“What’s there to hunt in the desert?” Jan sniggers. ‘There aren’t even any dried up lizards to eat.”
Wrong, I’m thinking. There must be Dragon Lizards here too, hiding in the sand caves. Maybe even one or two out in the elements, among the Fireseed, the Fireagar. I’m thinking that if Jan isn’t more careful with his caveman clubs, Armonk can hunt him and hang him up by his stupid nose-ring. My ruthless dreaming makes me grin. Thorn senses my amusement; he must because his own sudden grin is as glorious as a new moon.
“Shush! All of you. I run this place. I’ll make the final decision.” With that proclamation Nevada ushers us inside.
Blane, Jan and Radius shove their way past. Nevada might run this place, but she hasn’t taught her students any manners. If this is a school, I’m still not sure what kind. At least we’re inside, out of the heat.
Everyone scrambles out of masks and burn suits. I face away from the group and take mine off slowly, cautiously. I know what happens when people see my face, my body. I’m even slower taking off my cloak. As I do, my back crawls with the squirrely feeling of eyes on it. I’m wearing a long skirt and jersey top, old but in nice blue colors. Blue’s my favorite color, like the sea I dream of seeing someday. Finally I gather the nerve to turn around.
Blane openly stares, as does Jan. Blane mumbles something to Jan like “Holy Fire, that girl has curves.” Jan chuckles as he takes off his boots and throws them under a long bench. Radius, the redheaded boy takes a long, furtive look before shuffling off to sit. Armonk looks at me, and then away, in a distant, distracted manner that confuses me because I seem to have no effect on him.
Blane might be ugly inside, but outside he’s handsome—they all are, really. The guys at this school have that look of being well fed and well bred, like in that ancient college brochure from before the Border Wars my dad had. In one of those photos, a group of athletes were sweating and laughing, dressed in shorts and shirts that revealed firm arm and leg muscles. Imagine! If you showed that much skin now, you’d be crisped out in the desert. Under their burn suits these guys have on pants and shirts from that strange iguana skin, yet much more worn and faded than the fancy outerwear. Maybe this place isn’t so grand after all.
I catch myself staring back at Blane. His head and torso seem designed by a great sculptor who wanted to create that perfect threatening persona. His brow is hard, and his mouth is set in a permanent frown, but his hazel eyes are golden flecked and his cheeks have a light sprinkle of honey freckles. He catches me staring and there’s a momentary grin in his eyes before he spins around to talk to Radius. Radius is the shortest, but not by much. He’s slim, but solid, seemingly carved out of pink gypsum. What do these guys eat, Gila monsters? I doubt Nevada can keep her larders stocked with them around. In their fortunate youths, were they fed so generously that they ate enough to last a whole lifetime? This has me weirdly jealous, but I have more important things to dwell on.
I look away, and attend to my brother, in faded, patched pants. He’s gripping his toy dragon as if it’s the one solid thing in a desert of mirages. “Thorn, are you okay?” I whisper, not expecting him to answer, especially in front of these guys. He doesn’t. But he holds himself looser, as if he’s relieved to be inside, to have me pay some heed to him. I ruffle his hair.
Nevada raises her brows at me. “So, welcome, Ruby and Thorn. I’m Nevada Pilgrim, the owner and principal of The Greening.” She makes everyone introduce himself. So, this is it—no girls after all. Wistfully, I think of Freeblossom and Petal.
“Guys, I’d like you to go and warm up dinner,” says Nevada. “Jan, please set a table.”
“Can’t the girl do it?” he asks with a frown.
“No, she’s still a guest,” says Nevada firmly. Then, she smiles at me and at Thorn. “Vesper and Bea are upstairs, they should be down soon. In the meantime, have a seat in the parlor with your brother. I need a minute with Armonk.”
So, there are girls here! They might be quite an improvement from the reception we’ve received so far. She waves her hand toward the room in question and I choose a wide, saggy chair smelling of dust and dried shale. The room is lit with wall torches and an ancient hurricane lantern, and furnished with various cast-off chairs and side tables. I see one poster of a sparkling sea with a hovercraft zipping across its waves, and the word AXIOM COASTAL splashed across the bottom edge in bold red letters. What’s Axiom?