Once I reached home, I stopped long enough to drop off my backpack and ask Sylvia when I should be home for dinner. She gave me just a half an hour, and I rushed through reapplying mascara and cover–up. Feeling something in my pocket, I reached in, pulled out the ceramic frog, and remembered Mom saying some toads could hibernate for three years. They’d wake up when it was time and go about their lives, no big deal that they’d missed a few years.
Crazy.
I looked down at the frog again, and a great and terrible thought came to me.
Excerpted from the private journal of Girard L’Inferne, approx. 1945
Private lesson, Test Subject: Helga
“Tell me,” I ask, “why this particular weapon?”
“The rock is hard and sharp. We call that kind shin–biter. If you fall upon it, you bleed.” She is sullen, defiant.
“It is a stone from another world,” I say, smiling. “Strange stories are told of the powers of tobiasite.” I drop the smile and ask, “Did you mean to kill Karl?”
Clearly she expects punishment, perhaps even death. “He was mocking the Führer. He could not be allowed to cause the other children to join in.”
I nod. “Older persons than you underestimate the danger of permitting others to laugh at what is sacred.” I pause. “Helga, I must know. Did you intend that he die?”
The girl’s face shifts slightly. Her jaw clenches, as do her fists. She nods.
“You know you cannot be permitted to remain here after such a crime.”
The girl nods again.
“What would you think of joining a special school? One that trains loyal girls and boys like yourself to protect the brave leaders of The Thousand Year Reich?”
The girl looks up, eyes full of desire.
“Would you work hard at such a school? Would you prove to me that I made the right decision in not sending you to prison for your offense?”
“In such a school,” she declares gravely, “I would work harder than anyone else.”
–translation by G. Pfeffer
Chapter Eleven
CORRESPONDENCE
I biked the mile to Will’s home, bursting to share my idea with him, praying I’d find him alone. I couldn’t bring it up around his sister until Will and I had a chance to talk it through.
To the side of the cabin, I saw Will and Mickie. She pitchforked through a compost of leaves, dirt, and what looked like old newspaper where I pulled up my bike. Frustrated that I wouldn’t have Will to myself, I braked too hard and my tires shimmied in the dirt. The air smelled a little like coffee. Rotten coffee. I wrinkled my nose and backed away.
“Give me a minute,” Mickie said. “I’m feeding my compost. Bridget gave me twenty pounds of coffee grounds today.” She grinned broadly. “Wish I’d thought to ask sooner.” Her enthusiasm as she dug must have offered protection to her nasal passages. Why did everyone I know have smelly jobs?
Leaning my bike against the wall, I felt sweat dripping off me. The air felt like an oven, and I’d been pushing hard to get here fast. Mickie turned in time to see me using the neckline of my tee to dry the sweat from my face.
“Thank you for coming,” Mickie said. “Will, take Sam inside. She needs some ice water. I’ll be right in.”
I followed Will towards the back door of the cabin, and he rippled.
“He’s showing off,” Mickie said, eyes rolling.
I laughed.
“Or maybe I didn’t unlock that door yet.” She shrugged.
A solidified Will unlocked the door from inside and I stepped in.
“Wait up,” Mickie called, “I’m done.”
She kicked off her compost–scented boots and joined us. “Sit by the fan,” she said, adjusting the fan to blow straight on my face.
“You don’t have to—”
She cut me off. “Your face is beet–red.” She handed me the glass of chilled water. “Drink this. You’re as bad as Will. People get heat exhaustion in weather like this.”
I grinned, gulping my drink. I decided against mentioning that I’d lived my whole life in weather like this.
To the side of the desk, Will picked up and fished inside a large white envelope inscribed with calligraphy. He handed the letter to me.
Chère Mlle Baker,
I have put much thought into why Pfeffer chose to leave you in ignorance of the map with which he entrusted you. I can only conclude that he believed you would be safer if you did not know certain things—things which are indeed dangerous to know. Take it as a sign of how highly he valued your safety, although this is an area in which we disagreed. I believe you can be safer with knowledge than without it. However, lest this letter should fall into the wrong hands, I shall limit what I reveal as well. Please forgive me if I instead pose for you a series of riddles.
1: In what elements are each of the areas marked on the map rich?
2: Have you heard of the curious effects such things as lead or quicksilver can have upon human health?
3: Begging you to pardon my indelicacy: do you know where your brother was conceived?
I shall, of course, be glad to provide a more thorough explanation of the map in person, should that someday prove a possibility. I regret that I am much occupied at present.
“So, any idea what all those riddles mean?” I asked.
“The answers are easy enough,” Mickie said, shrugging. “Number one: gold and that whatsit–meteorite. Tobiasite? Number two: you get sick. Number three: Shelokum Hot Springs in Alaska.”
Will groaned. “Geez, Mick!”
I gasped. I could feel color leaving my face. Before Mom died, I was often referred to as the “Bella Fria Hot Springs Surprise.” I didn’t know enough back then to be embarrassed, and it never came up after Dad remarried Sylvia.
Mickie looked at me intensely. “You didn’t get your start at Shelokum too, did you?”
“Okay, that’s enough,” said Will. He stood and marched out the back door, slamming it shut.
My cheeks burned as I explained what I knew of my own conception to Mickie.
“I wonder how important the hot springs connection is … oh, this is crazy! Why didn’t Pfeffer trust me enough to tell me what he knew? To explain those friggin’ red dots?” She stood and paced. “That could be it, though. The presence of gold and tobiasite in a mineral hot springs at the time of conception. That could be what messes with the genetic code and produces the abnormalities we see in Helmann’s carriers …”
“So your map marks the places around the world where Helmann’s carriers are most likely to be, er—”
“Conceived,” said Mickie. “That seems to be Sir Walter’s answer.”
“But there must be a hundred dots on those maps.”
“Fifty–four,” Mickie said. “But there’s something that doesn’t fit. Pfeffer once said that Will wouldn’t be who he was if not for our dad’s violence. When I asked what he meant, Pfeffer brushed it off and changed the topic.”
“Maybe he just meant your dad helped form Will’s character,” I suggested.
“No, we were definitely talking about Will’s ability to ripple. Maybe Pfeffer was purposefully trying to throw me off the trail. I’m going to have to meet with Sir Walter if I want answers.” She crossed to her desk and began shuffling through papers. “Where is that flyer from French Club about chaperones?”
“I should get home for dinner,” I said. “Tell Will I said ‘bye.”
Mickie nodded, clearly lost in thought, and I let myself out of the cabin.
Will stood outside, throwing rocks across the highway.
“Hey,” I said, walking my bike over to him. “Can you come by tonight? I have something you need to hear about. It’s important.”
“Sure.”
“Nine o’clock. The sliding glass door in back. No knocking—no door bells.”
“No problem, rebel,” he said, winking at me.
I kicked off on my bike and then hollered over my shoulder. “Talk to your s
ister about what she just figured out.”
I heard Will groan as I sped away.
Predictably, Dad and Syl headed upstairs to watch TV in their room right before 9:00 and asked me to turn out the lights when I went to bed.
I walked around the quiet house, locking doors and turning off lights. I left the kitchen lights on and slipped outside to wait for Will. It was a clear night; the Big and Little Dippers shone brilliant overhead, but the air felt stuffy. Leaning against the house, I debated whether I should wait inside, but I decided I’d be cool enough if I got away from the heat radiating off the stucco walls.
I sat down in one of the lounge chairs. It felt surprisingly cooler. Would Will think my Big Idea was No Big Deal? Or had he already thought about my idea before? It was funny how the ceramic frog had driven my “aha” moment rather than Mr. Polwen’s discussion of adaptations in biology this past week. I could still picture my notes from class.
Creatures hibernate to survive extreme cold.
At that moment, Will shimmered into view in front of me. I flew out of my seat, startled.
“Hey, Sam, hope I didn’t scare you.”
“Does a coronary count?” I asked.
“Sorry. I got here maybe a minute before you. I forgot I wasn’t solid until you came out and you didn’t see me.”
“You ripple a lot, don’t you?”
Will shrugged. “It saves time.”
“You have no idea how loaded that statement is considering what I want to talk over with you.”
“Hey, can I ask you a weird question first?”
“Be my guest,” I said, wondering what other kind of question either of us would have.
“What were you thinking about, this second?”
I struggled to recall. “How warm it is tonight.”
“Is that all you were thinking about?”
“I don’t know. I guess. No, I was thinking about some note–taking I did in biology last week.”
“Was this it: ‘Creatures hibernate to survive extreme cold’?”
I stared at him, stunned. “Okay. Where. Did. That. Come. From?”
“From you, I think.” His fingers caught in a tangle of curls as he scratched his head.
“How?”
“I’m not sure. When you came outside, just now, I was waiting in the lounge chair you sat down on.”
I realized Will’s ‘presence’ would account for the temperature. “It felt cold there.”
“I bet it did.”
My eyes dropped in embarrassment. I’d sat right on top of him.
“Okay, so here’s what happened,” Will said, unruffled. “Before I got up to ripple back solid, I saw a picture in my head of biology class, and the image was almost from the correct angle, but not quite, and then when the focus shifted down to my desk, I realized I was seeing your handwriting. It was like I was watching a video in my head, from your perspective.”
I thought of the day at Illilouette Creek, the movie–like image in my mind’s eye of a teenage girl with dark hair, hands on her hips, pointing to an ambulance, and shouting angrily. “I think this has happened to me before.”
“Seriously?”
“Did your sister ever blame you for something to do with an ambulance? When she was maybe thirteen or fourteen?”
The deck was lit only by the light spilling through the sliding glass door, but even so, I could see Will’s face turn pale. “The day I rippled for the first and only time in front of Mom. She called the hospital, thinking she was losing her mind. They sent an ambulance because Mickie couldn’t drive yet. Mick was furious with me.”
I brought my hand to my lips, feeling awful for bringing back the memory.
“I haven’t thought about that since …”
“The day at Illilouette Creek,” I finished in a whisper.
He locked eyes with me.
“You saw me remembering it that day?”
I nodded.
He whistled long and low. “We can read each other’s minds.”
I shifted nervously. I didn’t want Will inside my head at this point in our friendship.
“Can you tell what I’m thinking right now?” he asked. I thought he looked anxious, but maybe that was my imagination.
“I don’t think it works that way,” I said. “I’ve only seen things when I was invisible. And I’m pretty sure we have to be touching as well. Like when I, um, sat through you just now.”
He grinned. “Mickie would be so proud of you for that hypothesis.”
I hoped he wasn’t going to suggest we test the hypothesis. I couldn’t let Will read my mind. “Have you ever, you know, read my mind before?” I asked.
“If this had ever happened before, I think it would have caught my attention.”
I nodded, thinking of a way to distract him from suggesting we experiment in mind–reading. “Do you want to come in for cheesecake? We’d have to be quiet.”
“Did your step–mom make it?”
I nodded.
He smiled. “Okay, now you’re really reading my mind.”
I stood up, opening the sliding glass door.
Will winked, rippled, and reappeared on the other side of the door, beaming. “Totally sick!” he whispered.
“Show off,” I muttered, smiling. I opened the refrigerator, pulling out the cheesecake.
“You tried it yet, on your own?” He gestured to the glass.
“No. I’ve been meaning to since watching how you move around in your house, but I’m not alone much here.”
He dug into the cheesecake I’d plated up for him. I grabbed myself a slice. Will gestured to the sliding glass door. “So, you up for an experiment? Trying glass?”
I smiled, glad he didn’t mean a mind–reading experiment. Maybe he felt the same sort of caution I did, a hesitation to let someone so much inside you.
It only took moments before I was able to fade by thinking of the waterfall feature splashing down into our pool—a favorite watery image of mine. I smiled proudly in Will’s direction, even though he couldn’t see it, and I crossed to the door.
Passing through glass wasn’t like anything else I’d experienced. It felt warm and viscous, forming itself into a second skin around me, then gently releasing me as I glided through to air again. A strong scent or taste reminded me of the beach, as well. Not the ocean–tang of the beach, but the sand itself. In geology, we’d learned that glass was silicon—sand. I ghosted back and forth several times, shivering through the viscous embrace before I rippled solid again.
“That is completely amazing!” I said.
“Did you know glass is actually a liquid that moves very, very slowly? That’s what creates the distortions you can see on old glass, like Bridget’s windows. I’ve never passed through those, though,” he said, looking as if he meant to try. “So, what did you need to talk to me about?” Will looked at me, curious, as he plowed through a second slice of cheesecake.
“Oh, right!” Mind–reading had completely distracted my thoughts. “I had this idea today. About how hibernation and what we do are similar.”
Will raised his eyebrows. “Never thought of that. You mean like how we don’t get hungry or thirsty when we ripple?”
“There’s obvious differences, though. I think with hibernating, you’d feel, well, asleep,” I said.
“I feel extra–alive when I ripple, if anything.”
“Same here. But I was actually going a different direction with the hibernating thing. What do you think would happen if you rippled for a year, or two years?”
“You mean, what would happen to me when I came back?”
“You wouldn’t age, would you?” Could he see where I was going with this?
“I guess not. I mean, that’s pretty much why Mickie thinks I took so long to, well you know, grow up. It’s why I look younger than a normal eighteen–year–old.” Will flushed.
“So if someone carbon–dated you, you might only be fourteen or fifteen.”
He s
hrugged. “Yeah, I guess so. This means you’re several hours short of your calendar age too, huh?” He grabbed another bite and swallowed. Then he looked up at me and spoke a monosyllable softly. “Oh.” Then, bigger. “OH.” We locked eyes.
“The two of us could live a very long time, by spending part of every day invisible. If we wanted to.” My voice came out just above a whisper. “So would you want to?”
“Live longer? I don’t know, Sam. Sure, I guess. I mean, it’s only in theory, anyway, right?”
“Yeah. It might not work like that.” A really long life would be amazing if I got to pick who I lived it with. But I didn’t say that. I couldn’t be the one to say it, in case I was the only one feeling it. “You’ll have to tell your sister. I wanted to tell you about it first, though.”
“Yeah. She might not see it as the greatest news.”
I nodded. “That’s why I asked you to come over alone.”
I wanted to sit and talk with Will all night, but my traitorous mouth kept yawning.
“I need to go before you fall asleep sitting here,” said Will.
“It’s like you read my mind,” I joked sleepily.
“That’s gonna get old, fast,” he laughed. “Hey, you want to get in some early morning running before practice starts? We could bike in early and then run the trails. We’ve got another round of hot weather coming.”
“Sure,” I said, my mouth pulling into a ginormous yawn.
“Goodnight, Sam.” He rippled, passed through the glass door, and rippled back on the other side shooting me a double thumbs up before he took off running home.
***
The following day, Will came by early, but we’d both slept poorly with so much to think about, and Will admitted he was too tired for extra miles. But he wasn’t too tired to meet early with me, I noted. I felt warm inside.
We strolled down to my childhood lookout to talk.
“I got another look at that little black book,” Will said. “Mick had it sitting out last night. She was busy obsessing over Pfeffer’s red–dotted maps. Anyway, I tried using an online translator, and it’s not any language I can find.”
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