The tenth time that Patricia told the story about the night she left her body and went to the Tree, the tale had gotten embroidered to the point where it bore little resemblance to the version Patricia had told that first night. And yet, everybody was bored with it. They wanted to know what happened next. “What do we do?” Sameer asked. “What’s our next move?”
“I honestly do not know,” Patricia said. She told them, for the first time, about when she was in Bogtown and she guzzled chili oil and nothing happened. They traded theories, like it wasn’t the right time, or she wasn’t in the right headspace, or you couldn’t reach the Tree from Eastern Europe because of ley lines.
Opinions among Diantha’s secret club were divided over the crucial question: Did the adults at Eltisley Maze know about the Tree? Either: (A) It was something all the adults knew about, and they were just keeping it secret from the kids because they weren’t ready to know about it yet, or (B) they didn’t know about it, and this was something you had to be a kid to understand.
A few days later, Patricia had lunch with Diantha. Alone. They had a blanket on the East Lawn of Eltisley Hall, where every blade of grass was perfect. Patricia still couldn’t quite believe that Diantha was hanging out with her. Diantha had this way of widening her eyes just before saying something to you, so you found yourself looking into her gaze and you felt sure that whatever she said next would be the most important thing you’d ever heard. She wore her Eltisley scarf so elegantly, you’d think she had picked it out of a thousand scarf options. Her brown hair caught the light.
“We’re going to do so many great things together, you and I. I just know it,” Diantha told Patricia. “You should have some fizzy lemonade. They don’t have fizzy lemonade where you’re from, and it’s really quite good.” Patricia did what she was told. The lemonade was like a more lemony Sprite, and it was the coolest thing. The bubbles popped on her tongue.
Patricia wondered if Diantha was going to kiss her. Diantha was leaning in close, and they were gazing into each other’s eyes. Patricia had never thought of herself as lesbian, but Diantha smelled so good and had such a powerful presence, it wasn’t even like paltry sexual attraction. Somewhere off in the distance a bird sang, and Patricia almost understood.
Even the kids who didn’t hang out in the disused chimney gave Patricia a look of envy or appreciation when she walked into the Eltisley dining hall, or when she foraged in the self-service canteen at The Maze, where you never knew if there would be pizza or black pudding. People in The Maze told Patricia they liked her jeans. Nobody had ever liked her jeans before.
“I have something very important to tell all of you.” Diantha sounded breathless, and not just because there were ten teenagers packed inside a dirty little chimney at midnight. Ten pairs of hands clutched, ten pelvises twitched with anticipation, as if they all collectively had to pee. Diantha held the pause as long as she could, then dropped the bomb: “I have spoken with the Tree.”
“What?” Patricia said before she could stop herself. “I mean, that’s great. How did you manage to do that?” Everybody was staring at Patricia, like she’d had a jealous outburst or something, instead of just being surprised. It wasn’t that Patricia had a monopoly on “talking to the Tree” or anything—she had only done it once herself, and that was years ago. Patricia stammered something else about how happy she was that Diantha had done it, because this was great news, really great.
Diantha made things a hundred times worse, patting Patricia on the knee and saying, “Don’t worry, dearest. We still value your contribution most of all.”
But screw Patricia’s wounded pride, everybody wanted to know: What had the Tree said? What was the message? They were so ready. They were beyond ready.
“The Tree said,” Diantha said, “to prepare ourselves. The test is coming soon. And not all of us will pass it. But those who do will be heroes. Forever and ever.” Everybody was so happy, they were whimpering.
That didn’t sound like the way the Tree had talked to Patricia. At all. But she’d only had one conversation, a few years ago, and she had a dim recall of the details, especially now that she’d retold them so many times. Patricia told herself to feel glad that she’d been vindicated and she hadn’t just hallucinated the whole thing after all, instead of asking Diantha a bunch of questions, which would just be a sign of jealousy. And Aggrandizement. Now the Tree was talking to Diantha instead of Patricia. Big whoop.