Racing through the streets with the Lost Boys is like no other feeling in the world. Most gangs are composed of separate units that have come together. They are nothing more than people who have learned, over time, to board with one another, through tedious practice and clumsy mistakes.

The Lost Boys are in a whole other league.

Our inside joke was that we were lost at birth, born as one fifth of a perfect flying machine. We did not speak while we boarded, but we understood each other nonetheless. Through nothing but instinct, we’d discovered the ability to read the simplest body signals and go from there.

In the lead, I headed towards our favorite windboard park, one on the east side of the city. It was nice enough not to be infested with gangs, yet still reputable enough that beginners did not dare enter. To get to it, we crossed a sector of the city. Some windboarders tried to weave through the crowds of pedestrians on the sidewalks, but that was too tedious for us. Instead, as one of the more daring gangs, we windboarded off the tops of the cars that raced by. It was a challenge of timing to make sure there was always a solid surface under our boards, but they didn’t call us one of the best windboarding gangs for nothing. It didn’t take us very long to get to the park because of this, though it would have taken us ages if we’d chosen to conform to the sidewalks.

Once we got to the park, we separated instantly. If the water tower was our home, the windboarding park was our school and, with the easy familiarity of a place frequented every day, we headed to our favorite corners. Skye, the pixie flier that she was, preferred the incline ramp, racing others and always winning. I much preferred stunts, going for the most perilous ones. Others tried to follow my lead and failed miserably, crashing and skidding where I only flew. I felt no pity as I soared above them, no emotion other than elation and a sort of wild craze. It was this craze that seized all of the members of the Lost Boys when we rode, separating us from the other, ordinary boarders.

Once we were sufficiently warmed up, I retired to a corner. My team soon coasted in after me, and I pretended not to be touched.

“So,” Skye said, not tarrying for a second, “Today you’re stealing it?”

She was talking about the new prototype that was being developed, something that was supposed to revolutionize windboarding. It was currently being held at the mansion of Richard Darling, one of the richest men alive and the creator of the windboard. Slice was desperate to get his hands on it, to implement it into our boards before it was even on the market, and I’d volunteered to go fetch it for him.

“Tonight,” I confirmed, as Slice managed a smile.

Skye looked a little doubtful, “Are you sure you’ll be alright on your own?” Ever since I’d met her, I’d never led a single outing without her. We had a connection at the windboard, a connection that I was about to sever for the first time.

“It’ll be easier with only one person,” I said, trying to appease her. She tried to accept my words, but I knew her better. I could make out the slight tightening of her lips and heaviness in her shoulders as she resigned herself to accepting what I wanted.

“Don’t worry pixie!” Wells said. The nickname brought a glare from her, but he ignored it, “Our little Loki will be fine! And besides, I’ll keep you company tonight, if you want.” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, zooming away on his windboard before she had a chance to slap him. Frankly, trying to run from Skye was pointless – she’d never been beat – but that didn’t stop Wells from trying.

I knew that the Lost Boys thought there was something between Skye and I, and they weren’t without reason. We’d started the Lost Boys from the ground up – literally. I’d known her from my first memory, back in the orphanage that we’d both been raised in and, because of that, we had come to understand each other without words. Of every single person in the world, I was the most comfortable around Skye. Recently however, I could feel a hint of a storm coming, a gut feeling that Skye might have the feelings that Wells hinted at.

Trying desperately to put that uncomfortable situation out of my head, I continued talking about the burglary with Flint and Slice, hoping they wouldn’t mention anything. Slice, though usually emotionless, was getting quite excited for the job I was going to pull later that night. His typically placid face was showing a hint of a smile, and he even fidgeted a little, instead of sitting in dead stillness as he generally did. All of us had our histories, our pasts and our scars, but Slice’s was the most physical, the most real in a way. Before the Lost Boys, Slice had been in another city gang, one that was known for its violence. He’d left as quickly as he could to join our peaceful family, but still I knew that he had killed many people before he’d managed to break free of the brutal gang. His stillness, though understandable because of the suffering he’d been put through, was still disconcerting at times. Seeing him as active as he was now was like seeing a different person.

We continued discussing methods and plans until Skye and Wells returned, the latter severely beat up. Skye had a triumphant smile on her face as she sat down, slipping into the seat beside me. Though I didn’t mention a thing from the previous conversation, I could have sworn I saw something flash in her eyes when she looked at me.

I’ve been wrong before, and I really hoped that was one of those times

Granted, I’d never been on a raid alone before, but I was not nervous at all as I sailed on my windboard, gliding through the streets silently. I was heading towards the rich sector of the city, where the skyscrapers gave way to lavish buildings. The Darling’s mansion was a four story house, and I knew from some not-so-extensive research that the prototype would be somewhere on the second floor, where Mr. Darling had his offices. I also knew that the house of one of the wealthiest men alive wouldn’t be lax in security. He probably had all sorts of protection on the ground floor: infrared motion sensors, a finger pad at the door, and maybe even a robotic guard of some sort. The richest people however, sometimes overthink the smallest details, and that was what I was banking on.

The inventor of the windboard wasn’t a stupid person. Yet I still doubted that he’d extensively considered the possibility of an intruder on the fourth floor, since a windboard couldn’t climb vertically. As I reached his house and started the treacherous climb up, precariously dodging around anything that could support my windboard, I hoped that he’d believed in his security enough to leave the upper windows relatively unprotected.

My board responded wonderfully under my touch, rising almost effortlessly. Part of it was Slice’s incredible skill, as he’d made it light and easy to maneuver, which made stunts – and burglary – easier. Most of it though, was just my skill. For all I know, I was born on a windboard, as the orphanage I grew up in found me on their doorstep. I’d been on a windboard almost as soon as I could walk, and after that, I’d only gotten better. It was what tied Skye and I together. It was what had kept me sane when I was thirteen, when my “parents” had come to claim me. It was what had enabled me to leave their house, escaping the prison they’d tried to put me in. It was what had empowered me to vow to never be controlled again. It was truly my freedom. Where everyone else had to adapt to windboarding, getting as used to air as they were used to land, I was the opposite. It had come to the point that, now, I was more comfortable on a windboard than I was on foot.

My comfort obviously translated as I climbed the house with ease. When I reached the top, I tried for a random window, astonished to see that it was actually opened. I was always shocked at the confidence and security that rich people felt in their houses. They believed that their wealth and status would protect them, and because of that, they wouldn’t really watch out for dangers that could easily be avoided; dangers like me.

Slipping through the window, I tucked my windboard under my arm and glanced around. I was in a bedroom, which was quite possibly the worst room to be in at night. If it was the room if a light sleeper, I was in for it.

Trying to find out more about the room I was in, I glanced around. The walls were a light pink, a shade that was calming, neutral, and utterly boring. There was a painting of a ballerina on the wall, done by some ancient, famous artist no doubt, and a mirror, which reflected a desk made of dark mahogany wood. On the desk were only bare essentials: a notebook, some schoolbook holograms, and a few scattered pages. I knew that the Darling’s had a daughter, and it would make sense that this was her room, though it could have belonged to any girl in the world. Even in our water tower, where we had limited space, each member of the Lost Boys had managed to find a way to give our area its own flair. We’d plastered posters, hung lights, even stuck random stickers to any surface we could reach. But this room… it was utterly devoid of any personality.

If it weren’t for the girl herself, I might even guess that no one lived here. But there she was, clear as day, sleeping on a bed that was on my left, breathing through slightly parted lips. She was around my age, somewhere between sixteen and eighteen, and though her room was plain, she most definitely wasn’t. Golden hair cascaded around her face, framing her doll-like features with an artist’s careful strokes. Unlike Skye’s fierce, exotic beauty, this girl held a fragility that, though cheesy, made me want to protect her above all else. Her hands were not callused in the least, with perfectly shaped nails.
As I watched, she grasped at her pillow, tensing for a second and causing the same reaction in my own muscles. I was ready to fly out of the window at any second, not willing to risk potential capture. If she woke up, she’d surely call for help, and then I’d be put in prison for the rest of my life.
I’d always feared that, if I ever did go to prison, it would break me. I feared that I would no longer be the carefree leader of the Lost Boys, one of the best windboarders in the city. I feared that, instead, prison would mold me into an ashen, elderly person, one who would have grown up all too fast. But though this girl could be one of the most influential people in the city, she seemed to be able to do me no harm. It was this apparent innocence that caused me to stop in her room and stare at her, trying to figure her out.

As I stared, I noticed that she wasn’t the only one in her bed. A pearl-white kitten lay nestled under the blankets beside her, staring up at me with its bright blue eyes. Looking deceptively innocent, it opened its small mouth in a tiny meow, shattering the perfect stillness with that one sound, though the noise was actually no louder than a whisper.

At the sound, the girl stirred a little, murmuring in her sleep. She turned over and I froze, my muscles rigid as a plank as I waited for her to wake up, desperately praying she wouldn’t.

Just as it seemed she was about to settle down, the cat meowed again, and I mentally cursed it with every obscenity I knew. The girl in the bed stirred once more and, like an apparition from a dream, she slowly opened her eyes. I glimpsed gray before I started making my way out of her room, scrambling to get out but careful not to make too much noise. With some extreme luck, I hoped she wouldn’t see me until I was out of her window, until it was too late for her to do anything.

When she spoke, I had one leg out of the window while I desperately struggled with my board, trying to flick it on as quickly as possible. I’d expected a scream, a shriek, or even accusing words, but she said none of that. Instead, her words were desperate, hurried: “Wait!”

Her voice threw me. It was a melody, her words rising and falling like the wind. I faltered in the window, caught up in the music, giving her a chance to speak once more.

“Please don’t go,” she said in the desolate, resigned voice of someone who knows that their life is no longer theirs to control. As I sat there, still facing the night sky, it occurred to me that she might never have had the chance to control her own life. As the daughter of a wealthy man, her life must have had some limitations.

My sympathy gave her another chance, and as I contemplated her life story, I heard her move. When I whipped around, she was sitting on her bed, gazing wonderingly out at me. The eyes I’d previously dubbed as gray were so much more, and they shone out at me, two beacons that were mesmerizing in their individuality. They shone like mist on a hazy morning, drifting over everything with a hazy sort of light. They were like a blanket on a chilly evening, covering everything in a comfortable glow as I snuggled closer to the fire. But they held a hopeless look, one of a lost princess desperate to be found, as she repeated, “Please don’t go.”

“What are you going to do?” I asked, my voice rough with fear. I was still half out of her window, a dive I could take any second. But she held a certain intrigue, sitting on her bed without an ounce of fear, where most people would be screaming, “Call someone?” My words, more than anything, were a challenge to her, daring her to do something, anything, and transform my solid presence into nothing more than a memory.

“No,” she said, surprising me. I’d asked a rhetorical question, yet here she was, just as defiant as I was. I then considered that she might not be as delicate as I’d originally thought. I was a stranger in her room, and she had every right to panic, to kick me out or call the police. Instead however, she was begging me to stay.

“You know, typically, people don’t react too well to strangers in their rooms,” I said to her, more for lack of anything better to stay. Each word we exchanged melted my immediate terror a little more, and I found myself relaxing slightly at the windowsill, though my legs still hung in thin air.

“I’ve never been what you’d call typical,” she said as the kitten snuggled into her hand. She said it in an offhand way, petting her pet as if she’d just resigned herself to the life she lived, as if it were the simple matter of brushing it off. But I caught a second’s slip up, a slight catch at the end of the phrase, some distant pain causing her eyes to close for no more than a blink, “But then again,” she continued, “I don’t think you are either.”

Curiosity almost caused me to swing my legs inside her room once more, and I caught myself just in time, staying put and letting out a shaky question, “What?”

“Typical,” she said, her mist-gray eyes challenging me, calling me out on any lie I might try. I didn’t want to do that, to lie to this delicate, strong girl. So instead, I turned once more towards the window, putting her out of my mind. Speaking to her was nothing but a mistake, a mistake that not only endangered me, but all my friends. I prepared to jump, tilting my body towards the ground and loosening my grim. I was about to let go when she called out to me once more.

“No!” her voice was loud in the silence and I froze, poised and waiting for the shout that had to come, the warning that would call the police and force me into a chase for my life.

Instead, she barely whispered, “Stay.”

With my back to her, I couldn’t see her pleading eyes or frowning face, but I could see them. As clearly as the sight in front of me, I could see the moon’s luminescence reflecting in her eyes as she stared at me, as helpless as a starving child begging for food. I heard a sigh, as she resigned herself to my departure, the departure that she seemed against for some odd reason.

If nothing else, if not her eyes or her intrigue, it was her sigh that did it. With that sigh, my curiosity overpowered my wariness and I turned around. A million thoughts were racing through my head as I turned around, but I tried to ignore them all. As I cautiously stepped inside, I forced the thought that I could easily lose my entire future out of my mind. I refused to picture Skye’s appalled face if she saw what I was doing, refused to think about what the Lost Boys would say. As I took those steps towards her, I thought only of the girl in front of me, the enigma dressed in the costume of a dainty girl. She was sitting on her bed, petting her kitten and facing away from me. I knew she didn’t hear me pad back into her room, but she didn’t so much as move when I gingerly sat down next to her, cursing myself every second for doing something so stupid. After a long moment, I turned to face her, accepting the choice I’d made. Her gray eyes shone at me, brighter than the stars outside, the stars I’d been so desperate to escape to a moment before. There was a slight, delicate smile on her face as her kitten meowed once more.

“I’m Loki,” I said to her, and I couldn’t help but match her dazzling grin with my own.

Her voice, like music once more, flowed over me, “It’s wonderful to meet you Loki. I’m Grace Darling.”

When I finally slipped into the water tower, the morning sun slipped in with me. I’d expected all the members of the Lost Boys to be asleep, snoring as they usually are at this time of the morning, but they were all up, expectant. I was confused until I remembered. The prototype.

Of all the eyes that stared at me, Skye’s were the sharpest. She scrutinized me with a piercing gaze, her emerald-green eyes probing, knowing immediately that something was off. Never had a robbery gone so late, but I knew that wasn’t what worried her. She’d picked up on the slight grin that I couldn’t conceal, and her eyes narrowed into feline slits.

The other’s hopeful faces dropped when they saw my empty hands, before they too picked up on my smile and looked at me with confused frowns. Flint and Wells were perched on some chairs we’d stolen, and Slice was leaning against a wall, wordlessly crossing his arms and looking at me. All of they were looking at Skye, not me, who stood in the middle of our home, defiant and fuming, a force to be reckoned with.

Finally, Flint broke the silence.

“Well?” he asked, standing up from his chair and finally looking at me, “What happened?”

My head, which was full of Grace and the things we’d talked about for the hours I’d spent there, remained fuzzy for a second longer. It was as if my brain was full of floating cotton balls, downy things that blanketed everything and refused to allow any other thoughts into my mind. Then they dissipated, and I was left with an empty head and a room full of individuals that demanded answers.

“He met a girl,” Skye said, her eyes merciless. There was no guess in her voice, just a simple certainty as she challenged my denial. I could hear a hint of jealousy in her tone, but I strived to ignore it, focusing instead on the matter at hand.

By that point, the tension in the room was palpable, but Wells luckily chose that moment to eagerly dive into the conversation, “Loki’s gettin it on!” he said with his typical enthusiasm, grinning to the silent room. The phrase “thick enough to cut with a knife” came to my mind, and for a moment, I had a ridiculous flash of Grace standing there with a butter knife, her kitten by her feet, trying to cut through the air. I sobered instantly at Slice’s face however, feeling incredibly guilty when he simply shook his head at me and returned to the board he’d set up in the corner of the room. It was a brand new, high tech board that we’d managed to steal a few weeks back. He’d been hoping to interweave it’s infrastructure it with whatever new technology I was supposed to have gotten from the Darling’s house, but now without it was just a typical, common windboard.

Another jolt of guilt ran through me as Flint and Wells also turned away, heading to their beds to rescue a few hours of precious sleep. That left just Skye and I, the origins of the Lost Boys. She stood in the middle of our home while I stood on the edge, afraid of her fury. The look she sent me was a searching one, with more than disappointment shining through, before she too turned away from me.

Their disappointment stung, though I couldn’t blame them at all. They had every right to be disappointed, and I understood completely. What I didn’t understand was why I wasn’t disappointed in myself.

With a sigh to their backs, I grabbed my board, riding away on the wind that I hoped would whip away all my problems.

Forty minutes later, I’d virtually traversed the entire city and still my problems chased me. I had resigned myself to sitting on the top of a building, gazing at the view. It took me a few minutes, but I eventually noticed that I’d unconsciously chosen a view of Grace’s house. In a fit of anger and frustration, I turned my back to her, facing the opposite direction. That, however, did not bring me any respite, as I could only imagine that I was now looking at the same thing she would be seeing, if she were to be looking out of her bedroom window.

I thought back to our conversation last night. We’d talked a lot about her, though I was fine with that. I actually preferred to keep my life a secret, and as a typical girl, she preferred to talk about herself. Talking about anything that came to her mind, we’d talked well into the night. She’d seemed extremely lonely, and for some odd reason, I’d enjoyed talking to her.

I knew that all the members of the Lost Boys, not just Skye, wouldn’t understand. They’d never be able to accept our spontaneous relationship. They’d never be able to accept that, after talking all night, she’d fallen asleep next to me and I’d tucked her in. They’d never be able to accept that I hadn’t even thought about thievery after she’d gone to bed. And most of all, they’d never understand that, when she’d asked me to come back, right before she fell asleep, I said yes.

Throughout the entire day, Skye’s eyes followed me, wary and unsure. It was weird to have this alien feeling between us, a sort of uncertainty that we’d never had to deal with, but every time I tried to speak to her, to explain about Grace and what had happened, she simply stalked away from me. Honestly, I should have worried more about her, about our relationship going to tatters, but instead my mind was focused on Grace, and how I would escape to go see her tonight. With the eyes of all the Lost Boys on me, it would be no easy task.

As I thought about ditching my friends, the thought became nauseating. The Lost Boys wasn’t just a gang that came together out of necessity, we were a family. And families do not lie to each other.

Coming to that conclusion was easier than I’d expected, but telling them about Grace would be harder than I could imagine. I decided I should probably start with Skye. In all honesty, though the Lost Boys were a family, she was the one that mattered the most to me.

“Skye,” I said to her. She was crouched by her windboard, adding some new component to make it faster, lighter, “Skye I need to talk to you.”

At first, I thought she’d only ignore me once more, but she surprised me by answering. Without turning to face me, she said, “Alright. Talk.”

“The girl I met last night…” my voice faltered, but I knew I needed to go on, “Her name is Grace Darling.”

Skye had been quiet before, in seething anger, but after I spoke, she went still. Disbelieving eyes turned towards me, large in their surprise and incredulity, “Grace Darling?”

I just nodded.

Maybe I didn’t know Skye as well as I thought, because instead of blowing up, as I’d expected her to, she simply laughed. The sound was a chocked one, a deranged sort of pain as she coughed it out, “You spent the night with a Darling?”

Instantly, my face went as red as my hair, “Not… We were just talking.”

She didn’t quite believe me, “Sure.”

“It’s true,” I then braced myself for the worst, “And I’m going to see her again tonight.”
Slice, who’d apparently been listening, came over to the conversation. It was weird because, since he never spoke, we always got this false impression that he never listened either, but he was all ears. Anything that happened in the Lost Boys would eventually come back to him, and though he didn’t have many comments on them most of the time, I knew he knew it all. He’d been working on his windboard, and he left it with sparks and dazzling lights shining in the corner, reflecting off the postered walls in the ways I imagined an old fashioned disco ball used to. Skye ignored him silent form. I could see that the outrage I’d predicted was finally about to come through but before she got the chance to blow up, he interrupted her. His voice was gravelly from disuse as he said, “Go.”
I nodded at him, sent one look at Skye, and then left them with nothing but wind.
When I got to Grace’s house, the window was once again opened, but this time, she was sitting up. Her room hadn’t changed one bit with the light; it was still utterly devoid of any character. Tonight, instead of a nightdress, she was wearing some sort of loose pink dress. It was a drastic contrast from the normal clothes that were worn these days, but it seemed to fit her. I couldn’t imagine her with the vibrant, tight-fitting clothes that most girls wore these days. On her lap, her kitten purred, looking at me with lazy blue eyes.
When I came through her window, her gray eyes shone with surprise, “You came,” she said, though I was quite clearly there. “I didn’t think you would.”
“But you waited anyways,” I said, propping my windboard against the nude pink wall beneath her window and taking a seat on her bed beside her.
She blushed, going as pink as her dress, and turned her face away to pet her kitten, “So what did you do today?” she asked after a beat of silence.
“Oh the usual,” I deflected, as I had all of yesterday. Ever since I had been taken from the orphanage by those two horrible people, I’d been extremely guarded with my life, not giving away information easily, if at all, “What about you?”
She shook her head, glaring slightly at me, “You’re not getting off that easily. What’s the usual?” Something in her eyes told me that she wouldn’t back down this time. All of yesterday, she’d talked about herself, but today something was different. I’d seen that look in Skye’s eyes when she decided to take on a particularly difficult challenge, a look that I didn’t get in the way of I could help it.
“Where do you live?” she probed, “What school do you go to? What are your parents like?” Her words flew at me like bullets. Her eyes shone with excitement and curiosity, and I got the impression that she’d been thinking about what she’d ask me all day.
I contemplated lying to her, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Instead, I prepared to tell my life story as I never had before, “I live outside of the city,” I said, watching her eyes go wide, “I don’t have any parents… I live with four friends. We call ourselves the Lost Boys.”
I would have gone on, but she was shocked, and I could tell she had something on her mind, something to say. I waited, and eventually, she chocked out, “What… what happened to your parents?”
Other than Skye, not even the Lost Boys knew this story. They’d all come to the gang after my past became, well, my past, and I’d only hinted at it. But again, Grace toppled my defenses with her wide eyes and trusting demeanor, “I grew up in an orphanage.” I said, looking away. Her kitten had crawled onto my lap, and I focused on it’s soft fur, brushing it slowly with my fingers, “When I was thirteen, two people who called themselves my parents came to get me. They were,” I struggled to find the correct word, “Horrible. I went from a free life to an imprisoned one. One day, they forced me stop windboarding and… I ran away. I’ve been living with the Lost Boys ever since.”
It wasn’t a sad story, the tale of my independence, but it was still hard to say, to think back to those three months of absolute torture. I tried to brush it off, continuing with her original question, “The usual is windboarding at the park they have on the east end. We go there every day.”
There was silence for a while, and I was afraid to look at her. If she was looking at me as if I were a kicked puppy, I don’t know what I would do. Then, after a long time, I heard a sigh from beside me. Looking over, I saw that she wasn’t looking at me in pity. In fact, she wasn’t looking at me at all. Instead, her eyes were focused on my windboard, where it was by the window.
“I’d love to know how to windboard,” she said wistfully.
At first, I thought she was joking. Here she was, the daughter of the inventor of the windboard, and she was claiming not to know how to windboard. Impossible.
I waited for the ‘just kidding’, for the chuckle, for her eyes to return to mine and twinkle once more. But she just continued on with that wistful, sad look, and I slowly came to understand just how far her sheltered life had gone. The look I’d seen the previous night wasn’t just because she couldn’t be reckless, it was because she couldn’t be free. In comparison, my parents seemed like angels.
“How would you like to learn?” I asked. I knew that, in that moment, I’d practically signed my death warrant. Skye would not stand this, I knew that, but I couldn’t help it. The words just tumbled out of my mouth, and I had no intention of taking them back.
The girl that had begged me to stay in her room looked at me with excitement, “You’d do that?”
I nodded, praying this was a good idea, “Is there any way for you to get to the windboarding park on the east side tomorrow afternoon?”
She threw her arms around me, squealing, “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” her excitement shone in her eyes, which had turned into two dancing stars. I tried to smile with her, but the whole time, I was thinking about Skye back home.
Back home, the gallows were waiting for me.

I didn’t stay at Grace’s house as much that night, knowing she’d need sleep for tomorrow. After all, despite everything, she was still a normal girl, and she still had school tomorrow. In one of our conversations, she’d told me about her school, and I couldn’t help but cringe. In an attempt to keep it classy, they’d ignored the vivid colors that decorated every other surface in the city, instead painting it a pink hue that, from what she described, matched her room. She told me of classes where everyone sat without really seeing each other, looking into monitors on the back of their glasses. They were connected to other such schools around the world, learning through a completely standardized process. She’d told me how she hated it there, hated the snobby girls and their uniform lives. Yet, when I’d suggested she skip, she’d just looked at me, as if I were a foreigner in her completely domestic life.
“But,” she’d said, shock registering in her eyes, which were as distant as the moon, “That’s against the rules.”
No amount of persuasion would get her to change her mind, and after several futile minutes, she’d started pelting me with her own questions. Ignoring my repeated questions of, “But why not?” she’d bombarded me with questions about windboarding. She knew a lot more than I did about the way it worked, but she wanted to know the feeling, the emotion it brought. After trying in vain to explain it to her, I just settled for telling her that she’d see tomorrow.
She’d gone to sleep with an expectant, excited grin. I’d left her house with a worried frown.
I knew I had two options. I could choose to tell Skye, and deal with the storm that would come from her hearing the news. Or, I could keep her in the dark, only telling her when Grace was already there, at the park, when it would be too late for her to do anything other than sulk.
Though I knew she’d be able to notice my nerves and anticipation, I chose to keep Skye – and the Lost Boys – in the dark. I wouldn’t go back on my word to Grace, but I couldn’t deal with their pestering all day. If they knew she was coming, they wouldn’t give me a second of peace.
This time, when I returned to our water tower, the curtain was closed, the lights were off, and the Lost Boys were all in their beds. I tiptoed past Flint’s snoring form, heading for my hammock in the back, thinking I’d escaped any sort of wrath. But then, a pair of vibrant green eyes stopped me in my tracks. Skye was curled on her cushion, staring at me through the darkness. It was strange, to be in the water tower without any lights in it, and the alien darkness only added to my anxiety. I wanted to avoid her, to never have to deal with her probing stare, but I knew I wouldn’t be able to fall asleep without reaching some sort of peace between us. She was my best friend from birth, a person I literally couldn’t live without.
I stopped where I was, staring at her and waiting expectantly. A blink was all the surprise she afforded me, before speaking. Her voice was silky, and she sounded just like that cat she looked like, “I want to meet her.”
The surprise at her simple statement, not a scream or an accusation, shone through my face. If that was all she wanted, I would gladly introduce her. Even if I hadn’t made plans with Grace, I’d make them for Skye, to make her happy.
“Alright,” I smiled, “Tomorrow.” And, before she could ask me what I meant, I went to sleep.

Keeping a secret from Skye was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. First thing in the morning, she cornered me, demanding answers that I couldn’t give. Throughout the day, she kept asking in that persistent way of hers, but I refused to answer. We went through out usual schedule, until the afternoon, when we all assembled at our usual windboarding park. Even there, Skye stayed by my side, instead of relaxing and going off to the incline plane as she usually does.
By then, she probably knew what was up, as I kept looking at the gate. Finally, ten minutes late, Grace showed up, looking utterly lost. She’d tried to dress true to the styles of modern time, with plastic-sticking clothes and neon colors. Skye wore them flawlessly, like a second skin, but Grace looked out of place in them. She looked uncomfortable and fake, and I couldn’t help but think that I much preferred her in her bedroom, stroking her kitten and wearing comfortable, shy clothes.
Skye wasn’t able to automatically pick Grace out from the others entering the park, but when Grace didn’t automatically find me, I was forced to wave her over. I knew Skye was sizing her up, but I tried to block her out of my mind as I watched Grace walk over. When our eyes locked, I could see the relief on her face, and a smile broke out on her face as she walked towards me. She was uneven and uncertain on the bumpy terrain, almost falling as she walked by the incline plane and stepping cautiously over the rails. Everything in the park was not only colorful but plastered in stickers. There were stickers of windboards, designers, and even gangs, as they all fought to dominate a small part of the park. In Grace’s short walk over to where we were sitting, she almost got hit three times by passing boarders. The worst however, was that she didn’t even notice, busy as she was in crossing the park.
“Grace,” I said when she got there, refusing to look at Skye.
“Hi Loki!” Grace was happy and oblivious, looking at the rest of the Lost Boys, who’d crowded around her like an unbelieving pack of animals, “Oh! You guys must be the Lost Boys!”
Skye sent me a devastated, furious look. I could feel her fury, rolling off her like waves, as she wondered what else I’d told Grace.
“This is Skye,” I said, motioning to the enraged pixie besides me. “That’s Flint, Slice, and Wells.” Wells gave Grace a cheeky smile, and raised his eyebrows suggestively at me behind Grace’s back.
I was about to volunteer to go teach her how to windboard, mainly to get her away from the Lost Boys, but Skye beat me to saying anything, “So,” she said, distain drippnig off her tongue, “You must be Grace Darling.”
Grace seemed a little lost while looking at Skye. They were polar opposites, each beautiful in their own way. While Grace held a sort of delicate perfection, Skye was all hard angles, fierce and engaging with piercing eyes and a menacing frown.
Before Grace could answer, Skye spoke again, “So tell me, what is it like, to be the daughter of the richest man in the city?” Grace colored, looking embarrassed, and I longed to tell Skye to stop. But she just plowed right on, “Why would a girl like you take interest in a boy like Loki, anyways. He must just be a game for you. Hmm,” she glared at Grace, her eyes like emerald knives, “What a story to tell your friends.”
“Skye, enough.” I said to her. She was never this unpleasant, never this vindictive.
To my surprise, Skye didn’t answer me, Grace did, “No. She has every right to tell me what she thinks.”
Skye’s smile was ice and daggers, “I like her Loki.” With one last glare at me, Skye got up, grabbing her windboard and stalking off. She leaped onto it and sped away, rage in her every move. Her fury left a tail of chaos in her wake, as she sped across the path of many other windboarders. Without a thought for her own safety, she forced them to swerve out of her way, because it was obvious that she was not moving for anyone.
“Flint? Go after her please?” asked him, knowing that she would need to be calmed down. Of all the Lost Boys, other than me, Flint had the best chance at reaching her. I’d never, in our entire time together though, seen her this angry, and that worried me.
“Caralho man! Why give me the pixie devil to deal with?” Flint complained, but he nevertheless jumped on his board, flying out behind her at a more cautious pace.
For a beat of silence, I watched him chase her, before I turned back to Grace, “So? Shall we?”
I’d asked her to bring her own windboard, to maybe borrow one from a friend or something, but as she held the board out, I noticed some slight differences. They were additions to the windboard, but unlike mine, in which the additions were obviously added on by hand, hers were incorporated into the system.
“I borrowed one from my dad,” she said innocently, not understanding exactly what was going on. After Skye’s departure, Well’s had taken to the park, but Slice was still beside me. I turned to him, seeing his eyes widen as he understood exactly what Grace was holding.
“The prototype,” he said in his deep voice, awe tingeing his tone.
Grace might have been sheltered and inexperienced, but she was not stupid. She noticed the looks we were giving to her board, and understood, “Oh,” she looked a little more, between us and the board, then said again, “Oh. Is this what you’d come to get, when you crept into my room?”
I was prepared to lie to her, but Slice nodded beside me.
“And you didn’t get it because you spent the night talking to me?”
I nodded this time, cautious at where this was going.
“Then take it,” she said. There wasn’t even a second of hesitation in her as she extended the prototype out to me. It rested on her hands like a scepter in the hands of a king, gleaming black with unknown curves that I longed to memorize. My fingers literally twitched forwards, itching to touch its smooth surface and uncover all it’s secrets.
Unconsciously, I reached forward, simply desperate to skim that surface with my fingertips. I was about to touch the shining black plastic when I caught myself, withdrawing my hand quickly, “Grace. Your father has been working on this for a long time.”
She just shook her head, dismissing my argument without, “He is a smart man. He has sketches and diagrams. What is one board to him?”
If it were only for me, I like to think that I wouldn’t take it, that I would be strong enough. But next to me, Slice was practically squirming, like worms in a can, desperate to be free, to reach out, and I just couldn’t deny him the chance of getting his hands on his dream. Turning to catch his eye, I nodded at him, and he gave me one of his rare smiles, taking the prototype gently from Grace. In his hands it was a baby, and he cradled it carefully in his arms as he took to his windboard, heading back to our water tower to complete his masterpiece.
“You didn’t have to do that,” I said to her.
She just shrugged, “My dad isn’t that good of a father anyways. He’s had this coming.” Her words, once again, were simple and matter-of-fact, but there was an underlying sadness in them, an undercurrent of memories I couldn’t imagine.
If my offer before, to teach her how to windboard, caused such a riot in the Lost Boys, I didn’t know what this next suggestion would start. But she was lonely and lost, and she needed a home. That was what the Lost Boys was: a home for lost people. That was what we’d been for Flint, when he’d shown up in the United States blabbering in Portuguese. That’s what we’d been for Wells, when he stumbled out of his house, drunk and battered by his parents. That’s what we’d been for Slice, when he’d needed a desperate escape from his savage past. That’s what Skye and I had made it, back when we started the group. And now, that’s what we’d be for Grace. She needed a place to go and we had one, “How would you like to come live with us?”
She didn’t respond, and I thought it was simply because she was stunned.
“Our home isn’t very big, but we could fit you. All of us have left our parents, and we know what it’s like.” Still she didn’t look happy about it, “And don’t worry about Skye, she’ll come around eventually.” I was desperate to help her, to offer to her what I’d been able to offer to all the others.
“Loki…” I held my breath, ready for her to accept. I was excited to give her her freedom, but instead, she surprised me, “I can’t.”
Her denial, after she’d clearly stated that her parents were awful, was confusing, “Loki… I don’t necessarily love my parents all the time, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to leave them. I… I couldn’t do that.”
She shook her head, tears in her misty eyes, and turned around. I didn’t know what to say as she ran away, so I just watched her go, speechless.
Throughout the rest of the day, I kept thinking about how I’d make it better at night. I would apologize to her and say that it was okay if she still wanted to live with her parents. I’d thank her for her amazing gift, and reschedule my windboarding lessons for her. I was confident in my plan as I meandered my way through the streets, but when I got to her room, her window was closed.
Peering through the darkened room, I could make out her sleeping form. She was breathing slowly, but she must have been awake, because no amount of banging on the door could get her to open the window. I stayed there until the sun was peeking from the multicolored horizon, trying to get her to speak to me, to understand me.
She never even glanced towards the window.
Though she didn’t speak to me on that day, I convinced myself it was just a short vexation, and that she’d come around eventually. I left her in the morning, but I vowed to come back the next day, when I was sure she would speak to me, listen to my side of the story.
The next night however, her window remained closed.
Every night, I would pass by her house and peer through her window. Every night, I would bang on her window, trying to get her to speak to me, just once more. Every night, I would see her sleeping form. And every night, I would pray it would be different the next night.
It never was.