“But I’ve always been good with my hands.” I quickly reach into my pocket to show him the wooden bird I carved as a teenager. He takes it and runs his thumb along the curve of its back in the exact way I always do. It is the first echo of myself I see in him. A motion I’ve already done so many times that the grain there is like silk.
I’d forgotten about the school uniform I never got to use. How I used to fall asleep holding on to its sleeve, scared that it would disappear in the night. Remembering how, when the influenza epidemic was done, that uniform didn’t even fit me anymore.
And then I burned it.
Phineas, I almost say then. Something disappears for me every seven years. I don’t know why, or how to get it to stop. But don’t worry. I’ve learned how to live with it.
Instead I take another sip, until the swell of my courage fades away. It’s too much of a risk. The Disappearances could scare Phineas off. Take away the only thing I want. To stay here and listen to him talk about unimportant things as I tune the radio to our serial programs. So many chances like this have already passed by that it’s become something too big to tell.
Just like one of Juliet’s favorite riddles:
“What needs darkness to grow instead of light?” she asked me one night when we were younger.
“I give up,” I finally said.
“Isn’t it obvious?” Her eyes flashed more silver than gray. “Secrets.”
Chapter Eleven
By Friday morning I’m starting to get the hang of things, and I am absurdly triumphant when I find Digby’s laboratory by myself.
Beas moves her violin case, and I slide into the seat next to her. Today, instead of assigning an experiment, Dr. Digby lectures on mitosis. George diligently takes notes, and Beas appears to be writing music, which she then folds into her violin case. When Digby pivots toward the chalkboard, a boy with oil-slicked hair at the table in front of ours turns his head and mouths hello at me. I smile, flush, panic, and start to furiously scribble notes across my paper.
Beas nudges me. “Are you rationed?” she asks in a whisper. “Anybody special waiting for you back in Gardner?”
“Oh.” I shake my head. “Um. No.”
Beas smiles wryly. “Then have you taken your pick here yet?”
She nods toward the boy in front of us. He’s turned back around to rest the tip of his pencil in the hole of his notebook so it looks like he’s writing. Instead he lays his head down on the desk and prepares to take a nap. It all makes me miss Cass in a sudden, fierce wave. She would have guffawed at the idea of taking my pick of boys. I can almost see her, her eyes squinting shut, grabbing a pillow to her stomach, laughing her truest, gulping laugh—?the one that always ended in hiccups.
Instead, there is just Beas, her eyebrows arched, unaware of just how unprecedented this situation is.
“What are you talking about?” I ask. “I’ve been here for three days.”
“Exactly,” Beas says, and closes her notebook. “You’re something new,” she explains matter-of-factly. “They know what the rest of us looked like in pigtails. You’re . . . mysterious.”
“Right,” I whisper. “They missed the bloody nose era when I was nine. Ruined any crushes that might have been,” I tell her. “And all my favorite dresses.”
Her laugh is low and throaty. “Well. Take my advice and don’t pick that gorilla.” She nods to the napping boy. “He’s bad business.”
The bell rings, releasing us to our next class. I’m summoning my courage to ask if Beas has any plans for the weekend when she gathers her books and says, “See you next week.”
“Be seeing you,” I say, suddenly wishing we were in the same year so we’d have more classes together. I stuff my textbook into my bag, telling myself, I don’t need to make best friends. Soon enough I’ll be back home again with Cass and Father.
When my final class ends, I wave goodbye to George, who is at the front of the classroom, speaking to our teacher. He doesn’t stop talking, but cocks his chin at me. Today his tie is only marginally wrinkled.
I’ve barely joined the students in the hallway streaming toward the sunshine when someone knocks into me hard enough from behind to check me into a locker.
I slam into it and look up just in time to see the back of a shaved head.
It is the boy from Will’s team—?Peterson—?the one who earned a jab from Will’s elbow. He doesn’t apologize. Instead, he keeps moving in a jaunty sort of way that makes me suspect our encounter wasn’t entirely an accident.
I regain my balance and glare at the back of his head. Cass’s ribbon is on the floor, where it’s fallen from my pocket. I quickly crouch to dust it free of dirt. When I straighten again, I see Beas farther down the hall, making her way toward me through the shifting mass of students.
I wait for her, deciding that I’ll ask if she’d ever want to study together. But as I watch, another girl gracefully parts the crowd and falls into step with Beas. Her blond hair is falling in a perfect plump wave over her shoulder, and she has blazing eyes the color of jade. Her legs are so long that her uniform seems inches shorter than everyone else’s. I can feel her confidence from all the way down the hall.
“That new girl, the one staying with Will—” the blonde says to Beas when they are close enough for me to hear. I turn away and flatten myself behind a pillar as they walk by. “Do you think she knows how uncomfortable it is that she’s here? With the way everyone feels about her mother, and all?”
“You know, we have a class together. And she’s pretty nice. I like her.” Beas adjusts her violin case as they pass.
“You say that like she’s a pet you’re thinking of keeping,” the other girl chirps. “Goodhearted Beas, always looking out for strays. Better not get too close, though. That one might be here to finish what her mother started.”
“Eliza,” Beas’s low voice sings, “I’ve heard that being cruel gives you wrinkles and turns you into a hag.”
“Oh, Beas,” Eliza retorts, and swats her playfully on the arm. “You’re lucky I find your sass charming.” They reach the front doors, disappearing into the sunlight.
I stay hidden in the shadows and smooth my hair over my ear again and again. Don’t you dare cry, I tell myself fiercely. How could someone hate me before she’s even met me?
I calm myself by coming up with a list of finishing words. Several less-flattering terms come to mind before I finally settle on vitriolic. Even then, it’s still several moments before I am able to step out from the pillar, walk down the hall, and look for the familiar outline of the Clifftons’ car.
Instead, I spot Will. He’s leaning against one of the apple trees in the orchard, his schoolbag slung low over his shoulder. He isn’t wearing his practice uniform, and he seems to be waiting for something.
When he catches my eye, he straightens.
“Aila,” he calls. “I’ve got an errand to run. You want to come?”
“Sure,” I say, still trying to shake off what Eliza said.
And then I see her. She’s perched along the courtyard wall with Beas. A look of surprise creases her face as I walk toward Will. Then, as quickly as it appeared, her expression returns to cool glass.