Jamie is trying to tease, to take the awkward out. But Spence is staring at him, trying to process what he’s just learned. James Blakely, Jr. — Blake — is friends with a Russian. He’s looking at Jamie as if he never really knew him at all.
“Where in Adria was your mother’s family from, John?” Ms. Chancellor asks Spence. He takes a moment before turning to her.
“Valancia, ma’am.”
“And what was her name?”
Carefully, Ms. Chancellor draws Spence into a discussion of family trees and Adrian history, but I don’t listen. I just sit, staring at my peas.
After a while, Jamie leans closer. “You’re not eating.”
“I’m not hungry.”
I don’t look up, but I know Grandpa and Jamie share a look. I’m starting to regret not taking Spence up on his offer to help me smuggle food off my plate.
“She’s never hungry,” Grandpa says.
At the other end of the table, Ms. Chancellor uses her best posture and smiles her brightest smile. “Now, Jamie, how long will you boys be able to stay?”
“Three weeks, I think. The new term starts about then.”
“How lovely. You have certainly come at the right time of year. Jamie, you’ll have to be sure you show Spence all of the festivities.”
“I’m looking forward to it, ma’am,” Spence says.
For a second, I have to wonder how I’ve ended up here — at this table. It’s all so polite, so serene. So normal.
So fake.
I look at Ms. Chancellor. “May I be excused?”
“We have your favorite dessert coming, Grace. Don’t you want —”
“No.” I push my chair away and drop my napkin on the table. “I mean, no thank you. I have … plans.”
When I start to rise, Spence is already up and holding out my chair — not yet an officer, but maybe a gentleman. As I leave, he smiles at me and whispers, “I promise not to check your potatoes.” But I don’t stop and I don’t laugh. I just hurry toward the door.
I’m almost to the gates when I hear the heavy steps that pound behind me.
“Gracie! Wait up!”
I don’t even slow down.
“Grace, I said wait.” Jamie doesn’t sound mad. No. He sounds like someone trying very hard to sound like nothing is wrong at all. “What are you doing?”
I don’t know.
“Where are you going?”
I stop and face him. “Out.”
“Out where? Are we gonna go climb the wall for old times’ sake? Get gelato? Hey, I know. We can —”
“No,” I say, harder than I should. When I look at Jamie, I can see how much he wants us to be who we were instead of who we are. I hate him for pretending nothing’s wrong and I hate myself for knowing that it’s not true. I’d give anything for that not to be true.
“I mean, I’m sorry, Jamie. I can’t. I have plans.”
“What kind of plans?”
Hiding from you. Beating myself up. Wandering the city by myself for hours and hours, hoping to find a portal back in time. All of these things are true. But I just say, “I’m doing something with Noah.”
Jamie steps back and eyes me skeptically. “Who’s Noah?”
My initial reaction is shock. How is it possible he doesn’t know? Then I remember that Jamie lives on another continent now. He goes to another school and is living in another world. My big brother has gone to some place I can’t follow. It was inevitable, I know, but a part of me can’t help but mourn the fact that I will never chase him and Alexei over the wall again.
“Noah’s my friend.” I sound almost defensive. As if maybe I’m not allowed to have any friend that he hasn’t preapproved.
Jamie bristles. “Boyfriend?”
I almost laugh. Suddenly, Jamie’s protective posture makes sense.
“Friend who is a boy,” I tell him, but Jamie doesn’t look so certain. He isn’t going to take my word for it. Not on this.
“I think I need to meet this Noah.”
“No need. I assure you, Grandpa and Ms. Chancellor both like him. He’s adequately safe — almost boring. A stickler for the rules.”
“But is he good enough for you?”
Is it Jamie’s question or the earnest look on his face that makes me laugh? I don’t know. And I suppose it doesn’t matter, because I just throw back my head and howl. Not a chuckle. A full-throated laugh like I haven’t had in ages. It’s the kind of laugh that, three years ago, might have gotten me tied down, my meds changed.
I know that I sound crazy, but the difference is, now, I no longer try to stop it.
“Gracie —”
“Don’t you know, Jamie?” I cut him off, and, suddenly, I’m not laughing anymore. I shake my head. “Your kid sister? The murderer? Maybe she’s the one who isn’t good enough.”
A darkness crosses my brother’s face, and I know I’ve finally done it. I’ve mentioned the unmentionable thing, and I couldn’t take the words back even if I wanted to.
“Don’t say that,” he scolds me. “Don’t make jokes.”
“Do you really think I’m joking?”
Does he hear my voice crack? Does he see the tears that are welling in my eyes? He’s an expert on battle strategy and discipline and making things straight and clean and even. But he will never, ever know how to fix me. And it hurts him. Turns out, hurting him is one of the few things that can still hurt me.