first, just that she was pretty and seemed to still be somewhat sober.

I should probably mention here that Jorge is—I mean was—gay. He wasn't officially out, I guess; only his mom and our little group knew about it. So he never went to parties with the intention of picking up anyone, much less girls. But this girl was persistent. Jorge only had a couple of beers in him. Nothing too heavy. The girl was following him around and not being very subtle about it. They ended up in a part of the house that was almost empty. He could tell she was into him. He was trying to figure out how to let her down easy when out of nowhere she just started kissing him. He kissed her back, just for a second, because he didn't know what else to do.

Then she started getting aggressive, shoving him against the wall, reaching for his pants, groping him. He tried to push her off him, but she wouldn't stop. She just kept pushing up against him. He didn't want to hurt her. She was small. He kept saying no over and over. She wouldn't listen. He had no choice. He grabbed both of her arms, lifted her out of his way, and ran.

Guys, I swear to God, I didn't mean to hurt her, he said. You believe me, right?

Both Elliot and I nodded emphatically. Of course, we believed him. I asked him what happened next.

The girl ran off crying. Jorge felt bad. He thought that would be the end of it.

But the girl had a boyfriend. And she had bruises on her arms from where Jorge had grabbed her. And she told her boyfriend that Jorge had come on to her and had gotten violent when she rejected him. The boyfriend had friends. And they found Jorge and beat the shit out of him. They did it again after school that Monday and again the next day and the next and the next.

And, guys, he whispered in terror, I don't think they're ever going to stop.

Elliot and I looked at each other, silently agreeing. They'll stop. Tomorrow, I said with determination. Elliot nodded. We'll all make sure of that.

Jorge sat up and shook his head violently. No, no, no. This is why I didn't tell you, guys. I don't want you getting hurt too.

There's five of us and only three of them, Elliot replied. And I'll bring a knife, too, just in case. They won't even touch us before we get them to the ground.

I grabbed Elliot's hand and squeezed it in solidarity. He was right: there were five of us, and all of us were fighters. People always underestimated Juniper and me since we were girls, but we could easily hang with the boys in a fight. Neither of us were particularly small, especially Juniper, who was nearly six feet tall and had the broadest shoulders I had ever seen on a girl. We both had short, violent tempers and had been in fights since grade school, a habit that made Juniper's peace-loving parents shake their heads in disappointment and then look the other way while my parents just locked me in my room and refused to let me leave other than to go to school. It was hardly a punishment; I just snuck out of my room when they weren't paying attention.

When Matty and Juniper showed up, we made our plans. We would all walk to school together the next day, keeping Jorge in the middle of us to make sure he stayed safe. We would meet up after school and hide behind the dumpster, just like Elliot and I had done, and we would wait for them.

I was the last one to get there. Matty, Juniper, Elliot, and Jorge were all waiting for me just outside the fence. We all had the wide-eyed stares of simultaneous fear and excitement.

You got the knife? Matty asked Elliot.

Elliot answered by flashing a glimpse of metal sticking out of the inside pocket of his jacket, and we all smiled. But before he could close his jacket back up, I saw something that the others had failed to notice.

There was another piece of metal, concealed well but still visible if you were really looking for it. It was small, it was just barely sticking out of the waistband of his jeans, and it had an unmistakable outline.

A gun.

Heart pounding, I looked into Elliot's eyes with bewilderment, and I knew that he knew I had seen it. We could have entire conversations with just our eyes. Don't you dare say a word, his eyes were saying. And from that point on, I understood that something terrible was going to happen.

We continued to wait behind the dumpster and spy on everyone who passed us. Some of them gave us weird looks. Most didn't even bother looking in our direction. Then Jorge grabbed my hand. He was shaking. That's one of them, he whispered.

A boy was walking by himself, slowly and deliberately, like he was looking for someone. Elliot pulled his knife. The rest of us stayed completely still and silent, every joint in our bodies wound up and ready to spring.

The boy spotted us without much effort. He strolled up casually and looked down at us without saying a word. He had a beautiful face. I wanted to destroy it.

So you brought reinforcements, huh, Martinez? he said. You even brought some girls along. Do you get off on that, Martinez? Do you get off on seeing girls get all bruised up? You're sick, man. You know that?

Juniper stood up and stepped forward, her face inches from his. They were almost the same height. We asked to come, Juniper said quietly. She never raised her voice. She didn't need to. Her physical presence was menacing enough. We're here to make sure Jorge stays safe.

The boy just started laughing. So you get girls to fight your battles for you, Martinez? he asked. How do you live with yourself, you cowardly piece of—

He couldn't finish that thought because Juniper suddenly and silently grabbed him, flipped him over, and slammed him to the ground on his back. The rest of us gathered around him, looking down at his gasping face. Will you leave us alone? Juniper asked calmly. Or does this need to be settled some other way?

He rolled over onto his side and let out a few coughs. He was covered in dirt but didn't look injured. Juniper hadn't wanted to hurt him. If she had wanted to hurt him, he would have been hurt. He glared at her, eyes filled with hatred.

If you want to settle this, he said coolly, you'll meet us here tonight. He pointed to the alleyway behind the dumpster. Nine o'clock. He stood up and spat in Juniper's face. She didn't even flinch. None of us did. We just stood there, watching as he turned and walked away. Elliot was still stroking the blade of his knife with his thumb.

Nine o'clock, I echoed, slowly panning over the faces of my friends.

I didn't go home that night. It's sort of strange to think about, but I haven't been home since that morning. I spent the rest of the day with Elliot, just wandering, getting food, fooling around in his car—all the stuff we usually did, and all the stuff we'd never do again.

The moon was out and the crickets were chirping by the time Matty, Jorge, and Juniper made it back to the alley where Elliot and I were waiting. The five of us sat, rarely breaking the silence, which was something we did often. We were drawn to each other like magnets, and it was enough for us to just soak in our combined energies. I may have even dozed off on Elliot's shoulder because I don't really remember the boys showing up. I just opened my eyes, and there they were, six of them this time. I felt a little nervous then. As strong as we were, we were still outnumbered.

One of them stepped forward with his hands up. We should talk, he said, and his voice was surprisingly not aggressive. He was the biggest of all of them, and the rest of the group seemed to be following his lead.

Elliot stepped forward to meet him. Yea, I think we should too, he replied.

The moonlight through the tree branches made all kinds of patterns across their bodies and faces. We all stood there just staring each other down for a while, none of us wanting to be the one to break the silence. Finally, Elliot spoke up. Look, we just want you to leave our friend alone, he said, but he didn't sound very sure of himself. The boys all looked at each other, then back at us.

Why should we do that? one of them asked.

That's when I began to change. I don't know how else to describe it. I just felt my body morph into something else, something reckless and dangerous and bad. I reached into Elliot's waistband and pulled out the gun before he could stop me. Because we're armed, I answered, shaking with adrenaline. And we don't want things to get ugly.