“So you’ve met Principal Cleary then?” George nods at the principal’s closed door as he leads me down the hall. “We’re so fortunate to have him. But I’m curious—?what did you think? Personally, I’ve always found him to be so inspiring.”
This doesn’t bode well for a future friendship with George. I offer him a half smile in response and leave it at that. Principal Cleary does seem like just the sort who would stick me with the leader of his own personal fan club.
“Sometimes I’m not sure which I like more: his humility or his distinguished taste in the painted form,” George continues, confirming that this is going to be a very long day. He is walking at a brisk pace, and I’m almost running to match his stride. “Take those portraits hanging in his office,” he says. “Some students wait their entire scholastic careers for that honor, and you saw them on your very first day. Were you able to pick a favorite?” He stops abruptly and faces me.
His eyebrows rise as he waits for my answer, and then the corners of his mouth twitch. With his faded freckles and pleased expression, he almost looks like Miles.
He bursts out laughing. “I’m kidding,” he says. “He’s terrible. Loves to blow his bazoo. But you should have seen your face.” He takes off walking again. “Come along,” he calls back over his shoulder.
I break into a smile at the retreating back of his head and hurry to catch him. We round a corner and narrowly miss colliding with a girl wearing tortoiseshell glasses. A braid wraps around her head like a snake.
The look she gives me is something beyond curiosity. She scowls and darts away, and I think again of the note from town.
“You know, I met your mother yesterday,” I tell George.
“She mentioned that.” He makes a face. “Please know I take more after my father.”
“She was . . . perfectly nice,” I say feebly. In response, George snorts.
We slow in front of a classroom filled with long wooden tables. “Biology laboratory. My favorite class.” He points me inside. “Here we are.”
The entire class turns when I step into the room. Out of the corner of my eye I can see that the heart I drew is already fading.
“Welcome, welcome,” Dr. Digby says, stepping forward. His magnified eyes loom behind thick glasses, and a row of pens peek from his laboratory coat pocket. “Students, this is Miss Aila Quinn,” he announces.
“What a felicitous day for you to join us, Miss Quinn. Today we begin to explore the wondrous world of osmosis, on none other than the Allium cepa.” He displays a white bulb to the class. “Better known to the layman as the common onion.” With his other hand he taps a ruler twice on his desk. “Goggles, everyone!”
I follow George to the farthest lab desk. There are two seats next to a girl with eyes the color of umber and a line of rounded black bangs that graze her eyebrows. She offers me a smile with some curiosity and moves her violin case to make room. Her spectator pumps make her uniform look miles more sophisticated than my bobby socks and saddle shoes.
I set my bag down, and as soon as Dr. Digby’s back is turned, a flurry of notes are passed under the lab tables. It’s a special kind of agony to know they all contain my initial evaluations. I’m suddenly back in eighth grade again, feeling Dixon Fairweather’s hot breath in my ugly ear.
“Beas,” George says, “meet Aila. She moved here from . . .”
“Gardner,” I say. “Hello.”
“Welcome to the madness,” Beas says, handing me a pair of goggles. Her voice is low and throaty. She pulls her own goggles down and sticks a piece of hard candy in her mouth. “Candy?” she offers. I shake my head. “So what do you think of our nuts little town so far?”
“It seems all right,” I say nervously. “I’m staying with the Clifftons. Do you know them?”
“Right. With William,” she says. She looks amused. Then she drops her onion on the table and George catches it just before it rolls to the floor.
He points his knife at the bulb and says, “Yes, Will’s a giant hunk of heartbreak. Now let’s pay attention to the task at hand, shall we?”
“No, no, it’s not like that.” Beas laughs. “You know I only have eyes for Thom. However . . .” She trails off. “Let’s just say I know some people who aren’t going to be very pleased to hear that.”
George gives a sort of shrug-nod, as if he knows exactly whom she means.
“Class, turn to page fifty-two, and let’s get started,” Dr. Digby says. George takes out a small scalpel and begins to peel off the thin translucent layers of the onion.
“So I guess this is the part where we’re supposed to tell you all the different ways you can’t use the Variants,” Beas says. She makes no move to help George with the experiment. Instead she reaches into my half-open bag and pulls out the Variant Compliance booklet. She turns to one of the earliest pages and runs her fingers over the list. It reads:
ATONING VARIANTS
Tint
Fragrance
Looking Glass
ENHANCING VARIANTS
Ember
Glimmer
Mind’s Eye
Night Vision
Veil
“I had no idea there were so many,” I say, pulling the list toward me for a better look. “I’ve only seen the Looking Glass ones.” I suddenly remember the rainstorm on the day we arrived, and Mrs. Cliffton’s inexplicably dry clothes. “And perhaps ones for keeping dry?”
“Yes, those are the Veil Variants,” Beas says, absently wrapping the dark strands of her bangs around a pencil. “They act like a water repellent. And we use the Embers to keep warm,” she explains. “Dashing a bit over you is like wearing a blanket. There’s nothing against using those at school, as long as you’re Of Age. But if you use the Fragrance Variants in a cooking class, it’s considered cheating.”
“Not smelling what I cook might be to my advantage,” I say. I took over the cooking once Mother got sick. Miles and Father had pushed around the first dinner I made, mumbling how good it tasted, even though I’d turned the chicken into charred rocks.
“And we should tell you about the most forbidden Variant for school purposes,” Beas says. “It’s called Mind’s Eye. You smear it on your eyelids, and it’s more or less enhanced memory, so you could be expelled if they catch you using it for an exam.”
Mind’s Eye, I think, remembering Will’s slip.
“The teachers always come around for an eyelid check before our tests,” Beas adds.
George positions the onion slide under the microscope. “Take a look,” he says.
I put my eye to the lens.
“What does it mean that the Variants are separated into different categories? Atoning and Enhancing?” I ask. I fiddle with the microscope knobs until the onion cells blur and then clear. There is something reassuring about how ordered they are, all formed in a neat row.
“Atoning Variants act as substitutes for Disappearances,” George says. “We have them for scents, mirrors, and some work-arounds for color. The Enhancements are a bit harder to explain.”
I straighten from the microscope and push it back toward him.
“People have stumbled upon Enhancing Variants over the years when they were looking for Atoning Variants. For instance—?the ability to see stars or have dreams—?we don’t have Variants for those yet.”