“Hey, Meg, do you have any lip balm?” Leila stands in the kitchen doorway. The snow has wilted the waves out of her dark-brown hair, though it’s still smooth and shiny. I wonder if everyone has perfect hair in Turkey. (I think that’s where she said she was born. I’ll ask Kat later.) My own curls just get frizzy when they’ve been wet, so my head is probably a beehive of frizz.
“Um, yeah, I think so,” I say. I’ve definitely got some upstairs in my room, but if I go up there, I’ll be risking an “alone time” lecture, and I think I’ve got some in my backpack, anyway, which is probably still out in the hallway where I dropped it like a million years ago on the last day of school before the holiday. “Here, hold these,” I say, grabbing Leila’s hand and dropping my remaining marshmallows into it. Then I step past her into the hall where, sure enough, my backpack sits under the bench, half buried by my hooker boots.
I elevate—no, excavate—it, and unzip the small front pouch. I find only pens and pencils and the mascara I thought I lost. No lip balm. I unzip the main pocket. A big, ugly, red 47 jumps out at me. My math test. I had almost forgotten about the stupid thing. If Mom sees it, I’ll probably be grounded again. I grab it, crumple it with a satisfying crunch, and shove it down into the bottom of my bag with all the other unwanted debris—including my lip balm. I knew I had some in here. I grab the pink tube, shove the bag back under the bench, and march victoriously back into the kitchen.
“Here,” I say to Leila, dropping the stick onto the counter beside her.
“Sweet, thanks,” she says. “Want these back?” She holds out the palmful of mini marshmallows.
“Nah,” I say, waving her off.
“Okay, I’ll just—” She discards them in a little pile on the counter, picks up the lip balm. “Thanks,” she says again, then flounces back into the living room.
I hop up onto the counter, sitting beside the little white mound. I pop one in my mouth. White marshmallows are blah. I should’ve told Mom to get those multicolored ones. Another failure. Bombing a math test or choosing the wrong mini marshmallows—I’m not sure which is worse.
Grayson sticks his head through the doorway. “Hey, you coming back in?”
I shrug. “In a minute.” The snow in Grayson’s hair has melted, leaving tiny droplets of water that sparkle under the kitchen light. If I was a tiny little person living in his hair, I could swim in those droplets.
A burst of laughter erupts in the living room. It does sound like fun in there.
“Okay,” Grayson says, turning back toward the hallway. “Well, I should—”
I reach out and grab his arm. “You should stay in here with me for a minute.” I’m not letting stupid math get me down. I turn him and pull him closer to me. He resists for only a second.
Sitting on this counter, I’m almost as tall as him. I lean forward and kiss him, pressing my lips into his, tracing the inside of his smile with my tongue.
“Phew,” Grayson says, once we come up for breath. “You are—” He breaks off, wordless. And grinning.
At least this I’m good at.
I grin too, then kiss him again.
KAT
LAUGHTER FOLLOWS ME UPSTAIRS, ECHOING THROUGH THE HALLWAY. I SHUT Meg’s door to muffle the sound. Not quite quiet, but close enough. The reflection of moonlight on the snow outside Meg’s window transforms inky darkness into a gray light, illuminating Meg’s room just enough to navigate.
I sink down onto the bed, lean over the side, and trace the divot in the wood post where Meg tied the jump rope on that one fall day, an eternity ago, when we sat on the roof.
I sat on a roof. I can definitely ask Roman to do a speed run in LotS. Not today, maybe, but once we’re back at school. I can do it. I will do it.
My stomach seethes with the urge to vomit. One socialite . . . two . . .
I hop to my feet and stride over to Meg’s laptop, flipping it open. I need to distract myself. There’s nothing I can do about Roman or our science project right now.
I check my email first, out of habit.
My in-box boasts a new message from a “Dan Martin.” The subject heading is “Science Project,” which could just be a bizarre coincidence, but it catches me so off guard that by the time my usual worries about viruses and malware even pop into my head, I’ve already clicked on it.
Kitty,
Happy New Year! It’s already the new year as I write this, but you, being a couple of hours behind, are still in last year. Good news: the future is epic. We all have hover cars.
I wanted to send you this for Christmas, but your email said Redpath sugar cubes and they didn’t have that brand at our supermarket and I didn’t want to somehow screw up your entire experiment, so I had to order them online and wait for them to come in. I asked your brother for the info, and he forwarded me your email. I hope that’s okay. I tried to follow your instructions to a T. If anything’s not quite right, let me know and I’ll fix it. Since you are . . . what was it? . . . the Lord High Empress of the Universe (please don’t chop off my head if I got the title wrong), your wish is my command.
Hopefully we can do a rift run again soon.
All the best,
Sythlight (aka Dan)
I slide the mouse over to the attachment, then click.
A chart—the chart I made and emailed to Luke—filled out with results. Seven of them.
And scanned, completed questionnaires. Seven of them.
Seven.
With my three, we are a third of the way there.
“Happy New Year, Syth,” I whisper into the empty room.
CHAPTER 14
LEGENDS OF THE STONE
KittyKat: your family thing is at 3 tmrw, right?
MEGAdawn: something like that
KittyKat: do you have the questionnaires packed?
MEGAdawn: of course mom :P
KittyKat: and the sugar cubes?
MEGAdawn: shoot I ate them all
KittyKat: frick, really? hang on.
MEGAdawn has entered the greenlands.
MEGAdawn has entered the waterlands.
KittyKat: OK I’ve got two extra boxes. I can bring them by first thing tomorrow. when are you leaving?
MEGAdawn: dude chill out. I was joking. I only ate a couple.
KittyKat: how many are left?
MEGAdawn has entered the barrenlands.
KittyKat: ???
MEGAdawn: tons. I ate like 5.
KittyKat: do you have enough for all 15 tests? remember you need 3 for each person.
MEGAdawn: there’s loads of them. relax. I got this.
KittyKat: OK. just remember I’m home tomorrow. call me if you need help.
MEGAdawn: stop worrying. youre gonna give yourself a brain anemia
KittyKat: aneurysm?
MEGAdawn: that 2
KAT
THE BREAD DOUGH DIDN’T RISE. IT STARES AT ME FROM THE BOTTOM OF the silver bowl, a pathetic, globby mound. A molehill instead of a mountain. Which means I forgot the yeast.
I pull the white garbage bin out from under the sink, invert the silver bowl, and smack the bottom until gravity draws the mass into the garbage bag with a thump. Right beside the who-knows-what-I-messed-up failure from yesterday.
Yesterday, when all I heard from Meg was: Awesome day. Ill come over tmrw at 2.