What is that weird smell?

"Look at that," said Jeremiah, "Just, fucking look at that."
Sierra swung around a streetlight pole and replied in a faraway voice while looking up at the stars, "If I were to join the circu-"
Jeremiah kissed her then and she didn't finish.
"Okay then," he said, staring down the street, "Let's go this way."
"I think I left my phone in the kitchen."
Jeremiah glanced at her hands. "Oh, well, Frances has it by now. What do you think about the harbour?"
Sierra bowed her head as she walked and wondered: what did she think about when she heard the word 'harbour'?
"Boats," she answered firmly, "and chips. Seagulls. Little pebbles."
"Nah that's the beach," Jeremiah dismissed her words easily, and Sierra said: "You're right," in her faraway voice that he knew too well.
"I'm wrong, actually, but thanks for giving it to me."
Jeremiah spent most mornings gazing into his pale reflection while combing his brown hair, and then he would throw the comb into his little rubbish bin, eat a bowl of nutrigrain, swap the lamp and ornament clock around in the living room before slipping seventy cents into his jacket pocket and leaving through the bathroom window.
This was his routine most mornings.
Sierra hummed songs that she heard on the tv the night previous while washing up the dishes, making sure to scrub the suds out of the sink and that all the knives, forks and spoons were facing the same way in the stand-up drainer. She then chose shoes without laces, opened the curtains at every second window, drank a can of blueberry mix breakfast drink standing next to the fridge then counted to twenty-four and six seconds before leaving the house.
They met up outside Marmy's Apple and Bookshop; Jeremiah tried not to mention anything about fire and Sierra avoided bringing up dogs, telephone boxes and baking soda.
"I think I'd like the circus," Sierra said, picking up her own thread of conversation, "and I think I'd like it because I like bright colours."
Jeremiah nodded.
"I also like candy."
"I'd like flying and doing those trapeze acts."
"Yes," Sierra said pleasantly, "flying is one of those magical moments in life where everything is better all at once."
"Like a breath of fresh air," agreed Jeremiah.
"Like leaping into heaven."
"Flying into heaven."
"Oh, quite right."
But, this morning, Sierra hadn't cleaned any dishes, hadn't opened the curtains or checked the cutlery. She had skipped the blueberry drink and counted to forty-four and three seconds before reluctantly reaching out to grab the door handle.
Jeremiah had glanced knowingly up and down the street while leaning against the bookshop window. He had a funny feeling in his stomach.
Sierra had come walking up with a hot-dog. She said, "The sauce is too rich but I enjoy the way it melts into the bread."
Jeremiah gave a tense smile, as if his cheeks hurt.
"Let's go to the skate park," Sierra suggested after swallowing, and they went.
In the hours that followed, Jeremiah had watched Sierra, not closely because that would encourage questions. He glanced at her from time to time, wondering what was different. Was it the way she concentrated on things, really looked at objects, as if it was the last time she would see them? Was it her bouncy blonde ponytail, or the red ribbon around her wrist?
He glanced, he wondered, but he didn't dare ask.
Then the sun went down and she had started talking about the circus.
"I know what you're doing," he said complacently, "You're planning on running away."
"Hmm," Sierra clutched her bag strap a little tighter and said, "where would I go?"
"The circus."
She laughed. Jeremiah clenched his jaw. He glanced at her and noticed her eyes, her carefully brushed hair, the red lines on her white skin, and he softened.
"You don't have to drink that blueberry crap every morning."
"What," Sierra started, in a rather icy tone for such a conversation, "would you know about blueberries?"
He shrugged, "They're expensive all year round."
"They're n-"
"Just tell me what's going on!" he yelled suddenly. He stopped walking and so did she. Sierra blinked at him, waiting. He thought she was probably biding time to think of a lie and this made hole in his chest grow bigger. "Sierra, I'm warning you-"
"Are you?" she said, feeling sort of detached from whatever moment they were having. She turned to walk but he grabbed her bag strap.
"Hey!"
"Don't walk away-"
"Fuck you!"
Jeremiah was stronger than her, and the bag shot out of her grip as he tugged her backwards, spilling the contents all over the dirty sidewalk. Gum wrappers, pens, hair clips and headphones, a notebook and a packet of tablets rolled around their feet.
Sierra bent down as if someone had fired a gunshot behind her, madly grabbing the items while Jeremiah stared at the orange and white tablet box. A pack of twenty-four. The kind she could never use because of one ingredient.
"It's for someone!" she said hurriedly as he swiped it up and stepped backwards, unable to take his eyes off the packet. "Wait! No!"
"So you weren't going to join the circus," he said quietly.
"Jere-" she stopped, not wanting to go on. She was suddenly so tired, so afraid, she felt like a shell. The real Sierra, the girl with substance and positive solutions to all problems, had drifted away without her realizing and left her with a body she had to somehow operate as normal.
Jeremiah turned around and walked to the railing. She stood frozen, watching. He threw the packet over as hard as he could, turned back and took her hand.
"Come on," he said.
They walked on; Jeremiah staring ahead at nothing much but with a grip so strong it was almost painful, Sierra focusing on the concrete slabs that made up the path while tears ran silently down her cheeks as she tried to make out odd bits of graffiti, her bag and all the contents splayed out behind them, forgotten.